Gowan set down the papers he was holding, his eyes never leaving hers. “You’ll regret this,” he said under his breath as he passed her. She raised her eyebrows at him, the picture of innocence.
“I’m sorry we couldn’t make you see reason,” the Magistrix said. “I’m sure we’ll speak again, Countess.” The four left the room and closed the scriptorium door behind them.
Alison let out a huge sigh and slumped against the nearest desk. They couldn’t do anything to her as long as Zara supported her, and Alison had confidence that Zara would continue to support her past the point of reason. True, she could resign, but now that she’d met Margaret Bindle, she realized the woman wouldn’t be satisfied with that. Zara was right; the Library was only a pretext. Alison wondered what the Magistrix really wanted. Why weren’t they going to try to reinstate Bancroft? Had the Magistrix decided that was a battle she couldn’t win? Was that a victory for Zara’s side, or some subtle ploy?
“That man can’t fire us, can he?” Trevers asked, sounding shaken.
“What? Of course not. Only I can fire you, and I won’t do that so long as you do your job. Let’s get back to work.”
“But he said we weren’t official apprentices, and the Scholia should replace us,” said Declan.
“And he said girls don’t belong in the Library,” Gwendolen said. She was near tears, but with anger, not fear.
“I think he has his head up his—never mind. Gwendolen, if the head of the Scholia is a woman, I don’t see how he can argue that girls shouldn’t be librarians, though it explains why he thought he could be rude to me.”
“I think you should have called the guards,” said Trevers. His fists were clenched and he looked like he was ready to do battle.
“That might be necessary someday, but for today I’m just glad he’s gone. Did you two finish irradiating that last book?” Declan nodded. “Then you can help Gwendolen sort. She’ll show you what to do. I’m going to start bringing more books up.”
But when she got back into the Library, she stood behind a shelf, where she couldn’t be seen from the doorway, and wrapped her arms around herself to control her shaking. They weren’t done with her. She wasn’t sure what other pressure they could bring to bear, but once they realized nothing they could say or do would convince Zara to fire her, they’d undoubtedly do whatever they could to make her resign. She tried to tell herself she wouldn’t give in, but deep down, she was afraid.
“Alison?” Henry called. “Where are you?”
“Here,” she said, stepping out from behind the shelf. “How did it go?”
He came down the stairs toward her. “Fine. I commissioned one cabinet for us to test and made sure they could handle a larger order later. It should be ready in three days. I hope you don’t mind that I paid for an expedited service.”
“No, that was a good choice.”
Something in her voice must have alerted him, because his expression became concerned. “What’s wrong?”
“We had a visit from the Scholia contingency while you were gone. They want me removed from office.”
Henry cursed. “The Queen won’t acquiesce, will she?”
“No. But they want me to resign. They pointed out all my inadequacies and brought in my very rude replacement.”
Henry put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed, gently. “You are already ten times the librarian any of them are. They’re bureaucrats. They like power. Margaret in particular wants to see the Scholia in control of academia throughout Tremontane.”
“You know her well enough to use her first name?”
“She was my thesis advisor, a million years ago. Obviously before she became Magistrix. I trusted her. That was the wrong move. She started the proceedings that lost me the robe and got me kicked out of the Scholia.”
“I’m sorry, Henry.”
“Don’t be. It’s true, I wish things were different. I loved teaching and I was good at it. But I wouldn’t give up Tessa for anything.” He released her and again met her eyes. “And I won’t give up on you.”
Something about his gaze made her uncomfortable, and she looked away. “Then why don’t you haul a few more piles of books while I see about hiring scribes? I have to place some advertisements, and talk to an employment agency. Maybe more than one. We’ll need several scribes.”
“Lots of scribes.”
“A gaggle of scribes.”
“I believe the collective noun is actually a scribble of scribes.”
“I’ll add that to my vocabulary.”
The next morning, Alison was awakened far too early by a knock at her door. Grumbling, she put on her dressing gown and found a page standing there with a note. She growled her thanks and shut the door in his face. Perfect. Zara requested her presence for breakfast in half an hour. She threw the note on the sofa and, still grumbling, dressed and picked up her keys.
It didn’t occur to her that Anthony might be there until she was actually in the east wing. She tried to make her heart slow down. She shouldn’t have to avoid him. In fact, she thought with growing indignation, he ought to be avoiding her. She squared her shoulders and pushed open the dining room door.
She needn’t have worried. Zara was alone, though she did have a stack of papers next to her elbow. She pointed at the urn in the middle of the table. “Coffee first,” she said. “Talk later.”
Alison fell gratefully on the urn and poured herself a generous cup laced with equally generous portions of cream and sugar. She took a long drink, closed her eyes, and leaned back in her chair. Her mind was growing clearer already. “Another cup and I think I’ll be ready to be civil.”
“I take mine before I get out of bed,” Zara said. “That habit has saved the life of more than one of my councilors, with whom I am frequently testy in the early morning.” She frowned as she said this.
Alison took another long drink. “Do you often face your councilors early in the morning?”
“Only under extreme duress. Like a visit from the Magistrix of the Scholia.” She continued to frown.
“Has she…has she made any demands?”
Zara looked up at her. “If you mean, has she demanded your head on a platter, yes. Not that Margaret Bindle would be so crass. She wants me to rescind your appointment and put her stooge in your place.”
“I don’t understand why she doesn’t want to reinstate Bancroft. I thought that was at the heart of their challenge.”
“I imagine the Magistrix realized we have a better than reasonable chance of proving Bancroft guilty, given that he actually is guilty and we’ve already done so once. Losing in court would weaken her case substantially. So she will appear to concede the point in order to get what she actually wants, which is increased independence for the Scholia and increased power for her. But she hasn’t considered that I might actually care who runs the Library. I wouldn’t allow Gowan anywhere near it even if you weren’t involved. He had the nerve to be rude to me.”
“I think it’s his default state. He’s a bully, too. Intimidated my apprentices. I had to threaten to throw him out.”
“Maybe I should assign you a guard in case that becomes necessary.” Zara turned over a few more pages. “I wanted to warn you that the Scholia intends to challenge Bancroft’s conviction today. I want you there to testify to the condition of the Library and the stolen books.”
“All right. Should I bring Gwendolen Burns? She accompanied them on their selling expeditions.”
Zara thought about that. “Do you think she’d be able to stand up to their questioning?”
“Um…probably not. She’d get angry.”
“Then let’s leave her out of it. This is a formality, anyway. They’re going to lay the blame on Bancroft’s subordinate and ask for Bancroft’s release. Depending on what else they ask for, I might give him to them.”
“But that would mean he won’t be punished for his crimes!”
“I know. Unfortunately, we may have to give him up to gain a bett
er position in this game.”
“Do you see it as a game, then?” Alison asked, feeling a little angry at Zara’s callousness.
“Politics is a game, Alison. The trick is to see more of your opponent’s pieces than she sees of yours. Giving the Magistrix Bancroft may make her think she’s regained a piece, when really we’ve lost a burden. Don’t give me that look. Would you prefer I sacrifice you?”
Alison scowled. “I don’t like it.”
“Neither do I, but ultimately Bancroft doesn’t matter. Eat something. Do you know where the Council chamber is? Be there at ten o’clock.” She shuffled her papers together, still scowling, and left the room. Alison sat with a forkful of egg halfway to her mouth. The dark walls of the dining room seemed to loom over her, reminding her that she didn’t really belong here despite Zara’s—it had felt like a royal command, almost, and her eggs and toast looked unappetizing now. She finished her bite, took another drink of coffee, and wondered if she should leave. If Anthony was around, he could walk in at any moment, and that would be, again, awkward.
As if summoned by her thoughts, Anthony opened the door and looked inside without entering. He seemed unsurprised to see Alison. “Is she gone?” he asked without a trace of embarrassment. Alison nodded. He came in and shut the door behind him. “I take it she gave you your orders already,” he said. “I’ve been avoiding her until she’s in a better mood.”
He seemed so matter-of-fact Alison didn’t know how to respond. It was as if there was nothing between them, no betrayal, no dead romance, nothing but casual acquaintance. It made her feel even more awkward, as well as indignant that he could behave as if nothing had happened. “Why is she so out of sorts?” she asked, trying to regain her composure.
Anthony sat and began helping himself from the covered dishes. “Aside from the Magistrix’s presence, she has Council problems,” he said. “The chief of Commerce has been pushing, the last six months or so, to expand his portfolio. Since he’s also a Master, his pushing of late has become more pronounced. All very correct, nothing she can call him on, but it’s a strain on an already fractious Council. She’s had me sounding the councilors out, to see who supports her and who’s inclined toward Lestrange’s side, but few of them want to commit to anything until they know what the Magisters will do.”
“I don’t understand. Isn’t Zara the Queen? Don’t they just, I don’t know, counsel her?”
Anthony heaped scrambled egg on a piece of toast, bit, chewed. “Zara gets the final say in many things, but a lot of policies are determined by voting. It keeps the monarch from being too autocratic and keeps her in touch with the people, or something like that.” He laughed once. “Three months ago I didn’t know any of this and now I’m an expert.”
“And I suppose she can’t just replace, what was his name, Lestrange with someone favorable to her.” Three months ago there were a lot of things you weren’t. Don’t think I’ve forgotten.
“Another policy backed up by law. Councilors serve their full term unless they’re convicted of a crime or receive a vote of no confidence from the Council. And Lestrange may be a smug, self-righteous git, but he’s law-abiding.”
“No wonder she’s in a bad mood.”
“I just hope she gets over it before she has to talk to the Magistrix again.” He took another bite. “We went to the theater last night,” he said. “She loved it. I’ve never heard her laugh so loudly. I…took her backstage. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Why would I mind?”
“It’s your theater. I thought…anyway. They were all very relaxed around her. I think half of them didn’t realize she was the Queen. I’m afraid Eve told the pickle story. I couldn’t stop her.”
Alison put her hand over her mouth. “What did Zara do?”
“Laughed until she couldn’t breathe. Really, the whole evening was a surprise. I wish—” He closed his mouth abruptly. “I’m thinking of investing in a theater of my own,” he said.
“Really?”
“You did tell me once that having more than one theater benefits both. I have the capital and I’m starting to understand the business model. I just thought it might seem disloyal, somehow, after I’ve become a part of the Waxwold Theater…and suppose Flanagan jumped ship and followed me? I’d hate to rob you of that.”
She shook her head, still contemplating the idea. “I ought to cultivate other playwrights,” she said, “and there’s a tiny—okay, very large—part of me that would love not to have to endure his ranting at me every time I arrive. If you’re serious, Doyle might be able to suggest a manager and give you some ideas on assembling a company of players. It really would be nice to have a choice of plays. In Kingsport I could go to three different plays every week, if I wanted. I’d like Aurilien to be like that someday.”
“I’m interested in being a part of that.”
“I…if it’s something you want to do, I don’t see why you shouldn’t.” Had they just had a normal conversation? She tried to summon indignant memories and succeeded only in making herself feel ashamed. Why shouldn’t they be able to discuss the theater? It didn’t have anything to do with his betrayal. She could be polite about it. She pushed back her chair. “I should arrange for Henry to cover my work while I’m at the Council chamber.”
“I’m acting as Zara’s secretary, so I should probably finish soon.” Alison was halfway to the door when he said, “I don’t want to be your enemy.”
Alison turned to look at him. He was so serious. She couldn’t see any trace of the man she’d loved in his still, emotionless face. Her angry You should have thought of that before you betrayed me faded away. “I don’t want that either,” she said.
“Good,” he said, then seemed to run out of words. He looked down at his hands. Alison looked at the floor.
“I’ll see you in the Council chamber, then,” she said, and fled the room.
He was so different. Serious. Interested in politics. The easy laugh, the gleam of humor in his eyes, both gone. What had happened, that he’d changed so much? She didn’t think her rejection of him could have had such a profound effect. Doyle had said there had been nasty rumors; if Bishop really were involved, she could imagine how nasty they’d gotten. And he wouldn’t have been able to defend himself against them because the rumor at the heart of them all, the story of what he’d done to her, was true. Despite herself, she felt sympathy for him. No. No sympathy.
Henry was kicking his heels against the wall when she finally showed up at the Library. “Haven’t you heard of a work ethic?” he asked with a grin. “You’re three minutes late.”
“I had breakfast with the Queen and the Prince,” she said, unlocking the door. “I think I can be excused a little tardiness.”
Henry whistled, long and low. “Alison, you move in such exalted circles these days I feel I should bow in your presence.”
She slapped him lightly on the arm. “Don’t you dare.”
He followed her to the librarians’ desk. “But seriously, Alison, I’m a little worried about your closeness to the Prince.”
“We’re not close.”
“You just had breakfast with him. I’ve heard some pretty awful things about what he did to you. I’m surprised you can be so friendly.”
Alison sighed. “Henry, most of those rumors are false. You know how it goes. The truth gets lost in the lies. The truth is, we were…involved…and we had a very public falling out. He did some things I can’t forgive him for, and we’re not friendly, but I don’t hate him and I can talk to him without throwing things or bursting into tears. Don’t worry about me.”
“I can’t help it.” His eyes on her face were disturbingly serious. Then he smiled and the look disappeared. “But I’m sure you know your own mind, and I have faith in you.”
“Thank you, Henry. Will you be able to cover for me later? I have to testify against Bancroft.”
“I thought he was already convicted.”
“Not according to the Scholia. It sho
uld be interesting.”
“I wonder at your definition of ‘interesting.’ I’ll be happy to take over for a while, on one condition.”
“You’re technically my employee and therefore don’t have a right to impose conditions.”
“Let’s go out to supper some time. I’d like to hear about what you’ve been doing these past four years. I’d like to tell you about Tessa. Say you’ll come.”
Again, there was something in his eyes that she couldn’t read. She shooed away her discomfort. “I’d love to,” she said.
Chapter Twenty
At five minutes to ten she walked into the Council chamber to find Zara and Anthony and a handful of people she didn’t recognize already there. It was a windowless room hung with worn tapestries bearing the insignia of the eleven provinces, the house of North, and the triple peaks of Tremontane, their faded colors giving the room a depressed look. The center of the room was almost entirely occupied by a table formed from a round cross-section of a tree so enormous Alison could barely imagine what it might have been like before it had given its life in service to Tremontane. It was too big to fit through any of the doors, and looked old enough that it was easy to imagine that the palace had been built around it. Its surface was a deep, rich brown with darker rings circling the center like black water thrown up by a stone tossed into it. Cracks radiated from the edges across the grain, some as deep as three inches. It shone with a smooth finish that came not only from polish but from generations of hands running across its surface. Alison wished she dared touch it.
Zara sat at the table, facing a larger door than the one Alison had come in by, in a chair that looked remarkably like a throne. Anthony stood by her side. Another chair was placed directly opposite to her, across the table. More chairs were ranged in rows behind Zara, and several of them were occupied by the strangers Alison assumed were Council members. Zara beckoned to Alison to come forward and said, “Sit anywhere.” She appeared calmer than she had at breakfast. Alison took the closest seat. It was only coincidence that it was the farthest she could sit from Anthony.
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