Ally of the Crown

by Melissa McShane

  The road ended at a vast paved area with more paths—they were almost as wide as roads—curving off to the left and right of the palace steps. Fiona eyed the steps with trepidation. They were dark marble, shallow but wide, and they rose nearly twenty feet in the air to the great black double doors of the palace entrance. They would be a nightmare to keep clear of ice.

  Soldiers in green and brown stood sentinel at the base of the stairs and flanking the doors. They made no move to either bar the way or welcome the travelers. More men and women, these dressed in North blue and silver livery, ran toward them from the right-hand path. “Why am I here?” she murmured to Sebastian. “Surely you don’t need me to report to the Queen.”

  Sebastian dismounted and handed his reins to one of the liveried servants, hesitated, then held out his hand to help Fiona dismount. “I didn’t think about it. It didn’t make sense to leave you kicking your heels in some tavern somewhere, waiting for me to return, and I wanted—” He closed his mouth in a hard line, stifling further words. “I’m sorry. Do you want to wait in the antechamber? This shouldn’t take long.”

  Fiona eyed the monstrous edifice before her. The palace had the look of a patchwork building, half a dozen architectural styles vying for precedence, all of them opulent and overwhelming. “I’d…rather wait,” she said, quashing the feeling that she was being a coward.

  She followed Sebastian up the steps and through the doors into one of the largest rooms she’d ever seen. It was floored with white marble, its walls were painted flat white, and the iron railings of the staircase that spiraled up and out of sight were also painted white. A white arched opening wide enough for four people to walk abreast led to an equally wide hallway that led deeper into the palace.

  The overall effect was that of a wintry fairy palace, complete with a chandelier that hung suspended by a white chain over the center of the room, dripping with light Devices. The spires of the Jaixante had had the same effect, but warm instead of chilly. Maybe wealth looked the same whatever country you were in. Fiona realized she was gawking and closed her mouth.

  Sebastian indicated a couple of chairs to the right of the doors. Two ordinary-sized doors, both closed, flanked the chairs. “Holt, will you wait with Fiona? I’ll return as soon as I can.”

  The door to the left opened. An older woman in North blue and silver emerged, a stack of heavy books cradled in the crook of her arm. “Prince Sebastian,” she said. Her voice was rough, as if she coughed frequently. “The Queen wishes to see you immediately.”

  “I assumed as much, Master Thornton,” Sebastian said. “Where is she?”

  “You may join her in the gold receiving room,” Master Thornton said. She cast her eye on Fiona, who’d taken a seat in one of the white-upholstered chairs, and Holt, who’d remained standing. “All of you.”

  “I’d prefer to see Mother alone.”

  “Her Majesty’s instructions were quite clear. You and your companions are to wait upon her when you arrive.”

  Sebastian caught Holt’s eye and a wordless exchange Fiona couldn’t read passed between them. “All right,” Sebastian said. “Thank you.”

  “I gather it is we who should thank you,” Master Thornton said. She bowed, as deeply as her burden would permit, and stalked off down the wide hallway.

  “I have misgivings,” Holt said.

  “So do I, but it’s too late to do anything about it now,” Sebastian said. “I’m sorry, Fiona.”

  “It’s all right,” Fiona said, though inwardly she quailed at the news that she was about to meet her Queen, particularly in her travel-disheveled state. She had never imagined being presented to royalty. Was she supposed to curtsey, even though she wasn’t wearing a dress? Or was bowing appropriate? And not just the Queen, but Sebastian’s mother, though why that mattered, she didn’t know.

  They passed through hallways as varied as the patchwork of the palace’s exterior, lined with portraits or landscapes in oils, filled with random statuary Fiona was sure cost a fortune. It was too bad most of it wasn’t out where ordinary people could see it, because the artwork was beautiful, even if she wasn’t a connoisseur to truly appreciate it. Climbing a staircase from one floor to the next, Fiona caught sight of a small statue, no more than two feet tall, tucked away in a nook. It was of a half-naked girl caught mid-step, apparently fleeing from someone or something, and Fiona was seized with a desire to look at it more closely. But they rounded a curve, and the statue vanished from her sight.

  Sebastian strode confidently through the halls—well, that made sense, he’d grown up here and no doubt knew it as well as she knew her childhood home, though the palace was large enough she doubted anyone could really know all of it well. He came to a stop before a door that looked like all the others and blew out his breath. “Don’t be intimidated by her,” he said, and opened the door.

  The room beyond smelled strongly of a sweet incense Fiona couldn’t identify, a blend of flowers and berry scents that forced its way into her brain by way of her nostrils. Holt sneezed, the most uncontrolled sound she’d ever heard out of him. Master Thornton had called it the gold receiving room, and it took no imagination to see why: the carpet, the floor-length drapes, even the paint on the walls was a deep goldenrod color. Gilding decorated the moldings framing the high ceiling, which sported a mural covering the entire surface. Fiona didn’t dare stare at it to discover what its subject was, because her attention was caught by the woman seated in a golden chair just two steps from being a throne, her back to the tall windows that let in very little of the early afternoon sun.

  The Queen sat ramrod-straight in her almost-a-throne, her hands loosely clasping the arms of the chair. Her black hair, streaked with silver, was pulled back from her face tightly enough to stretch the skin taut over her cheekbones, which were prominent in her gaunt face. Sharp blue eyes regarded the three of them, lingering longest on Fiona. Fiona straightened her spine and returned her gaze, trying not to shrink. She knew Queen Genevieve was in her early sixties, but as thin as she was, she looked older. Her pale green gown seemed chosen for how well it coordinated with the deep gold of the room.

  Sebastian took a few extra steps to put himself well ahead of Fiona and Holt. “Mother,” he said.

  The Queen regarded him with narrowed eyes. “You have what I sent you for.” It was not a question, but then Sebastian had no doubt told her the details in the message he’d sent when they crossed the border.

  “I have it,” Sebastian said.

  “I take it you read the documents.” She held out her hand, and Sebastian put the scroll case into it. She didn’t bother opening it.

  Sebastian squared his shoulders. “You must have known I would, in order to confirm they were the ones you wanted.”

  “You have a criticism? In front of these people?” Her dismissive hand gesture indicated that Gizane wasn’t the only one who saw servants as furniture.

  “‘These people,’ as you put it, risked their lives to retrieve information you knew I would be appalled by.” Sebastian didn’t raise his voice, but there was an intensity to it that unnerved Fiona.

  “I will not justify myself to you,” Queen Genevieve said. She did speak more loudly, leaning forward in her chair for emphasis. “It’s my duty to protect this family, by any means necessary.”

  “Then it’s true Doug has that inherent magic, the one that lets him manipulate other people’s minds. Mother, that is exactly the sort of thing that people fear most about magic! If he’s hurting others, he has to be stopped.”

  “He’s no Ascendant,” Queen Genevieve said with another wave of her hand. “His magic is limited to persuading already susceptible young women to sleep with him. He can’t force people to do his bidding.”

  Fiona couldn’t see Sebastian’s face, but his back was rigid. “And the murder?”

  “Circumstantial evidence. Douglas would never kill anyone.”

  “That documentation says otherwise.”

  “It’s not your conc
ern, Sebastian. You’ve done your part. Let me do mine.” The Queen leaned forward again. “Unless you think you’re qualified for the role of King?”

  “You know damned well that’s not what I want.”

  “Language, Sebastian. What do you want? Think carefully before you answer.”

  Sebastian let out a long breath. “There’s nothing I want that you can give me,” he said, “except your word that you won’t let Doug go unpunished. You can stop him.”

  “Don’t worry about Douglas.” A smile touched the corners of the Queen’s mouth. “I have everything well in hand. And speaking of parts to play, who is this young woman?”

  “This is Fiona Cooper. She made it possible for us to retrieve the blackmail from Gizane’s office.”

  “Really? Step forward, Fiona Cooper.”

  Fiona had no choice but to do as the Queen bade. She took a few steps toward the chair, hesitated, then bowed. “Your Majesty.”

  “What do you think of all this?” This close, Fiona realized the fruity sweet smell came from the Queen. It made her feel sick. Queen Genevieve’s sharp blue eyes, surrounded by wrinkles like a topographical map of the Kepa Valley, transfixed her.

  “I…don’t have an opinion, your Majesty,” she lied. “I did the job I was paid for.”

  “I see.” The Queen sat back in her chair and tapped her fingertip against her lips. “No fear of the North family being tainted by inherent magic?”

  She could hardly admit to her own ‘taint’. “It’s not my place to criticize, your Majesty. I won’t tell anyone, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “Of course. I trust anyone Sebastian enlisted in this cause would be…discreet. You will have to allow me to recompense you.”

  “Seb—Prince Sebastian has already arranged for that, your Majesty.”

  “Nevertheless. You have our thanks.”

  “I—you’re welcome, your Majesty.” The sick feeling was growing. The Queen’s regard felt like spiders crawling through her scalp and across her cheeks, a tangible threat, but of what?

  “And where will you go after this?”

  “She’s not going anywhere, Mother,” Sebastian said. He put his arm around Fiona’s waist. “Fiona and I are married.”

  Fiona whipped around, slack-jawed, to stare at Sebastian. He had his eyes fixed on his mother. “I’m sorry, darling, I know you wanted to tell your parents first, but I see no reason to keep it a secret,” he said.

  Confusion made her head whirl, so powerful she at first wondered if this was a discussion they’d had that she’d simply forgotten. Married? No, it was impossible, and Sebastian knew that. He also knew her parents were dead, so what game was he playing? She closed her mouth on a denial and waited.

  The Queen’s eyes widened. “Sebastian, you can’t be serious,” she exclaimed. “Who is this woman? Who is her family? Why was I not informed?”

  “I’m well of age, Mother, and I don’t need to tell you everything I do.” Sebastian’s arm tightened around Fiona. “Fiona is intelligent and well-bred, an acceptable bride for a North. And you can hardly criticize my choice when you’ve already given tacit approval to Doug’s many illicit affairs.”

  “Even so—” Queen Genevieve went suddenly silent. The corners of her lips curved up in a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “On your own head be it. I hope Miss Cooper is prepared for her elevation in status.”

  “That’s our business,” Sebastian said. “Now, if there’s nothing else?”

  The smile broadened. “I’m sure I’ll think of something. Have Mrs. Moreton prepare your rooms, unless you want a larger suite now you’re a married man? Supper is at seven. Welcome to the family, Miss—that is, Lady North.”

  Fiona bowed again, dazedly, and allowed Sebastian to lead her out of the room. She was stunned enough she couldn’t see straight and depended on his strong arm to guide her in a straight line. “Sebastian, why—”

  “Not a word until we have some privacy,” Sebastian murmured.

  She wasn’t conscious of the many rooms he steered her past, down long hallways and up narrow stairs until they came to a final hallway, this one bare of decoration. At the far end was a double door guarded by two men in North livery, armed and armored. They saluted Sebastian and stepped aside for him, the guard on the left opening the door so they could pass.

  Another hall greeted them, at the end of which was a comfortable sitting area with a large fireplace made of river stones. A cheery fire flickered a welcome at them, and Fiona, in her stunned state, nearly reached out to touch the flames. The room was unoccupied, but Sebastian hurried her through it as if hoping to avoid conversation. Three other halls branched off it, and Sebastian went down one of them to a door about midway down and opened it. “My rooms,” he said.

  The room beyond was a sitting room, much smaller than the one they’d passed, that would have been cheerier had a fire been lit in the small fireplace. Sebastian released Fiona and headed for the long sofa, sinking onto it with a sigh and burying his face in his hands. “I’m sorry,” he said without looking up. “I’m afraid I panicked.”

  “You made the right decision,” Holt said. He walked to the fireplace and knelt beside it, busying himself with building a fire.

  “Are you out of your mind?” Fiona shouted. “What possessed you to—”

  “These walls aren’t that thick,” Sebastian said, overriding her. “Yell at me all you like, but do it quietly.”

  “How can I do that?” But she subsided and took a seat in an overstuffed chair near Sebastian. “Explain yourself.”

  Sebastian lowered his hands. His eyes looked haunted. “I didn’t like the way Mother was talking about having everything in hand. She’s ruthless and utterly committed to maintaining her power, whether as Queen or as head of the North family. It occurred to me that just having the documents might not be enough, as far as she was concerned—that she might have taken steps to silence the witnesses permanently. And she might see you as another witness to silence.”

  Fiona gaped. “But I’m not going to tell anyone!”

  “She doesn’t know that. She’s the kind of woman who sees everything in terms of conflict and political maneuvering. It wouldn’t occur to her that anyone might possess that kind of information and not use it against her.”

  “I believe Master Sebastian is correct,” Holt said. He’d succeeded in getting a fire going and was dusting off his hands. “The only way to keep you safe was to convince her Majesty you had a vested interest in keeping the secret, and the only way to do that was to make you a North by marriage.”

  Fiona couldn’t speak for a moment. “I can’t spend the rest of my life pretending to be married to you!”

  Sebastian’s lips twisted in a mirthless smile. “It will only be for a short time. We’ll get your money and see you on the ship to Dineh-Karit, which should take you well out of my mother’s reach. I apologize for dragging you into this.”

  Fiona let out a deep breath. “I chose this path. And I’m not sorry.”

  Sebastian’s smile became briefly real. “We’ll spend the night here, then leave for Umberan in the morning. I’ll tell Mother it’s a wedding trip. By the time she learns we were never married, you’ll be safely aboard ship.”

  “You don’t have to put yourself out for me. I can travel alone.”

  “Not if you want the deception to survive,” Holt said. “It would be unlikely for Master Sebastian to allow his new bride to travel south alone.”

  “But—”

  “It’s the least I can do,” Sebastian said.

  Fiona gave in. “All right. Why not leave now?”

  “That would look suspicious too,” Sebastian said. “I’m sorry you’ll have to endure a family dinner. But I’d like to introduce you to my Great-Uncle Sebastian. He’s the last surviving son of Willow North and has some remarkable stories.”

  “I’d like that,” Fiona said, finding to her surprise it was true.

  21

  The
gown Mrs. Moreton, the housekeeper—it seemed such an unlikely title for someone with responsibility for a palace—had found for Fiona felt both awkward and comfortable at the same time. It fit her perfectly, the full skirt with its many petticoats swishing pleasantly around her ankles, the bodice fitted but not tight, the deep green color contrasting beautifully with her red hair that fell loose over her shoulders. She’d never worn anything like it before, and maybe that was the problem: she knew, if no one else did, that she was an imposter. She felt as if the Queen might at any moment denounce her to the rest of the family, strip the gown off her and thrust her out into the winter night.

  She’d used Sebastian’s dressing room to change, thanking heaven that high fashion for women was, unlike the styles of thirty years previous, easy for one to don unassisted. She didn’t think she could keep a straight face if she had to have a lady’s maid dress her.

  When she emerged, Sebastian was there in the bedroom, straightening his formal tunic and knee breeches. His eyes widened. “You look beautiful,” he said.

  “Thank you. So do you.” He looked unbearably handsome, making her wish she really were the lady her gown proclaimed her to be.

  “You don’t have anything to worry about,” he went on. “Just watch me to see which fork to use. It’s not hard.”

  She wasn’t worried about which fork to use. Well, that was a lie. She wasn’t worried much about which fork to use. She was more worried about encountering Sebastian’s family. Reminding herself that they put their trousers on one leg at a time just like everyone else was small comfort when she considered they probably had servants to dress them. “I’ll be fine,” she said.