Innocent Queen: A Court Intrigue Fantasy (The Forbidden Queen Series Book 2)

by R. J. Vickers

  Most interesting of all, I learned he spent a great deal of time in the palace garden, which I had not known about. Apparently it was an enclosed rooftop space connected to the Forest wing, with a hidden entrance from the historic wing.

  “That’s the perfect place to encounter him by accident,” Baridya said. “You can claim you merely wished to clear your head with a stroll outside.”

  “And then chase him down as he tries to leave?” I asked drily. “I’m not sure how I could manage that in a flirtatious way.”

  “Oh, he won’t run this time. Not if you catch him off guard.”

  “I think you overestimate my charm.”

  The next morning, all three of us ventured to the historic wing in search of the hidden entrance to the garden. One of Morrisse’s former mistresses had described it to Baridya, but the directions were not obvious at all. Apparently the stairway opened from the back of a storage closet, of which there were plenty.

  We opened every door we came across, linking elbows and pretending we were merely on a stroll whenever we encountered another palace resident; we found dusty rooms piled with books and old bottles of some unidentified alcohol, genuine store cupboards, a classroom with desks and chairs, a room dominated by an enormous loom on which sat a half-finished tapestry, and plenty of rooms whose purpose we could not guess.

  Eventually Deance pulled open a door and said, “Hah! That must be it.”

  Baridya and I hurried over to see what she had found—a door at the back of an empty store cupboard.

  “Should we wait here?” Baridya asked.

  “Probably.”

  “You don’t think anyone will try to attack you?” Deance asked.

  “I hope not.”

  I stepped into the store room and tried the handle at the back. It was unlocked. The door opened onto a flight of unlit stairs—lifting my skirts, I started up. At the top, light seeped beneath another door. When I pushed it open with a groan of hinges, a cool, fresh-smelling breeze swept down the dark stairway.

  With a deep breath, I stepped out to the rooftop garden.

  For a moment, I nearly forgot why I had come. The garden was far larger than I had expected, bursting with life even though winter had barely eased its grip on the city. The scent of pine wafted from two rows of towering trees in enormous stone-sided planter boxes, and yellow daffodils sprouted amidst still-naked shrubs and deciduous trees. How had I never known of this place before? I wove my way toward the corridor of pines, brushing my fingers across the smooth tops of the needles, inhaling the vanilla scent of the forest. If I closed my eyes, I could almost believe I was back in Ambervale.

  “Your Majesty.”

  I jumped.

  Morrisse was sitting on a bench in the garden, potting a row of bulbs by his feet, and he looked affronted by my presence.

  “Who told you about this place?” He stood and brushed dirt from his hands. Instead of his usual colorful fashions, Morrisse was dressed in a simple leather jerkin and black trousers.

  “I thought it was a public area.”

  Morrisse glanced at the southern end of the garden, where the Forest wing rose behind a glass house filled with plants. “I was not aware of that. It opens from my family’s private wing, Your Majesty.”

  “I used the public entrance. I apologize—I merely wished to clear my head. I feel so trapped inside the palace at times.”

  Morrisse regarded me for another moment, eyes narrowed. “Humph,” he said at last. Leaving the stacked pots, bulbs, and dirt where they lay, he stalked away.

  It was clear my hopes of seducing Morrisse to my cause were as feeble as I had feared, but I didn’t really mind. This garden was such a wonderful discovery it more than made up for the disappointment. I continued to the far end, breathing deeply, the pine needles whispering in the breeze. Three sides of the garden were sheltered by towering stone walls—the edges of the historic wing and the Forest wing—while the eastern end held a sheltered walkway with windows cut into the stone. I looped around the pines and brambles and stepped onto the walkway, looking down on the city. It was disorienting to see rooftops and chimneys far below, when it felt as though the garden should instead give way to a wild forest.

  As I made my way back through the rows of planter beds, my eyes alit once more on the abandoned pots and bulbs. I would get an earful from Mother if anyone found me here, but I was loath to leave this haven. Tucking my skirts behind me, I sat on the bench Morrisse had recently vacated and leaned forward. Then I pushed up my sleeves and grabbed a handful of dirt. I had planted bulbs in Mother’s garden back in Ambervale, so I knew the right depth—just past my thumb—and the right firmness of the soil. The earth was cool and soft, the rich, loamy smell completely disorienting in the middle of Baylore Palace. I patted down one pot after another before dousing them all with a sprinkle of water from the pitcher Morrisse had left behind.

  Then I remembered my ladies-in-waiting, who were waiting for me at the foot of the stair. With a sigh, I stood and brushed dirt off my hands. I would have to try looking for Morrisse another day.

  * * *

  Though I did not bring up the ban on Truthbringers, I tried cornering Morrisse after the next palace vote. This time he gave me a curious look but swept away when I tried to speak with him.

  Twice more I tried intercepting him in the palace garden; the first time he was nowhere around, and the second time he made an excuse and rushed off as soon as I arrived. I had to admit I was far more eager to spend time in the garden than to speak with Morrisse. If he had in fact lingered, I would have been forced to proceed with my plan to seduce him, which I dreaded. I’d had little enough success winning allies, let alone charming men ten years older than me.

  Flowers were now blooming all around the garden, and the bulbs I had potted came up despite another snowfall that left the garden beds pillowed with white. Green leaves were beginning to emerge from the small trees, and buds swelled on several.

  As I strolled the garden alone, Leoth intruded in my thoughts more than I would have liked to admit. We had heard no further word from either Larkhaven or King’s Port, and with each passing day, I hoped to find proof Leoth had kept his word and helped spur on the Great Southern Road. Now that he was no longer here, I could dwell on the sweet, fleeting moments we had shared rather than the betrayal that had followed. Pacing the length of the garden, running my fingers across the waxy juniper shrubs, I recalled the walk we had taken through the farm field outside Baylore. In the darkness, we had spoken more vulnerably than we might have at day, and I had allowed myself to open my heart to Leoth. Even now, I could recall the soft touch of his lips on mine as though it had been just yesterday.

  What would he think if he knew I was harboring Extractors and trying to seduce Morrisse?

  No, I had to banish those thoughts. Leoth was my enemy, and he had a new lady love now. Not that I had seen her since Leoth departed. Gods, I hoped she was not traveling with him.

  A few servants had emerged into the glass house and were giving me strange looks as they tended the plants within. Their stares itched at me, so I retreated from the garden, the fresh smell of pollen and pine following me down the stairs.

  When I reached the Cheltish common area, an unfamiliar servant girl approached, biting her lip.

  “Your Majesty?”

  “What is it?”

  Her eyes darted around the room.

  “Here, come in.” I pushed open the door to my royal suite and led the girl in. She looked even more uncomfortable when she joined me, shifting from foot to foot, but at last she spoke in a rush.

  “I’ve been watching that room, like Prince Calden said. He told me to report to you if anyone left.”

  I stiffened. “And?”

  “A man left last night. I followed him, and he met with Misha—she’s a nursemaid here. They headed up to that old tower you used to sleep in.”

  “What happened then? Did you see him when he left?”

  She shook her h
ead. “One of your guards saw me hanging ’round and sent me off.”

  “What did he look like?”

  “Um…he had brown hair, I think. Not too old. He was wearing a brown tunic, not a uniform or anything.”

  Bloody Varse. That had to be Wistin. I took a steadying breath, not wanting to betray my fear to a stranger. “Thank you very much for telling me this. I need you to keep this quiet and say nothing to your fellow workers or your family. Or to Prince Calden. Do you understand?”

  She nodded quickly.

  “You may get back to work now. Please stay out of sight for a while.”

  Once she darted away, I passed a hand over my eyes, feeling wrung out. Something was very wrong here. If Wistin had left the room, it meant one of his guards was working behind my back. Had Wistin persuaded the guard to change alliances, or had they been in it together from the start? And what of the woman Wistin had met? Was she an enemy or a victim?

  I had to visit my old tower. Maybe I would find some clue as to what they were doing.

  Pulse racing, I crossed to the doors and peeked out into the common area. No one was around, so I slipped out and closed the door behind me.

  I hurried to the stairway spiraling up to my old tower, forcing myself not to glance over my shoulder. If someone caught me acting suspicious, it would raise far more questions than a simple visit to a different part of the Cheltish wing. On the way up, a stair creaked loudly, and I paused, heart thudding against my ribs.

  No sound came from below.

  I started up more cautiously than before, testing each step with my toe before putting my full weight onto it. Three steps up, the boards groaned softly once more, but I continued on. I could hear nothing from above, so I did not think Wistin was still hiding away in the tower.

  At last I reached the landing just outside my former bedchamber. I paused, hand on the knob, steeling myself for whatever I would find within. Then I pushed open the door.

  Sunlight illuminated the room, and as the full chamber came into view, I went rigid.

  A woman’s body lay crumpled on the floor, eyes open and glassy, wine staining her skirt.

  16

  Trust

  M isha.

  I did not know the woman, but the sight of her motionless body, her glazed eyes, froze me in place. I could not draw breath. It was as though I had returned to that awful day a few spans back, when my lady-in-waiting had been killed by an assassin. I almost thought I could still see her blood staining the boards.

  Except this time, I had invited the assassin into the palace.

  A distant door slammed, and I jumped nearly out of my skin. Heart thudding, I pushed the tower door closed behind me and fumbled with the lock. I rattled the knob several times before convincing myself it was secure.

  What the bloody Varse was I supposed to do now?

  Someone was going to realize Misha had disappeared before long. The girl who had been watching Wistin’s room might already be asking questions. And she knew where Misha had gone. If someone climbed my old tower to investigate and found me here, the body sprawled before me…

  At this thought, I was convinced I could hear footsteps creaking on the stairs. I froze, listening carefully, every sense straining, but no other sound rose from the stairwell.

  Even without every scrap of evidence pointing in my direction, people would blame me. And this time, they would be right. It was my fault for allowing Wistin into the palace, for trusting an Extractor simply because I knew he would find no safety anywhere else he turned.

  Plagues—if I had told Mother about him, she would never trust me again. She had known from the start that harboring Extractors was a dangerous gamble. My own prejudices had blinded me. But how could I choose differently? I had faced nothing but hatred and opposition every way I turned, and I could not resist the chance to lessen that burden for another like me.

  But I couldn’t afford to make that mistake again.

  This innocent woman, round-cheeked and dark-eyed, had died because of my negligence.

  Just looking at her made my skin crawl. The room itself felt contaminated by her death, the air thick and heavy. I wanted to escape, to set off running and never turn back, until my heels were bleeding and this tower was nothing but a half-remembered nightmare.

  If only I could just retreat and lock the door behind me, leaving her body for someone else to deal with. But I knew exactly what would happen if I did nothing. Someone would stumble across yet another murder victim with no obvious cause of death, and blame would fall on me once again. This time, they wouldn’t even have to try hard to make the connection. Misha’s body lay in the Cheltish wing, in a room I had once occupied, and it did not take a stretch of the imagination to point to me. Perhaps the servant girl would come forward and confess what she had seen, and the fact I had harbored two forbidden magicians would slip out.

  I felt dizzy, trapped and unable to see a way forward. Trying to breathe deeply through my panic, I crossed to the nearest window, giving the poor nursemaid’s body a wide berth. Fingers shaking, I undid the hasp and pushed open the glass, letting the cool breeze sweep through the tower. With the fresh air, my lungs eased somewhat and the dizziness receded.

  I was the queen of Itrea, not a foolish maiden. I had caused this woman’s death, and now I needed to deal with it.

  But what could I do?

  I needed to get rid of the body somehow. A mere disappearance would attract far less ire than another murder. Leaning over the window seat, I gazed down at the flagstones far below my tower. I could haul the body up here and shove it through the window—but any idiot would be able to look up and figure out where she had fallen from. Could I drop her from a different window?

  No, that would never work. Any Cheltish wing window would point back to me, and there was no way I could drag a woman larger than me through the historic wing without anyone seeing me.

  Could I enlist someone else to help dispose of the body? It would be a great relief to allow someone else to take charge, but I could think of no one I was willing to tell. Mother would keep my secret, of course, but her opinion of me might never recover. I felt she clung to an unrealistic version of me—a version that could genuinely win allies, rather than bribing them to vote for me—and little by little, my actions and choices were eroding that image.

  Cal was the only other person I trusted wholeheartedly, but I did not want to put this burden on him. He was already facing enough strife from his position as my advisor. And besides that, he was too honest. I could read his emotions plainly on his face; if he knew about this, others would see his guilt, and he would face the questions that should have come at me.

  I would have loved help from my ladies-in-waiting, but with Deance spending time with my enemies, I could not be completely certain she was on my side. I did trust her, but sharing this secret with her would be too dangerous.

  I gripped the cold stone of the casement, willing myself not to turn. I could feel the presence of death hanging over the room, cold and stale and fetid, even with fresh air swirling through.

  How else could I get rid of the body? This time I risked a glance over my shoulder, and immediately felt nauseous as I caught sight of the woman’s glassy eyes. At the foot of my old bed sat a huge chest that had once held clothing and valuables—it was easily large enough to hold a body. Could I shove her in there?

  And then what? If I left the chest here, the body would start to decay, and the stench would begin to seep down the stairs until the whole Cheltish wing reeked of rotting flesh. I nearly gagged at the thought—I had come across my share of dead animals in my time in Ambervale, and the stench permeated the air even outside.

  Could I get someone to carry the chest…somewhere else? Maybe I could ask my guards to relocate it to the tunnels underneath the castle. But that would be suspicious in itself. I had no reason to suddenly take an interest in rearranging my former bedchamber; if people connected Misha’s disappearance with that tower, they would r
ealize what I had done. No, I had to make sure the tower itself was in no way linked to the woman’s disappearance.

  The room had a sizeable fireplace—could I burn the body? No, that would be foolish. I had no idea what would ensue. The smell of charred flesh could be worse than decay. And more than that, I might end up with dark smoke pouring through the tower windows, which would raise suspicion all around Baylore.

  I sucked in a breath, feeling dizzy once more. I could see no way out of this. There was a dead body in my old bedchamber, I was responsible for the murder, and everyone would know it before long.

  This would spell the end of my rule.

  Too anxious to stand still any longer, I began to pace, gaze fixed on the tapestries so I didn’t see the body. It was no good—the woman’s staring eyes kept tugging at the corner of my vision. At last I held my breath and knelt beside her, closing her eyes with my thumbs. The feel of her cold skin sent goosebumps down my arms, and for some reason, that simple gesture tied the woman’s death even more firmly to me. It might as well have been my own power draining her dry.

  I was no closer to an answer than I had been when I first saw proof of what I had suspected for some time. Wistin was a murderer, and I had to find some way to dispose of this innocent woman’s body before her death was tied to me. Then I had to deal with Wistin.

  I could trust no one. I could turn to no one for help.

  Maybe I should just hand over my throne now and escape the city while I still could. But who would take it next? Olleack, with his oily smile and open scheming? Dennoric, who surrounded himself with Truthbringers and saw me as an aberration? No. I couldn’t. I would be sending the magic races to their death.