Elsabet turned and stared at William. At her movement, the rest of the court froze. All but the king-consort and the girl whose dark curls were twirled around his fingers. The room went so silent that when Elsabet spoke, it rang through the air like a shout.
“What is so funny?”
William’s and the girl’s laughter cut off abruptly, and they broke apart. His hand slid back to his side of the table like a guilty snake. “Darling?” he asked, and Elsabet smiled broadly.
“What is so funny? You have been quite merry there in your little corner. Will you not share the joke with us?”
“Ah . . .” William’s mouth hung agape. “We were discussing the state of fashion. How . . . how many layers and ties and time it takes to get one properly dressed.”
Properly dressed. Or quickly undressed.
“Of course.” Elsabet forced a laugh. In the court, a few scared or sympathetic folk joined in. “A very funny subject indeed.”
For a moment, it seemed that Elsabet would return to the matter of coin. She sat there for several long, slow breaths, her hands clenching and unclenching in her lap as she tried to master herself. But in the end, she could not. She stood and pushed away from the Black Council table, her long legs sweeping her quickly down the aisle.
“Queen Elsabet! Elsie!” Gilbert sputtered, and shuffled papers, hastening to follow her.
“That is all for today,” Elsabet announced as she left. “I thank you for your attendance.”
As soon as she quit the room, Bess was at her side without needing to be summoned, as was Rosamund Antere, who swung her spear in a broad circle to pave the queen’s way.
“Bess, my gloves, if you please. And a carriage.”
“Ready the queen’s carriage!” Rosamund bellowed, and ten queensguard soldiers jumped to do her bidding.
“No,” Elsabet called out. “I have changed my mind. Not the carriage. A horse. And horses for the commander and Bess.”
“Elsabet.” Gilbert caught up to her and took her by the elbow. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, Gilbert. I am just going to take some air at the river market.”
He frowned. The Black Council did not like the queen frequenting the markets like a commoner. But that is precisely why she did it: to be like her people, to be out among them. To mix with them and hear their troubles firsthand. And today, it would give her distance from William and his girl, so let the council grumble. She could never seem to please them anyway.
Sonia Beaulin appeared at the door and lifted her chin. “The river market?” She sniffed and turned her gaze on Rosamund. “You shouldn’t take the queen there with such a small detail of soldiers.”
“I know the layout well, Beaulin,” Rosamund replied. “A small detail is plenty of protection.”
“Forgive me if I do not trust the judgment of an Antere.”
Rosamund stepped forward. So did Sonia, though Rosamund towered over her by a head.
“Enough, enough.” Gilbert pressed them apart. “You are like dogs, you two. Snarling and snapping and your hackles always up. We ought to have appointed a naturalist to the Black Council so they could bring you to heel.”
“Thank you, Gilbert,” the queen said, and began to walk before anyone else could pose an objection. “I will not be gone overlong.”
After the queen had left, her party following in her shadow, Sonia returned to the throne room and made her way to her friend, the poisoner Francesca Arron.
“That is the first time she has spoken against his behavior in public,” she said. Then she snorted. “Look at him. How dejected his handsome face looks. He won’t be able to muster the nerve to climb into a strange bed tonight.”
“Perhaps tomorrow,” Francesca replied. But she was not even looking at the king-consort. She was looking at the gathered people, watching them whisper. Registering the surprise on their faces at their usually composed queen’s small outburst. No doubt Francesca would be devising a way to use that gossip to her advantage. Arrons were always like that. “Have the girl banished from attending court for a season,” Francesca said. “And make sure you are seen doing it. The queen will appreciate that favor.”
INDRID DOWN
By the time Elsabet reached the river market, the jolting pace of her horse had almost shaken off the feelings of jealousy and shame. The nerve of William, to flaunt his pursuit right before her eyes. And what a fool she had been, to succumb to such an embarrassing outburst. The people would whisper now, Elsabet thought as she dismounted. But let them. They had already been whispering for months. Let them see that she would not simply accept his behavior. Let them talk about that.
She took a deep breath as Bess dismounted and came to her side and Rosamund to the other. The river market was her favorite to frequent in the summer, as it was cooler, less crowded than the Bardon Harbor market, and smelled less of fish. Today it was bustling, the stalls full with merchants selling fresh and dried meats, newly dyed cloth, jewelry, and any manner of trinket the heart could desire. They smiled and doffed their hats to the queen, and she smiled back. They had not witnessed her shame. And she vowed that her behavior at the market would be so carefree that none of them would believe it when they heard the gossip later.
They stopped at a naturalist stall and watched a man ripen strawberries by palming them with his hands. Elsabet purchased a basketful. “For pies,” he suggested as he took her coins.
“A strong gift for a man, ripening those berries with a touch,” Rosamund commented as they walked. “He must be a Travers.” The Traverses were the strongest naturalist family on the island. Most of the fruits and vegetables that made it to the Volroy were grown and ripened by them in their city, Sealhead, on the southwest shores of the island, for theirs were the best.
Bess twisted her neck back to get a better look at the naturalist. She was always curious about the strongly gifted, as she had no gift herself. To their right, a woman called out to them with a cup of cool wine for the queen, and Rosamund nearly knocked it out of her hand. Bess paid the woman and thanked her, giving Rosamund a look.
“You war-gifted,” she muttered. “To you everything is a threat. Everything is a challenge.”
“Would you have me be less vigilant with the safety of our queen?”
Bess placed her hand on Elsabet’s arm. “Who would think to harm the queen? But of course not. I would simply have you overreact less. Stop seeking a battle. We have had two queens of war out of the last three, and now there is no king anywhere who would move against us. If one did, he knows what he would find: strong-gifted warriors whose arrows never miss. And who embrace death.” She touched her fingers to the bottom of Rosamund’s jaw, and Rosamund swatted her away with a grin.
“We do not embrace death. We only know we’re unlikely to meet it.”
They wandered down the row where two men haggled over the price of pretty colored fabrics, and Elsabet ran her hand down the hanging cloth.
“I also wish you sought less of a battle, Rosamund,” she said. “At least with members of my Black Council.” She looked at her commander sternly so her meaning would not be lost. Too often Rosamund and Sonia Beaulin nearly came to blows. At the palace, Gilbert had said they were like dogs. But they were more like wolves. Two packs of them: the Beaulins and the Anteres, and if anything were to truly start between them, it would end in blood. When Elsabet became queen, she thought to appease both families by appointing Sonia to the Black Council and Rosamund head of the queensguard, but now it seemed that she had made a mistake and each would have preferred the other position. But then who could say? Perhaps it was their fate to be always at odds, and there could never have been any peace between them.