“All right,” I said. “I’ll—when things are safer.”
“I know it seems odd,” Madeleine said, leaning closer. “Bringing this up now, when you have so much to deal with. But—it’s very important to me, Your Majesty. And I hope—I hope things like this will also be important to you.”
She curtsied again and stepped aside for me and my guards to pass. I nodded at her, no idea what else to do. She seemed so earnest, but why would she bring that up now, in the corridor, whispered in my ear? The strangeness of it made me shiver. But I had to hurry on. I was already stupidly late.
When I reached Holt’s door, I knocked without pausing to catch my breath.
“Come in.”
“I’m sorry I’m late,” I said, as I swung through the door.
“That’s quite all right, Your Majesty,” Holt said. “A queen is not capable of being late.” He smiled as he rose from his chair. He’d settled into his new office quickly, with papers already covering his desk, and rows of books lining the walls. His smile caught slightly as he took in my appearance. “Your Majesty, is something wrong?”
“No,” I said. I batted at my dress, as though that would make the grime vanish, but it only sent a cloud into Holt’s otherwise spotless room. “I was just—I was cleaning.”
“We have servants for that, Your Majesty.” He sounded rather bemused.
“I didn’t want to risk them,” I said. He wouldn’t consider my laboratory very queenly, but he also couldn’t forbid me from using it, not with my title behind me. Advise against it, perhaps, but not forbid. And my secret was hardly a secret, with servants fetching supplies and me running around covered in hundred-year-old dust. “I was cleaning out a space in the basement”—the word dungeon felt too ominous—“to use as a laboratory. For—for my studies.”
I cringed slightly, expecting Holt’s frown of disapproval, but he simply nodded. “Ah, yes. Your father told me you’re quite the scholar. It should come in useful in the days ahead. And you intend to continue your studies here, in the Fort?”
“There’s no rule against it.”
“No, no,” Holt said. “Of course not. An intellectual queen. It is certainly a change, but it will be a welcome one, I think. And you plan to work on the test for poison that you mentioned in our meeting?”
“It’s the right thing to do.”
“Oh, I agree with you, Your Majesty. If it can be done, it should be done.” He smiled, and the look was almost grandfatherly. “Although, there will be other factors to consider. Shall we sit?” I nodded. “Being a taster pays well, Your Majesty. A test would deny people work. They might not thank you for it.”
“They might not thank me for their lives?”
“I am not saying it is a bad idea, Your Majesty. It would be a valuable tool. But we do not force anyone to become a taster. They assess the risks themselves, and they consider them worthwhile.”
“But they must be desperate if they continue now, after two different attacks.” There were choices, and then there were choices. People could say “everything is a choice” with as much haughtiness and superiority as they liked, but that didn’t mean desperate people wouldn’t take a third option if they could. “No one would choose that if they really had another option. We should develop a test, and we should find other jobs for people, so they do not need to risk their lives for me.”
“Indeed, Your Majesty. It is a good thought. I just wished to remind you that a good queen should consider all the options, and all the potential consequences. Situations are rarely as simple as they first appear. Consider things complexly, Your Majesty. It always helps.”
“Then why didn’t you support me in the meeting?” I said, the words bursting out of me without thought. “When the others were speaking against me?”
“As much as I dislike it, they were right, that we do not have the resources to spend at the moment, when so much else is at risk. We have to put your safety first. But if a test were to appear, well . . . it would be a good thing, don’t you agree?”
After that, he talked through the etiquette of the court, rules I should have known, rules I’d never imagined before. Which fork to use for every possible dish at a banquet. How to greet different people of rank. The different tiers of nods and curtsies, depending on what one wished to be conveyed. He didn’t actually demonstrate the curtsies, but he described them in minute detail, and commented as I practiced, correcting the slightest shift in my posture. When I wasn’t bobbing around the room, I took frantic notes, desperate to cram every scrap of detail into my brain.
It had all seemed completely pointless to me before, and a part of me still wanted to laugh at all this meaningless ritual now. But the nobles expected it, and I had to appease them. I had to cling to the things that they knew.
And I had very little time to learn. The funerals would take place in a few days, which meant two incredibly awkward banquets. One the night before, to welcome everyone who had traveled to the city, and one afterward, to commemorate the dead.
And that speech, of course. I didn’t want to think about that.
Holt, however, clearly considered it a priority. He handed me a copy of their current draft for my comments. It all seemed fine to me, as diplomatic and bland as I could imagine, and I ran through it once or twice with Holt, tripping over the words. Just reading it in front of Holt was enough to make my heart race. I couldn’t possibly recite it in front of the entire new court.
But Holt was surprisingly patient. “I remember my first speeches,” he said, with a smile. “I was terrible, Your Majesty. I wrote and memorized them myself, but I still stumbled over the words. You’ll do well, Your Majesty. We just need to practice. Develop your confidence.”
I couldn’t imagine ever being more confident.
“Do not worry, Your Majesty,” Holt said. “Etiquette matters, yes, but you do not need to attempt to emulate our departed queen. And you must not emulate our king, the Forgotten protect his soul. So much has changed. Perhaps it is best to embrace that.”
I paused. “What do you mean?”
“King Jorgen . . . I do not wish to speak ill of him, of course. And he guided us in his own way. But so much has changed now. Perhaps it is time for something new. Less waste, Your Majesty. Less show. More heart.”
But without all the rules and rituals, what did I have left? Just me, hiding beneath twenty layers of skirts. Perhaps Madeleine could act naturally and show her heart, but only because her heart was what everyone wanted to see. Not me.
“My father thinks I should try and—” What had it been? “Try to make things smoother. Make it so people don’t feel the difference between my reign and the previous one.”
“But of course they’ll feel the difference. As painful as it is for all of us to admit, almost everything about the old court is gone. And this . . . this is an opportunity, Your Majesty. A great one. The Forgotten have given us a chance. We must not waste it.”
“The Forgotten?” I swallowed. “You think they wanted everyone to die?”
“Not that, Your Majesty. But perhaps it was more than coincidence that you were not in the palace when the poison was served. I can see their hands in that, guiding the situation as they desired, helping us to help ourselves.”
As though the Forgotten would have guided the kingdom toward me. But Holt seemed sincere. “Do you really think they can still influence things?”
“They are divine, Your Majesty. They are not constrained by the laws of this world, as we are. Yes, they are gone physically, but their influence remains.”
“I thought they chose to leave. Why would they keep influencing things here if they wanted to be gone?”
“They left because we failed them. We did not deserve their presence. But they want us to be worthy. We have been climbing toward worthiness for hundreds of years, away from ambition, away from war, from all the brutal darkness of our past. But we were still extravagant, selfish, and wasteful, and they cannot abide that. So perhaps . .
. perhaps, Your Majesty, they chose you as a different type of queen. One they could support. One who could make Epria into a land they could return to again.”
If the Forgotten were really all-seeing divine beings, they would have chosen someone better than me. Even Holt had to see that. Did he really believe all he was saying, or was it a comforting lie he was telling himself, to reason away so many deaths? To make my cluelessness seem like a gift and not the result of a senseless tragedy?
If he believed it . . . it probably meant I could trust him. And if he didn’t . . .
“I hope you’re right,” I said. “I hope this all goes somewhere good.”
“It will, Your Majesty. As long as you remember that the Forgotten chose you. You, not King Jorgen, not his brother, not even the delightful Madeleine Wolff. They value your strengths. And so should you.”
My strengths had nothing to do with being queen. But I nodded. He had faith in me, at least. That was more than most people had. It was more than I could honestly say for myself.
“Then . . .” I let out a breath, steeling myself. “I need you to help me. Please. I need a list of everyone at the banquet, everyone who died, everyone who survived. I should know all I can about the remaining court. Shouldn’t I?”
He nodded. “Of course, Your Majesty. Your concern does you credit. I will see that it is done.”
“And then could you get me a copy of Gustav’s book? My strength is with research, and if I can understand—”
He held up a hand. “That, Your Majesty, I cannot do. I certainly do not have a copy, and I do not believe it would help. These people now calling themselves Gustavites . . . their beliefs are a corruption of a corruption, far detached from the man’s original views. They use the memory of his words to serve their own ends, and hope people will not see the flaws in their logic. Here, let me see . . .” He pulled one of his desk drawers open and shuffled through the contents. “Yes.” He pulled out a weather-battered pamphlet and handed it to me. I took one glance at it, and my fingers tightened around the paper, bile rising to the back of my throat. It was cheaply printed, the lines thick and blurry, but the imagery was unmistakable. The king lay on the ground, gold piled around him, a spilled goblet rolling from his hand. The queen lay next to him, with a line across her throat that must have been blood. And I stood on top of them, pressing them into the ground, dripping with jewels, sipping from a goblet of my own.
“Kill the Corruption,” it said at the top. Below the picture, more words had been hastily printed, calling the court and my rule an affront to the Forgotten, rallying against the wickedness it claimed we spread through the kingdom.
“Where did you get this?”
“They’ve been scattered around the city. We don’t know who actually distributed them. But you see, Freya. Their views aren’t based on reason. They aren’t based on anything.”
“These are all over the city?”
“Some parts of it, yes. We have destroyed any we’ve found. And we are increasing security, of course, adding more patrols and searching the printing presses. We will stop them.”
But sending guards after these people wouldn’t stop what they believed. They hated me. Hated all of us. Even if we found their presses, found them, their ideas would hold. I tightened my grip on the paper, bending it.
“Don’t worry, Your Majesty,” Holt said. “We will find them.”
We spent another hour going over etiquette and rules, but Holt’s enthusiasm waned as he discussed every showy ritual, like he did not really believe in it. Eventually, he called the session complete, and I stood.
“Thank you,” I said. “For all your help.” He nodded, and I began to walk toward the door.
“Your Majesty, if I may offer you another piece of advice?” He sounded tentative. I paused, turned back. “Be wary of William Fitzroy.”
“Fitzroy? I’ve barely ever spoken to him.” The last words we’d exchanged had been outside the banquet hall on the day of my coronation. He was hardly eager to befriend me.
“Perhaps not,” Holt said. “But it would be wise to keep it that way. Fitzroy has always been popular, and he is a dangerous element here.”
“You think he’s dangerous?”
“He is the old king’s son. Closer to him in blood than you, regardless of the law. If he decides that he wishes to take the throne, he could be quite a powerful enemy.”
I remembered Fitzroy’s words that night at the funeral and shivered. You don’t belong here. But he had seemed to be grieving, even in his aggression. They hadn’t been the words of a murderer.
“Thank you,” I said softly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
ELEVEN
THE SOUND OF NAOMI’S SINGING ECHOED THROUGH my chambers. Her voice was softer than usual, sadder, but determined. Some people sang when they were happy, but Naomi sang when she didn’t want to think, letting the lyrics block any words of her own. I peeked through her bedroom doorway to find her hanging dresses in the wardrobe, hair tucked behind her ears. There were three open trunks in the middle of the room—her other possessions must finally have arrived from her house in the city.
“Hi, Naomi,” I said, as I slipped through the door.
She smiled. “Hello, Your Majesty.”
“That had better be a joke,” I said, as I walked to the nearest trunk. “Because if you start calling me that seriously, I’m going to have to reconsider our friendship.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Your Majesty. I didn’t know I wasn’t allowed to address you properly.”
“I’m not above killing you, if necessary. I get enough of that from everyone else.”
Naomi paused, smile frozen on her face, and I suddenly realized what I’d said. “I mean—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s all right,” she said, but her voice was fainter than before. “I know what you meant.”
I opened my mouth to reply, but I had no idea what to say. I was saved by a rather demanding meow from the doorway. Dagny strutted in, her tail held high. She spared a second to rub against my legs, before hopping into Naomi’s open trunk of dresses.
“Dagny!” I hurried to sweep her up. “She’s so rude.”
“As long as she’s comfy in there,” Naomi said.
“She’ll get hair everywhere.” Having a fluffy cat was only fun until you realized that the fluff didn’t actually stay on the cat. Absolutely everything ended up covered in gray hair when Dagny passed by.
“Well, maybe we can start a new court fashion,” Naomi said. “A better way to wear fur.” She reached to take Dagny from me and held her against her shoulder like a baby.
“What’s that you’ve got there?” she said, nodding toward the speech I still clutched in my hand while she swayed Dagny back and forth.
“A speech.” I smoothed it out and held it up, as though I hadn’t already read through it about forty-seven times. “Holt gave it to me. For when all the nobles get here.”
“So is that where you were today? People were talking. Not to me, but I heard them, while I was eating—they were wondering why you were hiding.”
“I wasn’t hiding,” I said, more forcefully than I intended. “I was studying with Holt for some of the day. And I was setting up my new laboratory in the dungeons.”
“New laboratory?” Naomi’s whole face brightened. “To work on the poison detector?”
I nodded.
“You should have fetched me! I would have helped.”
“I’m sorry. I just got so overexcited with the idea—”
Naomi laughed. “Yes, I know what you’re like.” Dagny wriggled, so Naomi set her back in the trunk. Dagny leaped away, kicking the dresses for emphasis. Naomi sank onto the ground by the trunk, her skirts poofing up around her. “I heard from my parents today.” Her tone made clear that it wasn’t good news. A letter from Naomi’s parents was rarely ever good news.
I sat down beside her. “Oh? What did they say?”
She reached into another chest and be
gan to pick out books, lining them up on the floor beside her. “They aren’t coming.”
“What?”
“They won’t come to the capital. Not even for the funerals. My father would struggle, and my mother—well, you know what she’s like. I think she blames the court for my brother’s death. She doesn’t want to see it.” She let out a long breath, eyes closed, then shook her head. “They’ve asked for Jacob’s body to be sent to them in the country. I’m supposed to travel back, too.”
“Will you go?”
She shook her head again. “I should. But—I don’t know. I want to stay here. I haven’t been back there in years. It’d be too strange now. And Jacob—you know he hated it there. He never got along with them. It’ll be so strange . . .” She sucked in a breath through her teeth. “And I want to remember him properly, as he was, not as he’ll be during—not as he is now.” She straightened the books with shaking hands. “I need to be here. So that’s what I’ll do. Maybe I’ll find something to include in the funerals for him. He would have liked that. More than—than going home.”
“He was lucky to have you, you know. As his sister.”
“I was lucky to have him.” She stroked Dagny, her hand running along her tail. “Will a lot of people be coming for the funerals?”
“Almost everyone, I think.” If I knew little about the members of the old court, I knew nothing about the nobles outside the city, the ones who survived by being hundreds of miles away. Some were older family members who preferred to let the younger generation charm the king, some had been disliked by the king, and some . . . some held the court in disdain, or lived far enough away that they ruled their land almost as kings of their own, as long as the real ruler did not think to check on them.
All but the most stubborn or unwell would be traveling to attend the old king’s funeral and see their new queen.
I shifted forward to consider the books. “How do you want to organize these? Alphabetically?”
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