Servant of the Crown (The Crown of Tremontane Book 1)

by Melissa McShane

  Now all the councilors were present except for Zara, Anthony, and the Baron of Highton, who was always late. Alison tapped her fingers on the smooth wood, stilled them, and put her hands in her lap. If the Council voted to remove Anthony, it would leave them with an even number of votes for the endowment issue; what would happen in the event of a tie? Whatever it was would almost certainly benefit the Magistrix’s faction, for Lestrange to push so hard to remove him. She clasped her hands together to keep them from shaking. All she could do was cast her vote and pray for the others to see sense.

  The door opened again. Zara entered, followed by Anthony, who took his seat next to Alison without saying a word. She fixed her attention on the table before her, counting the rings. What was he thinking now, what did he see when he looked at them all? Guilt rose up in her again, and she pushed it away. She would support him. That would have to be enough.

  “Councilors,” Zara began, still standing, and the door banged open and the Baron of Highton practically fell through it in his hurry. “Sorry, sorry,” he said, and flung himself into his seat. “Please continue, your Majesty. So sorry.”

  Zara regarded him dispassionately for a long moment, during which he squirmed and tried not to look at her, then sat in her throne-chair and said, “Roger Lestrange has requested an emergency meeting of this Council to address a serious issue that has arisen in the last few days. Mister Lestrange, you may speak.”

  Lestrange stood and bowed to the Queen rather perfunctorily. “Thank you, your Majesty. You must all be aware now of the accusations made against his Highness, Anthony North. Failing to acknowledge a child born outside a family bond and to provide for an entailed adoption is a serious crime, and for a member of this Council to have committed such a crime reflects badly on all of us. It implies that we condone such behavior, that we are willing to look the other way if the person involved is of high enough rank. I therefore ask Anthony North to voluntarily surrender his seat on this Council to protect its reputation.” He sat, his round face still unsmiling, to all appearances a concerned and upright citizen trying to protect the laws of the kingdom, but Alison could see his eyes, and there was a light in them that said he was thoroughly enjoying his humiliation of the royal family.

  Zara inclined her head to him. “Thank you for your concerns, Mister Lestrange. You are correct that the people of Tremontane hold the behavior of my councilors to a very high standard. If his Highness is convicted of the accusations made against him, I will not allow him to continue serving in his department. But I would like to point out to all of you that an accusation is not a conviction, and I hope you will remember that.” She took a moment to catch the gaze of each of her councilors. When she came to Alison, there was a look in her eye that made Alison blush painfully, a look of reproach that left her feeling guilty and angry at the same time. “Prince Anthony, you may now address this Council,” Zara said when she was finished impaling her councilors with the blue-eyed stare.

  Anthony pushed his seat back and got to his feet, rather heavily, Alison thought. For a moment, he was silent. Alison didn’t dare look up at him. “I know what my reputation is,” he said. “I know the idea that I might have paid Lydia to conceal the child’s birth seems plausible. I’m not denying I could be Sophy’s father. I am denying that I knew anything about her existence before three days ago. Whatever else I may have done, I would never have done such a monstrous thing as to leave my own child unsupported. I intend to make the situation right and adopt her now, and I ask this Council to believe I am only guilty of youthful indiscretion and stupidity. I will not surrender my Council seat.” He sat down. Out of the corner of her eye Alison saw him lace his fingers together and rest them on the table. She thought they might be trembling.

  “Thank you, your Highness,” Zara said.

  “Your Majesty,” Lestrange said, half-rising from his chair before she could continue, “since his Highness chooses not to resign, I must call for a vote of no confidence. The Council must protect its reputation.”

  Zara raised an eyebrow at him. “Very well, Mister Lestrange, your request is noted. Voting will proceed immediately.” She didn’t even bother pretending she had not known this would happen. “Since some of you have never participated in a Council vote before, I will explain the procedure. Each of you will be given two balls, one red and one white. You will place one of these into the vase at the back of the room to cast your vote and place the other into the box beside it. When all the votes have been cast, my assistants will break the vase and count the votes twice. A red ball is a vote to relieve Anthony North of his position on this Council; a white ball is a vote to retain him. Anthony will of course not be voting on this matter, and as the one who appointed Anthony to his position, I now recuse myself from this vote. My brother and I will now leave you to deliberate and will return when the votes have been cast.” She pushed back her chair, and she and Anthony left the room so quickly Alison felt lost.

  “I think the situation is clear, don’t you all?” Lestrange said as attendants liveried in North colors began passing out painted wooden balls the size of large marbles. Alison took hers and clutched them in one hand, feeling them warm almost immediately from the heat of her skin. There was no tactile difference between them, but Alison imagined one was hotter than the other, its red surface glowing with malice.

  “It’s not clear at all, Roger,” Belladry said. “We shouldn’t take such a drastic step before the Prince has even been convicted.”

  “It’s a formality,” said Fern Harcourt, Countess of Cullinan. “Everyone knows what he’s like.”

  “He’s not that man anymore,” Clara Unwin protested.

  “It’s not about who he is now, it’s about who he was,” Lestrange countered. “Anthony North has been a scandal and a blot on the North name for years. Trying to make up for that by belatedly giving his illegitimate child a family bond is ludicrous.”

  “Foolish and careless, yes,” Unwin said. “But so lost to all decency as to conceal his child’s birth? Not a chance.”

  “You’d stand by him in any case,” Harcourt said with a mean smile. “Groomed him to be your successor, didn’t you?”

  “Groomed him to be the next king,” Unwin shot back, “something I think all of you are forgetting in your haste to condemn him. He has her Majesty’s support, and I don’t think anyone is quite ready to suggest that our Queen cares so little for the law that she would help him circumvent it, brother or no.”

  “Zara doesn’t have a say in this,” Lestrange said.

  “Well, I do, and I say this vote is a farce. Anthony’s innocent and that’s the end of it.”

  “You don’t know that,” said Bernard Forsyte, head of Agriculture and, from what Anthony had told Alison, a hardcore reactionary. “It’s shameful how young people these days think they can flout our moral code with impunity. This is our chance to send a message to Tremontane: no one is above the law.”

  “And the law says no one is guilty simply on someone else’s say-so,” said Belladry.

  “That say-so combined with the boy’s reputation is enough for me.”

  The gnawing, empty ache had begun in Alison’s chest again. Their tainted history didn’t matter; she had to speak what she knew was truth. “He’s innocent,” she said in a clear voice that cut across whatever Belladry had begun to say in response. “He didn’t know about the child until just days ago. He hasn’t broken any laws.”

  They all looked at her in varying degrees of amazement, all except for Lestrange, who regarded her with a calculating expression. “I suppose you might be expected to take his side,” he said.

  Alison looked back at him for a long moment. For once his round face, distorted at the moment by a nasty sneer, looked like that of an adult, if a calculating, mean-spirited one. She wasn’t sure what he saw in her face, but whatever it was made his expression go uncertain. Then she pushed her chair back and stood leaning forward a little, one hand clutching the marbles and the other flat
on the smooth surface of the calcified wood. “Might I?” she said. “I think none of you can be unaware of what the Prince was to me. You know better than I do what rumors surrounded him, and me, at the beginning of the year. Mister Lestrange, I am the last person in this room to blindly protest Anthony North’s innocence. So I think you should all consider what it means that I believe him to be innocent of these charges. Anthony may be many things, but he has never been a criminal. He is already being crucified in the court of public opinion. He doesn’t deserve to be betrayed by his peers on the Council too. I intend to vote to retain his Highness on this Council. And I’m ready to cast that vote now.”

  She sat down, held the red marble in her left fist, and raised the white marble in her fingers so everyone could clearly see its color. “I don’t know what the order of precedence is, in voting,” she said. “But I’m not interested in waiting long for my turn. So if you have anything else to say, now would be a good time for it.”

  Silence. Lestrange looked as if he wanted to explode, but couldn’t find the right words. Belladry smiled at Alison in approval. “I don’t think anyone else would like to speak,” she said, “and I believe I’m ready to cast my vote as well. Countess, the vote proceeds by seniority,” she told Alison.

  “You have no right—” Lestrange began.

  “No right?” said Monica Delarue, who’d never spoken in any of the times Alison had been present for a Council meeting. “On what grounds, Roger? That she disagrees with you? Matthew, cast your vote already and let’s see how they fall.”

  Matthew Godwinson, head of Internal Affairs, stood and shoved his chair back with more force than was necessary. He didn’t reveal the color of the ball he dropped into the vase and returned to his seat in silence. One by one, the councilors went to cast their votes, until finally Alison dropped her white ball into the vase and tossed the red one into the box so hard it rattled inside. She hadn’t yet taken her seat when an attendant left the room and returned with Zara and Anthony in her wake. Zara returned to her throne-chair; Anthony stood behind her rather than resuming his seat.

  “Please count the votes,” Zara said, and shortly there was the ringing crack of shattered pottery, and the clicking of wood against wood. Alison glanced in the direction of the vase and couldn’t see the balls. The clicking stopped, then resumed.

  “Your Majesty, everyone has voted,” the attendant said. “In the matter of retaining Anthony North as head of Communications and member of this Council, the vote is seven in favor, four against.”

  Alison turned to look at Anthony just in time to see a look of utter surprise be replaced by his now-familiar stony visage. He didn’t think he’d win, she thought, he didn’t think anyone believed him, and guilt struck her so hard she couldn’t breathe. I can’t, she thought, and the rest of that thought was lost in confusion.

  “Councilors, thank you for your service. Anthony, you may take your seat,” Zara said. How she managed not to sound smug astonished Alison. “I assure you all that the Crown’s investigation into the allegations made against his Highness are underway, and I have confidence they will reveal the truth. I am pleased that you are all so concerned about the reputation of this Council and I hope we will provide a united front in this matter.” She looked directly at Lestrange as she said this. Lestrange went red.

  “I am certain we will all cooperate in clearing the Prince’s good name,” he said, trying not to sound as if he were choking on the words.

  “Thank you, Roger. Now, in two days the Magistrix will present her formal proposal to the Council, after which we will vote on her request. I suggest you continue to discuss privately so you will come to that meeting prepared to deliberate and make the best decision for this country. Thank you again for your service.” She stood. The meeting was over.

  Alison followed Anthony out of the room, pausing once to look back at Zara, who was deep in conversation with Belladry Chadwick. She looked at his back, at those broad shoulders that at the moment were slumped a little, and guilt filled her once again. She was being spiteful. They were both committed to the theater, they were on the Council together, he had behaved so well to her since her return to Aurilien; she could never forgive him for what he’d done to her, but it didn’t mean she couldn’t be his friend. “Anthony, wait,” she said.

  He stopped, hesitated a moment, then turned to look at her, his face expressionless. The Baron of Highton brushed past them both with a muttered apology, and then the hall was clear except for the two of them. “I just…I wanted to tell you I believe you,” she said. “I know you wouldn’t do such a thing.”

  “Thank you,” he said, and turned away. It was so definite a rejection that she felt stunned, then angry with herself. Never mind what he’d told her in his office the day Henry had betrayed her; he clearly wasn’t interested in being her friend. Well, she didn’t want to be his friend either. It was only guilt that had made her think so. But she had no reason to feel guilty, because he was the one who’d wronged her. She watched him walk away and ignored the empty ache inside her that wished he’d chosen otherwise.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Despite Zara’s instructions for her councilors to discuss the upcoming vote privately, Alison didn’t see any of them during the next two days. She guessed that, as she was the most junior member of the Council, none of them thought her opinion was worth having. She didn’t care. Having already made up her mind as to which way she was voting, she had no interest in discussions about it. She threw herself back into Library business, stayed indoors, and managed to forget for minutes at a time that Gowan had tried to have her killed and would likely try again.

  She couldn’t eat, the morning of the vote, though she forced herself to choke down a soft-boiled egg and her usual two cups of heavily sugared coffee laced with cream. She dressed with greater than usual care, forgoing trousers and shirt in favor of a dark blue morning gown and allowing Belle to pile her curls atop her head with a few dangling loose around her face. If she were going to lose the Library today, she would at least look good when it happened.

  She was almost last to the audience chamber, which adjoined the Council chamber, with only the perennially late Baron of Highton missing when she arrived. The audience chamber’s white vaulted ceiling, thirty or more feet high, looked impressive at first glance, but a closer inspection showed Alison that it needed a fresh coat of paint. The room felt in general as if it needed renovation. The biting smell of mildew came from somewhere nearby, possibly from the cracks in the plastered walls. Wall to wall carpet covered the floor in a thick gold pile that swallowed footsteps and kept them from echoing off the walls and ceiling. Double doors of six-inch-thick oak rose fifteen feet high to a rounded top, and at the far end of the room facing them stood a round dais reached by three steps upon which stood the throne of Tremontane, a plain chair carved not from wood but from a single block of green and black marble. It bore no cushions and looked terribly uncomfortable. Zara sat in it with no evidence of discomfort. The rest of the councilors were ranged on either side of the throne, facing the doors.

  Alison joined the rest of the councilors, who turned to look at her, and immediately felt herself go blotchy. She had forgotten the North colors were dark blue and silver—and Anthony was dressed in a North blue frock coat that matched her gown as perfectly as if they’d planned it. Pretending nothing was wrong, she held her head high and took her place next to Anthony, who had his hand over his mouth to conceal a smile. Alison swallowed hard, then smiled brightly at everyone and pretended she was wearing pink.

  Zara gave no indication that she was aware of the tension among her councilors. “I see it is time to begin,” she said.

  “Morton isn’t here yet,” Lestrange said. He was definitely more tense than everyone else, his eyes skimming across the assembled councilors as if trying to change their votes by some inherent magic affecting thoughts. If the Baron of Highton, Lestrange’s toady, didn’t arrive soon, he might lose his vote, and while
Alison didn’t know exactly how the votes lay at the moment, she felt certain Lestrange’s support wasn’t so great that he could afford to give up any advantage.

  “The Baron knows the time and place of our meetings,” Zara said. “If he—”

  “Sorry, sorry,” the Baron of Highton said, darting into the room and tripping over the carpet before stumbling into his place. He was out of breath and his forehead was a little sweaty. “I hope I didn’t keep everyone waiting.”

  “Not at all, Morton,” Zara said. She beckoned to an attendant. “Please ask the Magistrix and her party to enter.”

  The attendant went to the double doors and, with the help of another blue-and-silver liveried attendant, pulled them open with some effort. Immediately beyond, the Magistrix and her two Magisters, again in full blue and black regalia, stood posed in a loose triangle with the Magistrix at the nearest point. Beyond them was a double column of red-robed Masters, far more than had been in the Magistrix’s party. Alison, looking closely, didn’t see Gowan among them, but recognized two of the Masters from the north wing offices. The Magistrix was attempting to intimidate Zara in her own palace. No, she was trying to intimidate Zara’s councilors, a ploy that, infuriatingly, might actually work.

  The procession came forward slowly, the Magisters matching their pace to that of the cane-assisted Magistrix. Despite the cane, the Magistrix walked with confidence, her warm brown eyes never leaving Zara’s icy blue ones. When she was within five feet of the dais, she stopped and bowed, equal to equal. It was an insult Zara should not ignore, but the Queen said only, “Magistrix. Welcome. You come before us with a proposal. Speak, and you shall be heard.”