Ally of the Crown

by Melissa McShane

  Her eye fell on the woman law-speaker standing in front of the guards. To Fiona’s surprise, she looked amused by the interchange. Fiona barely had time to register this before the male law-speaker addressed her again. “So you refuse to confess who paid you to support Gizane of the Araton?”

  “What?” Fiona was so startled she forgot to speak Veriboldan. “I—nobody paid me off. Is it so strange in your country that someone might speak up against a flawed judgment?”

  The man looked at the assembled Veriboldan audience. “Who among you knew Gizane of the Araton had judged poorly?” he asked. Three or four people stood. “You see?” he told Fiona. “You disrespect our laws by thinking to put yourself above a candidate for Election.”

  “I’m sorry I intervened,” Fiona lied, “but I am a stranger to your country, and while I am familiar with your laws, I don’t know all your customs. I reacted as I would have in my own country. I am not partisan. I want to see the best candidate chosen to rule Veribold because your country’s strength benefits mine.” The words poured out of her from some source she didn’t know. She’d never been much of an elocutionist, and yet her words felt right in a way she hadn’t expected.

  “I wonder,” the woman law-speaker said, startling Fiona. She hadn’t expected any of them to speak Tremontanese. “Lady North, you claim to have spoken out to save the prisoner’s life, not to benefit the chances of Gizane of the Araton by protecting her from the consequences of her failure. How are you to prove this?”

  Fiona’s heart sank. It was true, she hadn’t thought beyond preventing a death, but the law-speaker had said he’d noticed Gizane’s failure to cite proper precedent, and Fiona had hoped that meant Gizane had failed. But if Fiona’s interference had saved her instead…

  “I don’t know Gizane of the Araton,” she said, wishing she dared reveal the truth—that would prove beyond doubt that Fiona had no interest in protecting Gizane. “I don’t know any of the candidates and don’t have any vested interest in promoting one over another. But I can’t prove my motives short of repeating what I already said. I didn’t want to see someone die because her trial was flawed.”

  The woman law-speaker took a few steps forward. “I’m satisfied,” she said, addressing her male counterpart below. “The interference does not contaminate our assessment of Gizane of the Araton’s wisdom.”

  The man scowled. “We do not tolerate interference by outsiders.”

  “We tolerate the envoys’ attendance,” the woman said. “But I agree we should not be so understanding a second time. Lady North, will you swear to keep silence in future?”

  Fiona drew a deep breath. “No,” she said, prompting everyone below to turn to face her. “I can’t promise not to speak out if a candidate’s lack of knowledge would mean letting injustice win.”

  The male law-speaker said something under his breath. The woman said, “Thank you for your honesty. You are invited to withdraw.”

  “Envoys are supposed to observe all the challenges,” Sebastian said. “You can’t deprive us of that right.”

  “No,” the woman said. She smiled, a little half-twist of the lips that might have been self-mocking. “But we can invite you to respect the traditions of the Election.”

  “That sounds like you don’t trust your candidates,” Fiona said.

  The woman raised one eyebrow. “Until today I would have sworn there was no need to protect them,” she said. “Let us say, rather, that we are not so proud as to believe in their infallibility. Again, I invite you to withdraw.”

  Fiona glanced at the male law-speaker, whose dark face was set in a scowl of epic proportions. “Thank you, I will,” she said. “Sebastian, you should stay.”

  “I’m not going to leave you alone in this place,” Sebastian said in a low voice intended only for her ears.

  “If they were going to hurt me, those guards wouldn’t have waited for all this conversation to end,” Fiona replied. “We have to maintain a presence here. Nikani and Salena will translate for you. I’ll wait for you outside.”

  Sebastian’s scowl mirrored the law-speaker’s. “You’re too trusting,” he said. “All right. Don’t go anywhere with anyone, understand?”

  “I won’t. Don’t worry about me.” She squeezed his hand. Turning, she made her way past the other observers to where the woman law-speaker stood. “Can I wait just outside?”

  “We will escort you to a more comfortable place to wait,” the woman said.

  Fiona eyed the guards, who hadn’t relaxed from their alert, prepared-to-attack pose. “I’d rather not,” she said. It was an insult, but she was still on edge and didn’t care what the woman thought.

  The woman gestured to Fiona to precede her. The guards stepped to each side as she exited, just as if they were there to show Fiona honor. “You are in no danger,” the woman said as she shut the door behind them.

  “I believe my royal husband would prefer I stay close by,” Fiona said. Her voice didn’t tremble, but she had to hide her hands in the long sleeves of her North blue robe to conceal how they shook. “And don’t you think it’s better we avoid even a chance of an international incident?”

  The other woman’s intent gaze made Fiona feel simultaneously worried and guilty, as if the law-speaker really didn’t mean any harm and Fiona was rejecting her generous offer for no reason. Finally, the woman said, “If I were a Veriboldan envoy to Tremontane, and I were in your position, what would you tell me to do?”

  Fiona thought a moment, then said, “I’d tell you to trust your instincts.”

  The woman nodded. “Very well.” She gestured to the guards, and they walked away down the corridor. Fiona sagged against the wall and let out a deep breath. She was the wrong person for this job. Knowledge of the law aside, she had no understanding of upper-class Veriboldan traditions, no real appreciation for the customs of the Election, and no sense of how far she could or should push these people. And was it really any of her business how they prosecuted justice? She remembered the desperate prisoner’s face and decided the answer to that question was Yes.

  She didn’t have a watch, so she had no idea how long she waited in the hall. Long enough to regret having refused their hospitality, as her feet and back ached from standing for so long. Pacing the hall only kept her from being bored for so long. When the door finally opened, she stretched surreptitiously and watched the others file out. They all eyed her closely, Morten and Venelda with suspicion, the Dekerians as if they’d half expected her to be gone. Sebastian took her arm and steered her away from the others.

  “They didn’t hurt you?” he said.

  “I’m fine. They didn’t even try to force me to go somewhere else. It’s all right, Sebastian.”

  Sebastian shook his head. “They very nearly took you into custody and started a war. I had no idea they would feel so defensive of their Election.”

  “Started a war?”

  Sebastian’s grip on her arm tightened. “You think I wouldn’t be willing to go to war over you?”

  Fiona’s face warmed. “Sebastian—”

  “Never mind how I feel about you, Fiona. Tremontane can’t let Veribold think it can insult us with impunity.” He sighed. “It didn’t happen, so I suppose worrying about what might have been is pointless. What exactly did you do to make them so angry? You said Gizane made a mistake?”

  “She was supposed to try that woman prisoner for arson. She made a lot of mistakes, and made the wrong judgment, and they were going to execute the woman in front of us.”

  “I saw that part,” Sebastian said with a shudder.

  They passed through the halls, retracing their steps, until Fiona’s Tremontanan guide appeared and bowed to them. Fiona went silent. She didn’t want to have this discussion in front of someone who spoke their language. Sebastian seemed to feel the same, because he didn’t press her for more details until they were across the bridge and safely in the carriage.

  “Anyway,” Fiona went on, “I couldn’t let that happe
n. I pointed out the errors in legal interpretation Gizane had made, and they said they had already noted them. That’s what horrifies me—that those adjudicators knew Gizane was wrong and were going to let her judgment stand. They were willing to kill a potentially innocent woman on her say-so!”

  “We’re not here to pass judgment on their government,” Sebastian said, but he looked as horrified as she felt. “So they wanted to arrest you for interfering?”

  “Yes. At least, the man did. I think the woman was on my side. But you heard most of that.”

  Sebastian’s hand clenched into a fist. “That was close. Does it at least mean Gizane failed the challenge?”

  “I don’t know.” Despair threatened to overwhelm Fiona. “I don’t know. The fact that they thought I was trying to help Gizane by interfering makes me worried. If she would have failed without my interruption, doesn’t that imply that I helped her?”

  “We shouldn’t borrow trouble,” Sebastian said. “In either case, Gizane looks incompetent, and that has to help us.”

  “I suppose,” Fiona said, but she remembered the way Gizane had looked at her and didn’t feel all that sanguine about their chances. She’d made a personal enemy that afternoon.

  When they returned to the embassy, Fiona headed straight for the safety of her bedroom, managing not to break into a run. Once there, she removed the robe and hung it in the dressing room. Sebastian, watching from the doorway, said, “There’s a banquet tonight. Something to do with the challenge of charisma.”

  “I’m almost afraid to go.”

  “I understand. I can make your excuses for you, if you want.”

  Fiona shook her head. “I can’t hide in the embassy for the rest of the Election. We still need to—to complete the Queen’s task. And return the Stones.”

  Sebastian came fully into the room and shut the door. “More specifically, we need to keep everyone’s attention on us tonight. Holt will search Gizane’s quarters and, I hope, will find something we can use to get her disqualified from the Election.”

  “That sounds dangerous. How much diplomatic immunity does Holt have?”

  “Enough to protect him from being executed as a spy. Not enough to keep him from being arrested and tried as a thief if they catch him.” Sebastian sat on the bed and ran his hands through his hair. “I shouldn’t let him do it, but he feels more loyalty toward the North family than I do.”

  Fiona sat next to Sebastian. “Why is that?”

  Sebastian’s lips quirked in a smile. “It’s not my story to tell. All I can say is that my father rescued him from a terrible fate, and Holt feels he owes him his life. Which means when my father assigned him to me, he transferred that loyalty to me. He’s willing to lay down his life to protect us. I don’t know how deserving any of us Norths are of that sacrifice, but I know of no way to stop him.”

  “Meaning that this was his idea?”

  “Yes. He’s also the best qualified of the three of us to go sneaking around the Jaixante. But you already knew that.”

  “So…we have to make ourselves conspicuous at this banquet so no one will wonder where your manservant went?”

  “More specifically, we should try to keep Gizane from wandering off early.” Sebastian blew out his breath and added, “I don’t even know if that’s possible. We may have no contact with her this evening, given that you humiliated her thoroughly this afternoon.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You saved a life. I don’t think you have anything to be sorry for.”

  His smile warmed her down to the bone. She smiled back and saw his expression grow thoughtful. He shifted closer to her and took her hand briefly, running his thumb across her knuckles before releasing her and standing. The gentle touch took her back to that night in his bedroom, and a rush of desire surprised her.

  “You know,” Sebastian said quietly, “you spoke with authority today. You didn’t let them intimidate you.”

  “Meaning…what? That I behaved like a noblewoman?”

  “No.” Sebastian’s eyes were steady on hers. “You behaved like someone who didn’t care what anyone else thought. It’s not impossible, Fiona. You just need to believe it.”

  For a moment, she felt the rightness of his position. If she could feel that confidence within the royal court…but no, there was a difference. She’d been confident today because she had knowledge to back her up, and she’d acted to save a life. “Believing in things isn’t good enough,” she said. “I’ll never be able to fly no matter how hard I flap my arms.”

  “I’m not asking you to fly. I just want you to see—” Sebastian shut his mouth and turned away. “Never mind. The banquet is in two hours. I’ll call for you when it’s time to leave.” He left the room, shutting the door without slamming it, but it felt like a dismissal anyway.

  Tears burned Fiona’s eyes. She was right, she knew she was—ten years of the wrong marriage had taught her good sense mattered far more than love—and yet he never failed to make her question her decisions. She wanted more than anything to call him back, give him the answer he wanted…and then spend the next forty years regretting her rash, romantic decision.

  She lay back on the bed and let her mind drift, focused on her breathing and heartbeat and the pulse of blood running through her body. She could ask him to marry her. To adopt into her family. She didn’t actually know he’d refuse, and suppose he accepted? Then they would only have to finish the Queen’s task and they could be together. The idea filled her with hope.

  She rolled off the bed and left her room to knock on Sebastian’s door. He didn’t answer. She knocked again, and the door opened, revealing Holt. “I beg your pardon, Lady North,” Holt said, as formally as Charles Carris ever dreamed of being. “Prince Sebastian has gone out. Is there anything I can do for you?”

  “Oh,” Fiona said, feeling deflated. “No, it’s…there’s nothing that can’t wait. Thanks.”

  She returned to her bed and stared at the bed’s canopy, a delicate confection of netting that would keep out insects if the embassy had had any, until Georgette bustled in some time later.

  “Time to dress, milady,” she said in her most forbidding tone. Fiona heard it as time to dress milady, as if she were a doll Georgette was responsible for. She rolled off the bed and followed Georgette into the dressing room.

  34

  Mitxel himself met Fiona and Sebastian at the bridge. “Your Highness, Lady North, good evening,” he said with his usual bow. “Please join me.”

  Fiona took Sebastian’s arm and followed Mitxel across the bridge to where a couple of palanquins waited. “This evening’s entertainment is at the far north of the Jaixante, and you should not be required to walk so far,” Mitxel explained. “Please be seated.”

  Fiona cast a quick glance at Sebastian. He’d said no more than “It’s time” back at the embassy, had been totally silent during the short carriage ride to the bridge, and had barely looked at Fiona the whole time they’d been together. His continuing coldness made her heart ache with sorrow, guilt, and the inevitable hopeless longing for what could never be. In the face of that silence, her intent to propose marriage had frozen and died.

  Now he released her arm and climbed into the nearest palanquin. Fiona stepped into the other. It was curtained in red silk and smelled stuffy, as if its last passenger had been a large, sweaty man who bathed in a musky cologne. Fiona twitched the curtains aside and tied them back, not caring if it was a violation of protocol.

  The palanquin moved as smoothly as if it were on wheels. The bearers must practice for hours to achieve such an even gait. Fiona watched Sebastian’s palanquin with its four matched bearers trotting along before her and wished she’d found a way to break through his anger, or hurt, or whatever fueled his silence. You could accept his proposal, she thought, and immediately crushed the impulse. What a disastrous marriage that would be if she gave in to him just to stop him being upset.

  The palanquin took them far north, along the route to t
he Irantzen Temple for a hundred yards before turning left and away from that familiar route. It was later than Fiona was accustomed to arriving anywhere in the Jaixante, and the sun had nearly set, throwing long shadows that made the tall white cliffs and stark black doors even more confusing. Then they turned right, and Fiona gasped.

  Ahead, a white pyramid rose sharply against the twilight sky, surrounded by the kind of parkland Fiona had assumed the Jaixante didn’t have. It was barely enough to be considered a park; it would be more accurate to call it a grassy strip between the road and the pyramid. But trees grew along the verge, tall cypresses that quivered in the slight breeze like shivering maidens, and the park softened the harsh lines of the pyramid while making it seem even stranger than the rest of the Jaixante architecture.

  Two giant brass doors set into the base of the pyramid opened at their approach. The bearers set down Fiona’s palanquin, and Mitxel came forward to assist her. Fiona was wearing the silver-embroidered North blue robe again, but instead of ordinary trousers and shirt beneath it, she wore a slim white sheath of a dress that was little more than a tube of fabric ending at her ankles. Georgette had come up with silver sandals to go with it, not footwear Fiona remembered acquiring in Aurilien, but they matched perfectly, so Fiona had worn them without complaint. But the ensemble was difficult to move in, and she was grateful for Mitxel’s hand.

  Mitxel led her to where Sebastian waited, and Sebastian offered her his arm without looking at her. The gesture made Fiona angry. Maybe Sebastian had some right to be upset, but that didn’t entitle him to treat her with such rudeness. Fiona smiled at Mitxel and ignored Sebastian as thoroughly as he was ignoring her.

  “This evening is for conversation,” Mitxel said, gesturing to them to follow him into the pyramid. “You will be told of the candidate’s causes and encouraged to decide which is worthiest. Though you will not need to make a final choice this evening—that is for the challenge of charisma, in two days’ time.”