by C. L. Polk
“What if she can’t?”
My throat went tight. “Then there will be blood.”
“You fear that. Even though the blood will most likely fall from our veins.”
“I don’t want any blood to fall,” I said.
“It’s like surgery,” Robin said. “When a patient will die without the surgeon’s knife, then you need to cut into the body. Blood falls, but the patient is saved.”
“And Aeland needs a surgeon.” I sat up. My head pounded, but it was a muffled thump, at least. “To cut out the thing that’s killing it. That’s what you’re saying.”
“Do you disagree?”
I didn’t dare shake my head. “I don’t. But—”
“Every patient fears the risks. And only the worst doctors pretend there aren’t any. People die in surgery. It’s dangerous,” Robin said. “But if you just leave it, the patient will die without that intervention.”
It made sense. I knew it did. And she was right. “I think I can make it back to Government House now. I have a committee to support.”
NINETEEN
The Cabinet
Blast this stupid sled. It had the yellow-ribboned crowd making ugly noises as we passed the temporary fence holding them at a distance from the long, shallow steps leading to Government House. They raised their signs and chanted in one angry voice: “Free them now!”
Permitted past the fences were reporters and photojournalists, milling about and smoking in the frosty afternoon air. One look at my ostentatious orange contraption and the scrum of newshounds in pinch-fronted hats came flying, cameras raised. Beside me, Tristan groaned.
“That’s our cover blown out of the water.”
“I’m sorry.” I stood and let William hand me down. “I’ll distract them.”
I plunged into their midst and kept moving up the stairs, every shout drilling straight into my skull. “Citizens. I have a terrible headache. Please take this statement and ask no questions. I do not yet know what will come of Miss Jessup’s investigation. It must be decided on by Parliament.”
“But where do you stand?” one voice asked.
I nodded toward the group gathered at the top. “Behind Member Clarke, who has an announcement for the press today. Member Clarke?”
Member Clarke shook back his lock-braided hair and let me pass into the bulk of his committee. I couldn’t exactly hide, but I let them shield me. Tristan and Aife weren’t anywhere in sight. Had they escaped without being photographed? Solace, let it be so.
Across the street, the protestors shook their signs, but they quieted as Member Clarke raised a bellower and shouted his message. I set a small charm that would project his speech a little farther, standing in the back behind the real members of Clark’s coalition. He’d picked up more members in the crisis, as common-born Elected from Aeland’s cities broke away from trying to ingratiate themselves with the landed who dominated the seats from in-country.
“The committee has reviewed the records of Salterton’s Hansard and related supplementary documents entered into consideration during the debate and approval of the Witchcraft Protection Act,” he said, letting his trained voice ring over the crowd. I tried not to look like I was being murdered by the pop of flashbulbs.
“It is the conclusion of this committee that the evidence is questionable, the debate inadequate, and the vote suspicious,” Member Clarke went on.
A ragged cheer rose from the protestors. Clarke let them have a moment, then continued. “This law should never have been confirmed.”
Cheers from across the street, jubilant and earsplitting. I smiled like I would die if I stopped. Clarke addressed the reporters in front of him. “Our findings led us to investigate key members of the vote, and our discoveries have prompted an audit and investigation into the finances of seventeen members of the Lower House who voted in approval.”
“Are you saying they were bribed?” a reporter asked.
Member Clarke’s tone was patient. “We are asking that their finances be investigated so we can determine if they were bribed.”
“But what does this mean?” another reporter asked. “Are you siding with the abolitionists who claim that witches aren’t dangerous?”
“This committee was formed to investigate the claims made in an independent report. This report detailed serious abuses of ordinary citizens supported by propaganda and myths surrounding the magically talented. The report was researched and written by a team of historians, lawyers, and medical experts. The story that the magically talented become mentally unstable and violent can boast no evidence of anyone actually doing so. It uses documents on public record. You can read it for yourselves.”
He lifted a hand, and clerks handed out bound volumes to every reporter who put out their hand for a copy. A pretty young woman handed me a soft-bound book. I noted R. M. Thorpe among the list of authors, along with names I didn’t recognize. I tucked it under my arm and waited for Clarke to finish.
He lifted the bellower to his mouth once more. “Based on this report, and the failure of this committee to refute its claims, we are introducing a notice of prorogue concerning the Witchcraft Protection Act. We ask that it be immediately suspended. We wish for every inmate of the asylums to be emancipated on Snowglaze one, 1584, to be returned to their places in society.”
Screams of joy from the protesters. But a reporter yelled, “That’s too soon!” and the whole group went into a tumult. I clenched my jaw and kept my hands by my sides.
One voice rose above the din to shout, “Chancellor Hensley, will the Queen approve this action?”
I raised my hand and the scrum quieted. “I have only just learned the findings of the committee,” I said, but waves of pain knotted my forehead. “I shall have to meet with Her Majesty and discuss it.”
“Do you approve this hasty action, Chancellor?”
That was it. That was the question they’d all been waiting for. I scanned the reporters, hoping that my snow goggles weren’t making me look too distant.
“I’ve read about the Cabinet vote in the Hansard,” I said. “I suggest you look at it yourselves—and then compare the yea votes to the list of major shareholders in Aeland Power and Lights.”
“But does that mean—”
“Yes,” I said. “I believe we should set the Witchcraft Protection Act aside. But my vote in the House will not be my own, but the Queen’s. I stand before all of you and I say yes. It’s a bad law, forcing a terrible injustice on Aeland’s people, catering to the lies and fear surrounding the magically talented. I hope it is torn to shreds. Excuse me.”
I couldn’t stand in the low, slanting light beaming onto the south steps any longer. I couldn’t bear the voices, loud and demanding. I took the stairs and moved through Government House, desperate for a quiet, dark place to rest and a healthy dose of the tonic I had from the chemist.
Janet gasped when she saw me. “Dame Grace.”
I held up a hand. “Quiet, please. No typing. I need to lie down and—”
A woman rose from the padded depths of the couch and walked into my view. Muriel Baker, the Queen’s personal amanuensis, was smart in her wool skirt-suit, but her presence in my reception room made me want to fall on the floor and cry.
Muriel stood with perfect posture, her arm curled around a writing board. She checked off an item and announced, “Her Majesty wishes you attend her immediately.”
I closed my eyes and sighed. “Of course.”
* * *
“This way.”
Muriel’s route led not into the palace where I had expected to go, but along the narrow hallway that served as a shortcut to the House of the Elected and the Queen’s Cabinet chambers. What were we doing here? There was no Cabinet. We neared the tall doors carved with a bas-relief of Good Queen Agnes and her lamb, and the buzz of voices rose from inside the chamber.
Voices. In the Cabinet. Scarlet-coated guards draped in gold braid and tassels emerged from alcoves on either side of the door. The
Queen’s personal guard barred the way as the sharp crack of a gavel pounded through the thick wood and smacked me in the forehead.
The doors opened, and I beheld disaster.
The Queen sat on a dais at the bottom of the chamber, clad in the violet robes that weren’t quite her most formal, crowned in a circlet of gold oak leaves, her scepter nestled in the crook of her elbow. Beside her in the junior throne, Crown Prince Severin wore one of his beloved bespoke suits, with violet snugged at his throat and peeking from his pocket square, amethyst cuff links winking at his wrists. He noticed me first, and Constantina fought the cruel edge of a smile when she laid eyes on me. She beckoned me to her.
I moved down the steep stairway bisecting the half circle of tiered seats filled with people dressed in black robes and violet-trimmed caps, the formal attire of Cabinet members. Familiar faces turned to watch my progress. I tallied up the faces, matching them to their positions by their chosen seat: Sir Jonathn Sibley, sitting in the seat for the Minister of Agriculture. Dame Irene Stanley, Minister of Labor. Dame Sarah Varley, Minister of Transportation—
Dame Elsine Pelfrey, seated in the place reserved for the Minister of Finance.
I knew their faces. Many of them occupied the seats held by their mothers and fathers. Elsine regarded me with spiteful triumph. I had been so busy crushing Raymond, I’d missed that she was the real threat.
“Chancellor,” the Queen said, and the room leaned into a hush. “You were expected an hour ago.”
Blast it. I descended the final stair and went down on one knee, the joint pressed against cold marble.
“My apologies, Your Majesty.” There hadn’t been any notice. Janet would have told me if there was something this big going on. I’d been sandbagged. “As I was unaware of this emergency session, I took the time to meet with some Elected Members who wished to speak of Parliamentary matters.”
“I hope it was not Elected Member Clarke and his coterie?” The Queen cocked her head, looking so innocent.
She knew who I had been with already. “It was, ma’am. They wished to speak to me about their investigation into the Witchcraft Protection Act.”
“And you recommended the law stay in place. Correct?”
Oh, the deuce! “Their discoveries are cause for deep alarm, Your Majesty. Public questioning of the case made in favor will inevitably—”
“Do nothing,” the Queen said, “as there will be no suspension of the act. Which you should already know. How is it that you don’t?”
My knee ached with the glowing burn of being made to kneel and never given leave to rise. All stares were on me, drilling into my back and shoulders. My head split open at the scalp, fire pounding over my skull. “Ma’am, there are compelling, urgent reasons to ensure the matter of the witches be handled with care and attention. The charade has to come to an end, guided by our hand—we have the threat of the people’s deep anger, on one side—”
Someone behind me loosed a brief, scornful laugh.
“And the wishes of the Blessed Ones on the other. We’re being squeezed between them. Our best chance is to control the release of the witches, and to do it with our own narrative thoroughly in place.”
“And you have a plan.”
I raised my chin. “I do.”
“I’m in an indulgent mood,” Queen Constantina said. Severin bit down on a corner of his lip. “What is this plan?”
I steadied my voice. “We use the media to release stories that emphasize that the decisions of forty years ago were made by those men and women currently held on charges of treason. That the reason for their current imprisonment is connected to those past actions. You had no part in them, Your Majesty. Your signature isn’t on any of those laws. You weren’t even the heir—”
“Enough.” The Queen held up her hand. Reminding her of the horrible accident that had taken her husband and brother and made her the Crown Princess—that was thin ice I skated on, cracking under me as I tried to find a different angle, a better one.
The Queen steepled her fingers together. “So. You propose to put your father in a noose.”
Damn it. “They can be sentenced to life in prison.”
“The crowd prefers blood,” the Queen said, one finger tapping on the arm of her throne. “The most wicked participants should be punished in order to wash us clean of all offenses for the fullest effect. Tell me, would you send your father to the gallows for the sake of your own comfort?”
I was supposed to say no, and look weak, or say yes, and look cruel. “I say this to you even knowing that Sir Christopher Hensley was instrumental in the choices that have brought the Amaranthines to Aeland to judge us for our trespasses against them. That if there were a list of the worst offenders, his would be the first name on it.”
“So you would.” Constantina injected that phrase with fascinated wonder. “Shall we ask the Cabinet to volunteer their own parents to your plan? Say aye if you wish to see your father kicking at the end of a rope. Your mother choking to death like a murderer. Well, which of you will offer up a sacrifice?”
The room may as well have been empty for all the noise the Cabinet made behind me. Constantina bestowed a smile on them, praise for the correct answer.
“I think you need to come up with a plan that doesn’t ask others to desert their parents as readily as you are, Dame Grace. You are my voice in Parliament. You do not have a vote of your own. You do not get opinions of your own. They are mine. You are simply the messenger.”
I would never survive the Cabinet at my back, not after a declaration like that. Confound it, when had she had time to contact them all?
I had to do something. Get control of the situation.
“This is a mistake,” I said. “My job is to advise you with a clear-eyed evaluation of what is right for Aeland. My advice isn’t just opinion. I am describing the extremely narrow path we must follow if we are going to survive this crisis. If I tell you otherwise, I am not doing my job as your Chancellor.”
“I don’t want to hear any more of this plan,” the Queen said.
I had had more than enough of the Queen’s petty attempts at humiliation. I rose to my feet, slowly unbending the knee that throbbed at being mashed into the marble floor for so long. “That is a very great pity, Your Majesty,” I said, “because it’s the only choice you have left.”
Behind me, a liveried herald struck the floor three times, announcing a visitor to the Cabinet. I swiveled in time with the noises of surprise from behind me. That only happened when the Queen visited a Cabinet meeting. The Crown Prince would wait for a break in the proceedings, the same courtesy he gave stage performers and ice-hurley players.
Whoever wanted entrance to the chamber stood higher than any monarch.
The doors swung open, and Ysonde Falconer strode inside, garbed in fluttering black smoke and glints of silver. A huge black eagle rode on his gauntleted wrist, its eyes piercing and intent. Ysonde’s gaze was just as pitiless as he pinned the Queen down with a look.
“Constantina Isobel Mountrose,” he said. “You are expected to attend Blessed Grand Duchess Aife, Hand of the Throne of Great Making, First Daughter of Elondel, Watcher of the Dead. She who weighs Aeland’s violations requires your presence in the glass hall tomorrow at nine. You are invited to bring your heir, Severin Philip Mountrose, and are permitted no other guests.”
Queen Constantina’s face blanched. “I regret that my duties—”
“Fail to attend and Aife will deliver her judgment on Aeland on that very noon,” Ysonde said. “No clemency will be given.”
The Queen opened her mouth, and Severin spoke. “We hear and obey the Grand Duchess’s every wish. We shall attend her promptly on that day.”
Aife would change Constantina’s tune on the witchcraft act. She had no choice but to do the right thing.
How it galled her, even as she shrank away from Ysonde. Her white knuckles on the arms of the throne spoke of her fear, but her eyes smoldered. No one told Constantina wha
t to do, but not even she dared defy an order from the leader of the Amaranthines. And with Aeland’s fate on the line—she’d show up to that summons.
I wished I could be there to see it.
“Dame Grace,” Ysonde said. “Aife would like to thank you for your help today. Your service is gratefully received.”
“Please give the Grand Duchess my thanks for trusting me with the task,” I said. “It was my honor to assist her.”
Ysonde nodded to me and went out of the chamber, leaving us all in silence.
I returned my attention to Queen Constantina, who sat with wide, unsettled eyes. “Your Majesty.”
She swiveled her gaze back to me. I kept my tone firm, skirting the edge of commanding. “I suggest you prepare yourself for facing the First Daughter of the Solace, Your Majesty. Aeland is balanced on her judgment, and she has asked for three concessions from you. I would start thinking of how to cooperate with her.”
“Leave me.” The Queen’s voice quavered. “All of you. Now.”
A shuffling and thumping behind me as the newly appointed Cabinet hastened to obey. I didn’t quite dare put any weight on my right knee—a limp wouldn’t do, after I had seized the moment. Severin hopped off the dais and was at my side in moments.
“You can’t walk on that.” He offered me his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I tried to find you, but you weren’t anywhere.”
“I wasn’t in the building,” I said, gritting my teeth as I tried to put my weight on my knee.
“Come to my office. It’s closer,” Severin said. “There are things you should know.”
* * *
We used the secondary corridors to navigate through Government House, avoiding the media and anyone trying to get a word with the Prince. Severin was a patient crutch as I hobbled beside him past walls laden with displays of lesser works of art, too sentimental to be much more than decoration seen mostly by clerks and servants.