Farhod had never yelled at me. Not even when I was being my most recalcitrant. The doctors stopped what they were doing to stare.
My first thought was that Father would have killed him for saying these things. But my defensive arguments melted as I looked at him. He was sallow and thin-lipped. Anger and fear warred on his face.
The anger won. “You know that the best way to cure them is to find the culprit. So what are you doing here?”
I fought to keep my tears in. I had a thousand excuses, but that was all they were. The truth was, I was too scared to do what needed to be done.
But Father had never been scared. “Fine,” I said, and the word sounded cold and bitter. “You’re right.” I dipped my hands in a bowl of water and dried them on the edge of my coat. “Thank you for your candor.”
“Ekata, I didn’t mean—”
“I know what you meant.” I cut him off, fighting to keep my voice even. “I understand. I’ll let you work.”
Farhod reached for me. “Why don’t you sit down?” His tone was carefully kind. I hated it.
“I would, but I don’t have time. I’ve a country to run.”
I sounded like my parents, and I hated that, too. This had never been the way Farhod and I acted toward each other. Becoming grand duke had taken more than my family. It had taken my friends, and that hurt more.
I hurried out before the first tears could fall, wiping them on the back of my glove as I opened the door to the hall outside.
I set off toward the civil quarters. It was time for me to be in control. It was time for me to do something. And Annika would be in their meeting, which meant I could do things a bit differently than I had during my disastrous, too-public audit of the treasury. If I found evidence in their rooms, I’d arrest them. If I didn’t, I’d arrest Olloi. Grand dukes made grand gestures.
Annika made sense as a suspect. Someone had been talking to Sigis in the law library. They owned land in Drysiak, and they’d switched from opposing a parliament to supporting one in the matter of a day. And if the uneasiness grew in me, if I felt as though I was sneaking around, I reminded myself that I was the grand duke and that my word was law.
Annika’s rooms were locked, but I motioned to Viljo. He came forward warily. “Break the lock,” I ordered. He stared at me, uncertain, and my temper flared again. “Do you need to hear it twice?”
“Ah, no,” he mumbled. “Your Grace.”
He took out a knife and fumbled with the lock until I heard a brittle snap. The door to Annika’s rooms creaked open.
The apartments were green and gold, with a low couch in the antechamber and a desk carved from a pale wood in a series of intricate knots, more in the style of one of the Western countries than our little snowbound place. Maybe Annika owned land there, too.
I went to the desk first, opening each drawer in succession. Land agreements, taxation records, farming leases, and serf reports. All were dated in the last three months. And all were for land within Sigis’s empire. They would make good evidence.
“Your Grace,” Viljo said nervously.
“Watch the door.” From the desk, I moved on to Annika’s bookshelves. If I were to hide truly damning information, I’d do so in the most boring-looking book on my shelf. For me, it would be a biology tome. For Annika…
I pulled On the Technological Advances in Soil from the shelf and flicked it open. No luck. I picked up the book next to it, and the book next to that. Each one looked less interesting than the last—but none of them hid anything.
Under the bed. Behind a sconce. In the cushions of couches and chairs. In the lining of tapestries. As I took a quick inventory of the rooms, my pulse increased. You’re the grand duke. You don’t snoop. You investigate. This palace was my right. Serving my family was Annika’s privilege.
“Your Grace,” Viljo repeated. Did he have any other language in his vocabulary?
“I told you to watch the door,” I snapped.
“Why?” said an all-too-familiar and unwelcome voice.
I whirled, dropping the stack of books I held. They bounced off my toes. I tried to look like the kind of person who dropped books on my shoes for fun. “Minister Reko. What are you doing here?”
“I must ask you the same question.” Reko’s eyes fluttered from the bookcase to me to Viljo. “I wasn’t aware you had business with Minister Annika—” His eyes swept the room again. “Without Minister Annika.”
“And you just happened to come this way?” I challenged him. “Your quarters are on the other side of the palace. Are you following me around?”
He didn’t answer. That only solidified my certainty, like ice freezing over the dark lake. He had been waiting for me to leave the royal apartments to see what I’d do next. But he cocked his head and said, “And what are you doing here?” as though he had all the right in the world to be in Annika’s rooms, and I had none.
His insolence rubbed at an open wound. “I am the grand duke. I can go where I please in my own palace.”
“That it is your palace does not make it all your property. Would you demand that the entire duchy open its doors for you to stomp around and throw their books on the floor?” Reko sounded both amused and outraged.
“If that’s what will bring my father back, yes.”
“Even a grand duke must abide by the law,” Reko said.
I called on the cold rage of my father and mother. “I am the law.”
The sneer began at his lips. It pulled back, and back, twisting his face, darkening his eyes. “You are the law?” he seethed. “How dare you? Your father was the law. You’re nothing but a despot. This is a person’s private room.”
“That’s enough,” I said, and tried to signal the paralyzed Viljo.
“It is not enough,” he said, and from the way he pitched his voice, theatrically loud, I knew he was trying to signal people to come. And it was working. I heard footsteps in the hall, saw half a face behind the doorframe. “You have violated a sacred rule. Are you planting evidence? Are you setting them up? Orchestrating their downfall so that you can replace them?”
“I’m trying to find the truth.” I wanted the truth. The chance to escape. Freedom. Not the scrutiny of the servants and delegates and lesser ministers who had begun to crowd the hallway, curious.
“Whose truth?” Reko said.
“Truth isn’t subjective. It’s scientific.” And there was a truth to all this.
Reko laughed, bitter as poison. “Of course. Your truth is the only truth. I should have expected.”
“Reko, stop.” I hated how pleading I sounded. But I hated the spectacle more. I hated that people peered around the corner and didn’t avert their gaze when I glared at them. I hated that my plan was truly awful and that I was only now starting to realize it. I hated that if I’d understood even the simplest politics, I probably wouldn’t be here.
“No,” Reko spat. “Not until you’ve stopped the coronation trials and abdicated. I won’t stand by while you seize power. You’re not fit for it.”
I know, I wanted to scream in his face. I knew better than anyone.
Reko stepped toward the door, and his voice rang out down the corridor. “I’d rather have no grand duke and let Kylma fall into the lake than have a thief and a murderer for my grand duke.”
The murmurs that fissured through the corridor picked up in volume and speed. Syllables punched through the air like the sound of ice cracking. Murder. Curse. Stealing.
I was going under.
I grabbed Viljo by the arm. “Arrest him.” I dug in my fingers and gave him a look that said plainly, It’s him or you.
Viljo opened his mouth to dissent—then marched over to Reko. Reko didn’t try to resist as Viljo turned him against the wall and twisted his arms behind his back. At Viljo’s nod another guard came forward and took Reko away, their shoes clicking on the ice in a disjointed beat.
The crowd parted as they passed. The look Reko gave me over his shoulder was bitterly triumphant.
Si
lence followed, as thick as honey. I needed to save face, and I needed to do so before anyone else left. “And arrest Minister Annika, please. On suspicion of treason.” Viljo nodded, and another guard was dispatched to find them.
I lifted my head and gathered the cloak of my mother about me. My spine was rigid. Let them talk. Let them think me a despot.
Grand dukes made grand tyrants.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Father probably would have made some magical demonstration to remind everyone who was in charge. I retreated. Aino followed me, but wisely kept her mouth shut until we were in my rooms. Then she said, “What’s the point, Ekata?”
“Don’t start again,” I replied in a voice too hard. “I’ll arrest whomever I need to.”
“This isn’t like you. What’s the point of staying? What are you fighting for that’s worth destroying yourself?” She stood by the door, forehead creased, her mouth turned down. Waiting for me to break her heart.
I couldn’t bear to look at her. I went into my bedroom, forcing cheer into my voice so that it wouldn’t wobble. “Nothing’s destroying me. Don’t be dramatic.”
I heard the telltale sigh of Aino giving up on me. Then she followed me in and helped me change into a high-collared black dress with gold embellishments. As she held a pair of ruby earrings up next to my face, I studied myself in the wardrobe mirror. The bags under my eyes had not grown smaller since the night Eirhan had crowned me. My face seemed thinner, too, though perhaps that was the effect of the long earrings that framed it. The black collar of my dress made my skin ghostly. My gray eyes were dull, my pale hair greasy. The frown I presented was entirely too much like Mother’s.
I was in such a mess, and I didn’t know how to get out of it.
We turned at the sound of the door swinging open. “It is only me,” said Inkar cheerfully as she came in and began to peel off layers. “I will be ready in a minute.” She slid her tunic over her head, exposing her stomach and the bottom of her breast band.
I squawked and whirled back to my wardrobe—forgetting the full-size mirror there that reflected not just me but a view of her. I pulled my dressing screen between us before I could be caught staring. My face was warmer than any fire. “Wh-what are you doing?” I sputtered.
“I have been sweating,” she said. “I did not think you would want to smell it during dinner.”
“You could have warned me.” Why couldn’t I keep my voice steady? “Aino could have helped you get dressed.” Aino smacked me lightly on the shoulder.
“I apologize. It is not odd in my country to change in front of other women.”
“I’m not other women.” I was her wife. My mind lingered on the cut of her hip, the curve of her belly. Was her skin as soft as it looked?
Think about something else. “What made you so sweaty, anyway?” I asked into the wardrobe.
“I was practicing with the guard,” Inkar replied.
I hadn’t expected that answer. I turned in surprise, granting myself a face full of woven screen. “Why?”
“I have been lazy here. Your guard are kind opponents. And they are funny. I like them.”
“Now she’s cavorting with guards,” Aino said in Kylmian. She held up a necklace of pink sapphires.
“No,” I said. “Mother always wore that one.”
Aino’s eyebrows drew together. “I thought that would help to connect you with her. Remind people what you’re capable of.”
They already know what I’m capable of. Bungling politics and throwing temper tantrums. But was that really anything different from what Mother and Father used to do? They just had more style. I nodded assent, and Aino helped me fix the necklace’s clasp.
When I poked my head out from behind the screen, I was relieved to see that Inkar wore a black shirt. She’d exchanged her green vest for a white fur coat, and her axes hung prominently on a thick belt. “I will guard you. What do you think?” Inkar spread her arms.
She looked ready and willing to kill someone for me. She looked good.
Aino pursed her lips. “Should Your Grace not attempt something more… regal? We’d hate to give the impression that you spend your day lounging with the guard.” She paused so that Inkar could appreciate the fullness of her sneer. “A grand consort must act a certain way.”
“As a grand duke must act a certain way?” Inkar said.
Aino stepped between us, as if to protect me. “Are you insulting her?”
“Of course not.” Inkar tapped on her axes meditatively. “I think an unconventional grand duke deserves an unconventional consort.”
“Oh, you do deserve each other,” Aino muttered in Kylmian.
“Aino,” I snapped.
She shot me a resentful look but switched back to Drysian. “And would Her Grace like to make any demands of me before dinner?”
“Of course not,” Inkar said. Was that a hint of resentment in her tone, a hint of challenge in her smile?
“How relieving.” Aino carefully repinned a stray lock of my hair. “In such a case: Ekata, you’re ready.” Her voice dropped, and she added under her breath, “Though only the gods know how.”
The Great Hall was silent as we entered. Father never accomplished that, I thought darkly. I bore the usual awkward obeisance from my subjects and guests and had them rise. Would I ever be good at small talk, at remembering the right faces at the right times, and the right terms for every treaty, agreement, and dispute? You won’t have to, insisted a small part of me, and I clung to that with more determination than hope.
I scanned the hall for my enemies. Most of my ministry stood as far from me as they could get, at the edges of the hall with the servants. Sigis had cornered Yannush and they seemed to be in the throes of an argument. The only one who approached was Urso, who pressed my hand with bare fingers. They slipped under my cuff to touch my wrist and I stifled a yelp. They were freezing. “Has Minister Farhod made any headway?” he asked in an undertone.
“Why don’t you ask him yourself?” I said, pulling my hand away.
“He’s… not here…” Urso stepped back. “Good gods,” he said in a voice a touch too loud. “You didn’t arrest him, too?”
“No.” But the damage was done. Heads turned at my vehemence, and Urso slunk back to his secretary and Minister Itilya.
Someone laughed. Sigis, of course. “If there’s one thing I could learn from you, it’s how to make an entrance.” He bowed. “You’ve got people talking.”
It’s getting certain people to stop talking that’s the trick. I couldn’t even muster a false smile. How had he gotten behind me so fast?
“I’m taking bets on who’s next. Your ministers are all afraid to play.” Sigis leaned in, bringing a shoulder between me and Inkar. My hand tightened reflexively around her arm. “My money’s on the alchemist. I don’t know why you haven’t arrested him already.”
“Imagine that,” I muttered. “Something you don’t know.”
“I beg your pardon?” he said in that soft, I’m-going-to-murder-you voice.
“Have you had a difficult campaign this season?” Inkar asked, forcing him to step back and acknowledge her.
Sigis answered her grudgingly. “Campaigns are never easy, and my opponents fought honorably. But I’m sure news of my victories traveled as far as your little island.”
“It may surprise you that I do not follow your every move,” Inkar said.
“It shocks him,” I said.
Sigis froze for a moment, and I thought I saw a brief flash of hatred, quickly replaced by a bland smile. He touched a diamond rose pin at his neck and gave me a half bow.
I took Inkar’s arm and directed her away from Sigis without returning it. All the self-preservation of sixteen years surviving my family screamed at me not to provoke a narcissistic foster brother with his eyes on my throne, but I was tired of playing nice.
Inkar hailed a guard at the door to the banquet hall. He wore a half grin, half grimace, and a spectacular purple bruise just under
his left eye. “Declared fit for duty, Your Grace,” he said.
Inkar laughed. “I am sorry for that. My arm is still numb where you hit it.”
I stared at him blankly. “You hit her?”
For a moment, the guard looked like a man standing between a bear and her cub. But Inkar laughed again. “Do not be angry. That is the point of training. I hit him; he hit me.” She put a hand on his arm. “You did well. I will see you tomorrow.”
We went into the hall in silence. Inkar seemed hesitant, glancing at me two, three times before she spoke. “I like the guards, and I like to train. I hope you do not punish them for it.”
“I’m not angry.” I was thinking. What if Inkar was my key to winning the guards over from Eirhan?
Dinner was dull in the worst possible way. Sigis focused not on me, but on my ministers—flirting with Itilya, who looked at me before giving each reply. Haggling trade points with Urso and bringing up the Avythera agreement more than once. His conversation flowed so smoothly, and I was so awkward, that I couldn’t come up with the right thing to say before he turned the conversation again. I resigned myself to being silent and moody until dinner was over.
But after dinner was worse. As delegate after delegate whom I didn’t know and didn’t care about came up to me, I lost track of whom Sigis talked to and for how long. I craned my neck so much looking for him that I got dizzy and sent the Baron of Rabar off in a huff.
“You seem distracted.” I jumped. Of course Sigis was right beside me.
I bit back a curse and said the first thing I knew would make him angry. “I’m looking for my wife.”
“Your wife.” Sigis laughed. “I still find it ridiculous. You need someone you know, Ekata. Someone who knows you.” Suddenly, he was right next to my ear, voice soft and crushing as velvet. “It would be easier, you know. No coronation trials. No risking it all. I could take care of the horsewoman for us.”
I wanted to scrub the back of my neck until it bled, just to get the feel of his breath off me. I wanted to peel out of my skin and slip away.
I wanted to take one of the horsewoman’s axes and see how hard it really was to get those ten pints of blood out.
The Winter Duke Page 20