But if it had been suspicious, and I revealed what I knew too soon . . . it was too risky.
I had begun to walk toward the door when Holt spoke.
“Your Majesty? I hoped I could speak to you. In private.”
I glanced at Norling’s now-empty seat, and my heart started pounding. What could he want to say to me, that he couldn’t say in front of her? “All right,” I said carefully. “What is it?”
“You know that I am here to support you, Your Majesty. My goal—my only goal—is to help you survive.”
“I know.” And I did. Despite all my suspicion, I’d never doubted that he genuinely supported me. His belief was fervent, unsettling in its force. I was frightened by what he might have done in order to create this new court, what he might still be willing to do, but I knew he wouldn’t directly hurt me.
Which made his statement all the more unsettling.
“So you know that I am speaking to your best interests when I say that William Fitzroy is a danger to you, in more ways that you realize.”
“I know,” I said again. “You’ve told me.”
“But obviously I have not made the details clear enough, because you have ignored my advice. I told you that people are talking about you, saying you plotted to take the throne together. There are some filthy lies in there, Your Majesty, things that I do not wish to repeat, but Sten is more than happy to endorse them, and they are doing real damage to you. They are eroding our message of the Forgotten’s chosen queen.”
“I appreciate your concern,” I said, “but if people are already talking, I can’t change that now. It’ll only look more suspicious if I push him away, like they stumbled onto the truth.”
“That is not all, Your Majesty. I know you wish to see the good in people, and I respect you for that, but I have been conducting my own research into the murders, and into Fitzroy’s behavior. Something has not been right.”
“Why can’t Norling hear about this?”
“She disagrees with me, Your Majesty. As she does about many things. She did not consider the avenues worth pursuing. But I believe she is wrong.”
“And you’ve—found evidence?”
He’d been assembling a case against Fitzroy. Not openly, not with Norling, but in secret, alone. Because Fitzroy was a problem, and he needed to be dealt with. Because he damaged Holt’s idea of the perfect chosen queen. An official investigation would find nothing on him, but if Holt was determined enough, and manipulated the evidence enough . . .
“I found a mention, in the diary of King Jorgen’s chief adviser. He commented that the king planned to disinherit Fitzroy.”
“Fitzroy was never inherited to begin with.”
“But he always had that hope. We all knew that, Your Majesty. It seems very possible to me that Fitzroy was tired of being out of favor, and decided to act to change that.”
“By murdering everybody?”
“He murdered many people, Your Majesty. Everyone who might have known anything about his so-called legitimacy. He wished to unsettle things, so that he could step into the throne instead.”
Holt looked terrifyingly sincere. That would be odd if he were the murderer himself. But I didn’t trust the sanity of anyone willing to kill so many people. If Holt could convince himself that he was an agent of the Forgotten, murdering for the greater good, surely he could convince himself that Fitzroy deserved to be punished, as well. Surely he could perform this one final task.
“Fitzroy didn’t make any move for the throne,” I said carefully. “He didn’t want it.”
“When he realized that someone in the city had survived, I believe he changed his strategy. He decided to win you over. Whether for a later betrayal or to gain the crown through marriage, I do not know.”
“Stop.” The word burst out of me. “That’s enough. I trust Fitzroy. Which is more than I can say for you right now.”
I almost asked him about his presence in the palace. The words were on the tip of my tongue, ready to be thrown at him, but then I saw his expression, and I paused. He looked resolved. As though the last piece of a terrible truth had fallen into place, and now he only had to react to it.
“I am sorry that you feel that way, Your Majesty,” he said. “But the problem must be dealt with, regardless of your feelings. If you will excuse me.”
He bowed, rather stiffly, and strode out of the room.
The problem must be dealt with. The words rang in my ears. Dealt with, like Holt may have dealt with the rest of the court. Like a weed, needing to be ripped away in order for his precious new queen to flourish.
I found Fitzroy in the lab, going through more of his father’s papers. He glanced up as the door creaked open.
“Fitzroy.” I closed the door behind me, sealing the rest of the castle away. “You have to go.”
“Go?” He frowned. “Freya, what’s wrong?”
“Holt—he thinks you’re a threat.”
He shook his head, turning back to the notes. “People always think I’m a threat. I’ve survived so far.”
I had to make him understand. I hurried forward, grabbing his shoulder. “He says you have to be dealt with. He’s going to kill you, Fitzroy.”
He didn’t even look up. “He’s not going to kill me.”
How could he be so calm? “You have to leave. Find somewhere safe to go.” I turned away decisively, as though he would move just because I willed it so. “Once this is all over, you’ll be able to come back, whatever happens.”
“Leave?” That got his attention. “I’m not going to leave.”
“Yes, you are. It’s common sense, Fitzroy! He’s planning to kill you. You shouldn’t stay here.” I grabbed his arm, ready to haul him off the stool, but he didn’t budge.
“Holt is not going to hurt me, Freya.” His voice was low and calm, as though I was the one who didn’t understand things here. “He’s a bit strange, but he’s not a murderer.”
“You don’t know that. Somebody here is. And he wants to get rid of you, either way.”
“So I won’t give him the pleasure.”
“I’m your queen.” I stuck up my chin. “You’re supposed to do as I say.”
“But I won’t.”
I could have shoved him. I almost did, to jolt some sense back into his idiot brain. “I could order you,” I said. “I could kick you out of the Fort. My advisers would be more than happy if I did.”
“You could. But you won’t.” He turned back to the notes again. I tugged on his arm, pulling him back around.
“Fitzroy—this isn’t an empty threat. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Good,” Fitzroy said. “Then let’s concentrate on figuring this out who the murderer is.” When I didn’t move, he sighed. “You need me here, Freya. You can’t expect me to leave, just because Holt is acting oddly.”
“Fitzroy,” I said again, softer this time. “Don’t—I don’t want you to get hurt because of me. All right?”
“And you think I want you to be hurt because of me?”
“I might be,” I said quickly. Anything to convince him. “I might be, if you stay.”
“Because I’m going to betray you and take the crown for myself?”
Why couldn’t he take this seriously? “Because people are suspicious of our friendship. People are gossiping—”
“People always gossip. They’ll be happy to have something to talk about other than impending death, and even happier to move on to a better subject when one appears.”
“But you’ve heard them. They’re saying we schemed together to kill your father. They think we’re murderers, plotting to get us both on the throne.”
“I know,” he said, his voice slightly quieter. “But most of them won’t believe it. Not if you give them a better story.” I opened my mouth to argue again, desperation surging through me, but he shook his head. “Freya. I won’t leave now. No matter what you say.”
“But that makes no sense! You have to protect yourself. Why
would you stay if it could kill you?”
He looked at me, steady, unblinking.
“Okay, I know I’ve stayed. But I have to stay. I’m the queen, Fitzroy!”
He frowned. “And I’m what? No one?”
“No. But you’re someone who can leave. You can go, and come back later, and survive this whole mess. Why wouldn’t you do that?”
“Freya.”
The words were rushing out of me now, getting faster and faster. “We don’t need you. We can stop Sten without you. And we’ll be able to solve this more quickly if we don’t have to worry about your death. It’s better if you leave. You have to go.”
“You really haven’t been paying attention, have you? You really think I’m going to leave?”
“Why wouldn’t you?”
“You know why, Freya.”
My heart was still pounding, and now the air in the lab felt too thin. I’d never been good at reading people, at understanding them, and I didn’t want—I couldn’t let my imagination get carried away. “What do you mean?”
He kissed me.
It couldn’t have lasted more than a second. Just his lips pressed against mine, soft and warm. My stomach flipped, but before I could react, before I could think, he was moving back, hands resting on my shoulders.
“What are you doing?” I whispered.
He laughed softly. “You know what I’m doing.”
“But—”
He glanced at my lips again. I couldn’t breathe.
But then he turned away, stepping back to the table. “We have to find out where my father learned about that pigment.”
My skin prickled. I still—I needed him to leave, to be safe, but . . .
I couldn’t force him to leave. I didn’t want him to go, even though I did, even though it was the only sensible thing to do. “All right,” I said eventually. “Let’s—let’s keep looking.”
But it was hard to fight the urge to grab him and kiss him again.
TWENTY-SIX
I SET OUT FOR THE MINSTER THAT AFTERNOON. IT WAS supposed to be a show of piety, a desperate attempt to help my cause. But as I walked through the city, I could not stop thinking about Fitzroy.
He had kissed me. William Fitzroy had kissed me.
And I wanted to kiss him again.
What was wrong with me? My life was in danger, and I’d been told, again and again, that Fitzroy made the situation worse. Fitzroy’s life was in danger just by being here. I shouldn’t even have been speaking to him, and even if I did speak to him, even if I did have feelings for him . . . now wasn’t the time. I had a throne to keep, a city to protect.
I did not have time to think about this.
So I very decidedly did not think about Fitzroy. I didn’t think about him when I walked down Main Street, my feet splashing in the puddles. I didn’t think of him when a gentleman bowed and asked how my day had been. I didn’t remember the warmth of his lips, or the way his eyes lit up when he was amused, or the thrill of him being so close. I definitely did not think about what would happen when I saw him again.
But I couldn’t help wondering why he had done it. I knew why he’d implied he’d done it, but that didn’t mean much. Words could be misconstrued. It could have been the adrenaline of our life-or-death situation. He could have just been trying to distract me, so I wouldn’t force him to leave. Had he been using my feelings against me?
Not that I had feelings for him. But the feelings he assumed I had—I definitely did not have, because now was definitely not the time for any sort of ill-directed attachments.
And he’d kissed me, but he hadn’t kissed me kissed me. Surely, people normally kissed you kissed you, when you seemed happy to be kissed? Surely he shouldn’t just sort-of kiss me and then go straight back to research, not when he had never kissed me before.
It was supposed to be more. Did it count if it wasn’t more?
Then again, it was probably a good thing it hadn’t been more. I could barely think as it was.
The Minster loomed ahead of me, its tower swept up in the fog. The bells tolled as I approached, marking the hour. People crowded its courtyard, calling out my name as I passed. I smiled at them, nodded my head, but walked through the front doors without further incident.
The inside of the Minster was almost empty. The priest stood by the altar, and he bowed at me as I entered, but he did not speak.
I walked down the aisle, my heart pounding. So much had changed since the last time I had walked here. Since those people had watched me, waiting, their expectation and grief filling the air.
I stopped before the altar and stared up at its carved faces. I couldn’t have identified even half of them. I knew the most common names of the Forgotten, like anybody, but that didn’t mean I could match them to whatever idealized images people created. But, as I considered them all, I decided that the tall woman had to be Valanthe. She had a kind face and determination in her eyes. Like someone who would never be cruel, but would never give up.
She’d saved me, in a way, when Sten had attacked. Not directly, not with any divine intervention, but the idea of her . . . her necklace had made him hesitate. And now the idea of the Forgotten was helping me again, making people support me, making them fall to their knees and ask for my blessing.
I didn’t believe in them. Perhaps beings had lived in Epria a long time ago and been smarter and wiser than people were now, but they weren’t immortal, they weren’t watching out for us, they weren’t influencing us and preparing to return. I had to use my own wits to survive.
But I sent a silent wish to them, anyway. Just in case.
“So,” Madeleine said, as she pinned my hair in place that evening. “What happened?’
“What do you mean?”
She tapped lightly on the back of my neck. “You’ve been in a daze all afternoon. You keep smiling to yourself. I know that smile. Tell me.”
“There’s nothing to tell.” I picked at the skin around my fingernail. I’d been not thinking about Fitzroy all afternoon. I hadn’t seen him. Maybe because he was avoiding me. Maybe because he’d listened to me. Maybe because . . . I really didn’t know.
Madeleine shook her head, but she didn’t argue.
“Do you think—” I stopped.
“Occasionally. Should I be thinking about something in particular?”
“I was just wondering. Fitzroy. He—you knew him, before all this happened. Didn’t you?”
Madeleine twisted more strands into place. “I did.”
“Do you think—I never spoke to him, before. Do you think he could ever like me, really? If all these things hadn’t happened?”
She was quiet for a moment, considering. “If all these things hadn’t happened, perhaps not. You’d never spoken to each other, and I don’t know if that would have changed. But if you’re asking me if I think he could truly like you now . . . yes, I think so. He has always worked hard to make people like him, but he seems genuine to me.” She plucked more pins off the dresser, smiling. “So. Tell me. Did you kiss him, or did he kiss you?”
“What?”
“I’m guessing you kissed him, if you’re asking me whether he could like you.”
“Who’s kissing somebody?” Naomi swung into the room, half her hair pinned up, half of it still loose. “What are you saying? Freya kissed somebody? Was it Fitzroy?”
Madeleine smiled. “Freya was just going to tell us.”
My face burned. “I didn’t kiss him. Why would I? I can’t think about that right now. There’s so much going on. I . . .” I couldn’t finish that sentence.
“Ah,” Madeleine said. “So he kissed you.”
“How—?”
“I told you, Freya. You have that expression.”
“Fitzroy kissed you?” Naomi practically bounced over to us. “That’s fantastic! It’s fantastic, right? Because you like him. Did you tell him you liked him?”
I stared at the remaining pins on the dresser. “It wasn’t like that.”
“Then what was it like? I need details.”
Madeleine leaned closer, adjusting my curls. “Was it a good kiss?”
“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “Yes. I think so.”
“You only think so?”
“I’ve never had a kiss before. I have nothing to compare it to.”
Naomi sank into a chair beside us. “Did your stomach flip? Did he put his hands in your hair?”
“He didn’t put his hands anywhere.”
“Not anywhere?”
“It was quick.” I should have more to say, shouldn’t I? Did that mean it hadn’t been good? “My stomach did—flip, though.”
“I knew it,” Naomi said. “I knew you liked him.”
“Perhaps you’ll have to kiss him again, if you’re not sure,” Madeleine said. “Gather more evidence. In the name of science.”
“Madeleine!” I pushed her away, and she swayed, giggling.
“But you want to, don’t you? I can see it in your face.”
That thought was terrifying, too. Almost as terrifying as the thought of not kissing him again. “Maybe.”
“Only maybe?” Naomi said.
“No. I mean, yes. Yes, I want to kiss him again. But it’s not the right time!” My voice rose, the words rushing out of me. “There are too many other things going on for me to worry about this. And people have already said that Fitzroy and I are plotting together. I’m not going to be foolish about this.”
“I don’t think it makes you foolish to think about it,” Madeleine said. “And clearly you have been thinking about it, whether you want to or not. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“But . . .” I sighed. It didn’t make sense. “I don’t know. He kissed me. And he said he liked me, before, and he said he wanted to stay, but—I don’t know whether it means anything.”
“You don’t know if it means anything for him to kiss you and say he likes you and refuse to leave when an army is marching on us as we speak?”
“I know he’s my friend,” I said quickly. “But I don’t know—I don’t know whether it was just a kiss. If that makes sense. Some people—I’m sure some people will kiss anyone, when they feel like it, and not have it really mean anything. And some people will only kiss people if they really like them. I don’t know which Fitzroy is.”
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