Ally of the Crown

by Melissa McShane

  She raised her head, and found herself looking directly at Hien.

  29

  Fiona’s mouth dropped open. “Hien,” she said, and couldn’t think how to continue. Hien had the same calm, impassive look she always wore, but her eyes blazed with fury. She glanced once over Fiona’s body as if assessing her, then turned and walked away, her back stiff and her gait rapid.

  “Uh-oh,” Sebastian said. “I think we’re in trouble.”

  “I thought she was supposed to be too busy to notice us!” Fiona whispered urgently.

  “No one counted on her being part of the ceremony. Maybe we should have.” Sebastian tugged on Fiona’s arm. The rest of the envoys and the watching Veriboldans were headed inside, customs of precedence apparently no longer important. “Wait until we’re alone.”

  Fiona looked for Mitxel to guide them—was this really the end of the ceremony?—but didn’t see him anywhere. Sebastian made for the exit as if he didn’t care if it was the end or not, and Fiona, dragged along in his wake, decided if they were supposed to be elsewhere, Mitxel knew where to find them.

  Safely across the bridge, into the embassy, and in their sitting room, Fiona let go of Sebastian’s arm and sank gracelessly onto the low sofa. She buried her face in her hands and said, “She definitely recognized me. What the hell are we supposed to do now?”

  “Brazen it out,” Sebastian said, sinking down beside her and gently kneading her shoulders. “I’m the official envoy, and as far as anyone else is concerned, we’ve never been near the Irantzen Temple. Hien can’t prove we were there and she can’t prove we stole anything. Does that feel better?”

  “Mmm. Yes. How did you know my shoulders hurt?”

  “You hold them stiffly when the muscles are tight. Shift over and let me reach the other side.”

  Fiona gratefully moved closer and closed her eyes as he rubbed. “That feels divine.”

  “I’m happy to help.” His fingers trailed lower, stroking her back gently and leaving tingling trails wherever they touched. “Though we might ask Mitxel about the schedule of events and whether Hien will be attending them. If we can stay out of her way, so much the better.”

  Her whole body was relaxing under his touch. She wanted to curl up in his lap and fall asleep—no, sleep was the opposite of what she wanted from him right now. She carefully moved away from him, not looking at his face. “I wish I could explain everything to her. I feel awful at having betrayed her trust.”

  “You didn’t have a choice. And…thank you. In case I didn’t say it before. Thank you for lying to protect my family, most of whom don’t deserve it.”

  “I did it for you, not them.”

  “That makes it even better,” Sebastian said. He gave her a little half-smile, but his eyes held a different emotion, one that made her catch her breath.

  The outer door opened, and Holt entered, his gaunt frame filling the doorway. “I beg your pardon for interrupting,” he said, “but I have information I believe you should know.”

  Sebastian turned away from Fiona. “What is it?”

  Holt came into the room and shut the door behind him, then turned the key in the lock. The gesture combined with the somber expression on Holt’s face felt sinister, as if his news were some dire portent that might mean their doom. “During the ceremony, I was below stairs, making the acquaintance of the personal servants of the candidates and the other envoys,” he said.

  “Should you have done that? I mean, won’t it look suspicious?” Fiona asked.

  “I was told by Prince Sebastian the elder that such interactions are commonplace, if not expected.” Holt looked grimmer than usual. “He instructed me to do what I could to cultivate relationships, particularly with the candidates’ servants. I did not tell him of our interest in Gizane, so I conclude he is right, and such politicking is a given during the Election.”

  “I take it you learned something,” Sebastian said.

  Holt nodded. “What surprised me was that most of the servants are multilingual. Veriboldans are not, as a nationality, inclined to learning the languages of their neighbors, and finding men and women of relatively low social status capable of doing so made me suspicious.”

  “Do you mean they aren’t really servants?” The idea unnerved Fiona. It spoke to a level of deceit she hadn’t expected, even from Veriboldans.

  “I cannot say. For our purposes, it does not matter. What is important is that those attached to the candidates pretend reticence about telling their masters’ business, but they talk with outsiders far more readily than true servants would. My understanding is that the information they share is carefully calculated to incline the envoys in favor of one candidate or another. It is all very proper, and they pretend well to innocence, but we should be careful not to take their information at face value.”

  “The fourth challenge involves the landholders and the envoys voting on behalf of a cause championed by each candidate,” Sebastian said, “and I think you’ve just seen the opening moves in that challenge.”

  “Indeed,” Holt said. “It is the rest of the information that concerns me. The building where the opening ceremony was held is the central palace, so to speak, and the residence of Veribold’s ruler. As such, it is of paramount importance within the Jaixante. Very few of its staff speak Tremontanese, so I was unable to make the acquaintance of key household servants, but those few gave away more, I think, than they intended. There is serious unrest below stairs. The cook, who is Tremontanan, shied away from certain lines of inquiry that were extremely revelatory. All signs point to something being wrong with the Election. Deep uncertainty, and many silences, mark a disturbance that has the servants worried.”

  “Do you think it has something to do with the missing Stones?” Fiona asked. “They have to be worried about that.”

  “The Stones will be needed six days from now, for the challenge of faith,” Sebastian said. “I’d be beyond worried if I were them.”

  “Then we only have five days to find a way to return them.” Fiona shook her head. “It seems impossible.”

  “I had a thought about that,” Sebastian said. “What if we could plant the Jaoine Stones in Gizane’s quarters and arrange for the Irantzen priestesses to find them there? That would neutralize Gizane and return the Stones in one blow.”

  “That’s…brilliant,” Fiona said. “But should we…I mean, I know Gizane is a blackmailer, and she’s probably hurt more people than just your family, but Great-Uncle Sebastian did say the penalty for being caught with the Stones is death. Should we do that to her?”

  Sebastian frowned. “I hadn’t thought about it that way. I certainly am not willing to assassinate her, so I don’t know how I feel about indirectly causing her death. Damn. That was a good idea.”

  “It might still be necessary,” Holt said. “I suggest you evaluate out situation, sir, and determine which of our many goals is primary. If returning the Jaoine Stones, for example, takes precedence, such drastic measures may be necessary.”

  “I hate the thought of that, but you’re right.” Sebastian stood, again without any effort, and paced from the windows to the door and back, his hands clasped behind his back. “Return the Stones. Keep Gizane from becoming Queen. Don’t get caught. If it were up to me, I’d say returning the Stones is more important, but Mother’s…assignment…might need to happen first. If we can’t do both at the same time…”

  Sebastian stopped in front of the windows and looked out over the city, resting one hand flat against the wall next to the glass. “Gizane has to take precedence,” he said. “I hate saying it, and I hate even more that Mother is right, but my duty is to Tremontane first. Gizane can’t become Veribold’s Queen.”

  “Which means we need more information,” Fiona said.

  “I will continue speaking to the servants,” Holt said. “At the very least, I can learn where Gizane’s quarters are and whether they are accessible to any of us.”

  “And I’m going to think about how
to return the Stones,” Fiona said. When Sebastian began to protest, she overrode him with, “I know Gizane’s more important, but the Stones aren’t nothing. We need a way to return them without implicating ourselves. Though Great-Uncle Sebastian did say the Temple was unlikely to pursue us just for having once held the Stones.”

  “I suppose there’s no reason not to work on that, too,” Sebastian said. He looked suddenly tired, and Fiona’s heart went out to him.

  “I will retire now, but I will return in the morning to accompany you to the first challenge,” Holt said. He bowed and left the room.

  “So,” Sebastian said, returning to sit next to Fiona, “tell me what they said. In the ceremony. I can guess some of it was for officially declaring those four candidates for Election.”

  Fiona quickly summed up what the Queen had said. There wasn’t much of it, she realized when she finished. She added, “Gizane isn’t what I expected.”

  “Me either,” Sebastian said. “I thought she’d look like a bird of prey, not a debutante. Though I wouldn’t underestimate her.”

  “I think she knows why we’re here. I mean, why else would a North show up for the Election?”

  “It’s a mark of respect to send a member of the royal family.” Sebastian yawned and stretched out his long legs. “But I think we should behave as if she does, regardless. She might not have proof we’re here to destroy her, but if I were her, I’d be paranoid and suspicious.”

  “Exactly.” Fiona let out a matching yawn. “I don’t know why I’m so tired. It’s still early, and it’s not like we did anything more than stand around. I think I’ll turn in.”

  Sebastian nodded, but made no move to rise when Fiona stood awkwardly, pushing off the sofa with both hands. “Goodnight, Fiona.”

  His voice sounded strange, almost flat as if he were suppressing a strong emotion. Fiona almost sat beside him again, nearly took his face in her hands to kiss him. Instead, she crossed to her bedroom door without looking back and said “Goodnight” just before opening it. She shut the door behind her and leaned against it. It wasn’t fair. Love wasn’t enough to build a life on. She’d learned that the hard way.

  She tried to take off her gown, forgetting the tightness of the stitched-in sleeves, and wrestled with it for a few moments before ringing for Georgette. She wasn’t sure she could bear Georgette’s scrutiny and silent judgment of Fiona’s nonexistent marriage. But Georgette, when she appeared, didn’t say anything, not even to ask about the ceremony. Probably she didn’t care what the heathen foreigners got up to. Fiona hung the gown in the dressing room and put on her nightgown, then climbed into the bed and thought about how much she preferred it to a pallet on the floor like she’d had in the Irantzen Temple.

  That made her think of Hien again, this time as she’d seen her in the palace. The woman’s face, still and emotionless, presented itself for review by her mind’s eye. She wished she knew what Hien thought they had been doing at the Irantzen Festival. Scoping out the temple for a theft, probably. Fiona hoped it was true that their envoy status would protect them, because she had to admit it looked bad.

  Though Hien also had to know that Gizane’s office had been burgled. Would she put it together that the Stones had been in Gizane’s desk, or would she assume they’d been stolen from wherever in the Temple they were supposed to be stored? It wouldn’t matter that Fiona had no idea where that might be. They’d been mysterious foreigners who behaved strangely and then fled in the middle of the night. That alone suggested guilt.

  She rolled over and buried her head under the pillow. If she could get Hien alone, she could explain the truth—no, that was insane, she’d have to reveal they had the Stones and they’d all be executed. She’d just have to suppress her feelings of guilt until Gizane was no longer a threat and the Stones were returned. Maybe Hien would be so relieved she’d be willing to accept Fiona’s apology. Fiona wished she knew what she most needed to apologize for.

  30

  Georgette, despite her dislike for Veriboldans, proved to have some inside line on the appropriate garb for each day’s events. The next morning she laid out ordinary trousers and a bell-sleeved linen shirt in North blue, along with Fiona’s favorite pair of ankle boots. “I’m told you aren’t to participate in the challenge,” she said with a sniff, her only comment on how she felt about her mistress being excluded from any part of the Veriboldan ceremonies. Fiona dressed herself in relief.

  She and Sebastian had discussed the Election on the way to Haizea until they were sick of the whole thing, and now she knew more about Veriboldan government than she’d ever wanted, even when she was still married to Roderick and wanted to show him up with her knowledge of their laws. Each of the five challenges tested some aspect of character Veriboldans believed was essential to the perfect human being. While they didn’t expect their ruler to be perfect, candidates were expected to come closer to the ideal than ordinary men and women.

  Today was the challenge of knowledge. It was the one the envoys had the least part in, a series of tests evaluating the candidates’ knowledge of history, mathematics, literature, philosophy, and a handful of other topics Fiona knew nothing about. She had trouble believing that knowing when a famous poet had died made you a better ruler, but it wasn’t her government. Maybe it was superior to having rule passed down hereditarily, like some kind of communicable disease. It was nothing she’d ever have to worry about.

  Sebastian, dressed much as she was, waited for her in the sitting room. “Mitxel sent a message, informing me that a servant would meet us on the bridge to take us to the place they hold the challenge,” he said. “Prepare to be bored.”

  “I don’t see the point of us being present for what’s essentially an hours-long test,” Fiona said. “Maybe we can talk to the other envoys. Or I can talk to the other envoys. Sorry.”

  “I don’t mind not being able to talk to Morten. He looks at me like he’s planning a one-man invasion of Tremontane, to rid the country of useless nobles like me.” He grinned. “Though that Stannin is certainly a looker. I almost wish I were attracted to men.”

  “He’s too beautiful to be real. I wonder what he thinks of all this. He certainly behaves like it’s the best entertainment he’s had in his life.”

  “I’m glad you think he’s too beautiful, because I was prepared to be jealous.” A knock sounded at the door, giving Fiona an excuse not to look at him and hide her flaming cheeks. “And it’s time to go.”

  Their carriage deposited them at the end of the same bridge they’d crossed on foot the night before. This time, the waiting servant was a woman dressed in ivory linen a few shades paler than her skin. Her light brown hair was cut short in the style of the Irantzen priestesses. Fiona didn’t think she was actually a priestess, since the woman didn’t seem angry with them…though that might be because she was too low in the hierarchy to be privy to all the Temple’s secrets. At any rate, the woman bowed to them politely and led the way across the bridge in silence.

  For once, there were other people on the streets of the Jaixante, most of them wearing the gauzy over-robes and body suits of high-ranking functionaries, like the costumes the officials at the customs house wore. Some of them were carried in litters with fluttering drapes borne by muscular men all the same height. None of the Veriboldans acknowledged Fiona and Sebastian at all, making Fiona feel as if she were invisible. Despite her discomfort at being in the Jaixante, it wasn’t a nice feeling. It wasn’t so much that she was being ignored, she discovered, as that she felt like the Veriboldans had erased her from their awareness.

  Their guide led them down the canyonlike streets that felt more open in the daylight, or maybe that was just Fiona’s memory of fleeing through them in the darkness, not knowing where she was going or how she would escape the Jaixante guards. Open-feeling or not, the buildings still looked like sheer white identical cliffs with black slabs of oak for doors, or white ones that fitted so closely to the walls they were visible only as hair-fine cracks
, geometric and perfect.

  Fiona couldn’t help comparing the Jaixante to the rest of Haizea, or even to the slums of Dusktown. If this was how the landholders lived, no wonder they were so different from the average Veriboldan. It also explained some of what she’d learned in studying Veriboldan law, how so much of their legal code had nothing to do with anything ordinary people did or experienced. But she wasn’t here to criticize the Veriboldan government, just watch how it dealt with transition. Still, it made her grateful for her own government.

  That thought startled her. Was Tremontane’s government really that much better? Queen Genevieve had blackmailed her and Sebastian into criminal activity not for the sake of the country, but for the sake of her own rule. She’d protected Douglas North from the consequences of his careless actions—that was the same as letting a rapist go free. All right, maybe the Norths losing the Crown would cause civil unrest, but that didn’t mean the Queen hadn’t acted selfishly. And that wasn’t so different from the Veriboldans isolating their ruling class on an island and making laws that benefited them more than the common folk.

  She realized she’d lagged behind when Sebastian turned and said her name questioningly. She hurried to catch up and accepted his arm, feeling the need for something solid and real that had nothing to do with politics.

  Their guide abruptly veered to the left, heading for a cliff face Fiona couldn’t remember passing before, and pressed her hand against one of the rectangles outlined by those faint dark lines. Unlike what Fiona now thought of as the palace, whose halls had been comfortingly dim, the door swung open on a hall brightly lit by Devices almost enough to compete with the sunlight. Fiona and Sebastian followed the woman down the hall, which was painted a rich cream that matched their guide’s clothing. If Fiona looked at her out of the corner of her eye, the woman blended with the walls and appeared to be nothing but a head and hands bobbing along. It was as unsettling an image as the nearly invisible doors had been.