The Queen couldn’t drink it, of course. But she risked offence if she refused, which Lord Naruum was surely trying to provoke. Why else would he offer her untested wine in a room full of politicians?
No one moved, poised for whichever ill-fated decision the Queen would make. They were all wealthy, most from old bloodlines, and all bound by tightly knotted webs of etiquette and manners. They wouldn’t come to the Queen’s rescue. Though it would privately come with great favour, it would also involve public embarrassment.
Logic implied Naruum’s wine wasn’t poisoned, but what if logic was wrong?
If I became the Queen’s Whispers, my greatest responsibility was to keep her alive.
And I had to prove myself.
As the guards at the walls moved towards Naruum, I darted forward, as if I’d caught my shoe on the rug. I unbalanced myself enough that when I slapped a hand on Naruum’s shoulder, as if to catch myself, it wasn’t entirely a farce. I slammed my heel, hidden by my skirts, onto his foot.
He yelped. The glass and bottle went flying, and those in the wine’s path dived out of the way.
The rug was thick enough to save the bottle from shattering. It didn’t, however, keep the wine in it.
I had already moved back, as if in horror, so it didn’t splatter against my hem or shoes. Silence fell again, brittle with horrified amusement. I kept my head down. Better to pretend embarrassment against their pitying smiles. I’d prevented a situation where the Queen would have to give offence, but had publicly humiliated myself in the process. I was Third Step-born, now Fifth. I didn’t belong, Queen’s lady or not. This only proved it.
If Mama heard about this, not even being chosen by the Queen would save me.
The sapphire in Lord Martain’s bird glimmered at the edge of my vision, almost mockingly. The thought of his pride made my chest hurt.
But the wine was gone.
Lord Naruum seemed frozen to the spot. He should have been outraged, should have berated me for my clumsiness, anything that stressed this was my fault and he’d acted with the best of intentions.
He stayed silent.
‘Miss Bayonn.’ The Queen’s voice dropped into the quiet.
I risked a glance. ‘Your Majesty.’ She seemed calm, her royal training hiding her true emotions.
She raised a hand for the guards to pause, then gestured me forward, subtly putting me between her and Naruum. She held out a folded, sealed square of paper. ‘I have a message for Master Coin, if you would kindly deliver it.’ The request was mere formality.
‘Of course, Your Majesty.’ I took the paper, curtseyed, and backed away. The nobles parted for me. I didn’t look at anyone. Servants opened the doors as I drew near, so I didn’t have to fumble for the handles.
The doors closed, leaving me in abrupt quietness.
My shoulders slumped. Relief and delayed fear thrummed inside me. I glanced at the paper.
It was addressed to me.
I broke the seal and unfolded it.
Well done, Miss Bayonn, the note said in neat, curling letters.
Something warm swelled in my chest, a pleasant sort of tightening. She’d written this before our meeting. She couldn’t have predicted what would happen in that room. But if something had, she’d expected – hoped for? – me to succeed. If I hadn’t, I never would have seen this.
I hoped whoever had to clean the carpet was careful, just in case.
When I joined the Treasury, Mama gave me a new room in our suite so I had somewhere private, doors that I could close on everyone and everything. I stared into the flickering candles, unable to stop thinking about Naruum, and his wine, and the Queen. Shadows danced along the walls and ceiling, pooled in the corners.
The world outside my door had intruded and wouldn’t go away.
I kept wondering if I should go to the Queen, before common sense reasserted itself. Even if I used the passages, I could hardly knock on the wall of her apartments to be let in. As if I had any right to be there.
Papa had been poisoned, a slow-acting one that feigned a long illness. I knew this, yet had no proof. But I couldn’t shake the image of Naruum smiling as he held out the glass. I’d assumed that by forcing the Queen to refuse the wine, he’d wanted to sow distrust between her and the Opposition. But his reaction after didn’t make sense. Had the wine been poisoned? Why would he try to harm the Queen in a room of politicians, an attempt so public it could only fail?
Are you all right? I wanted to ask her, though assassination attempts surely didn’t unnerve her. Are you worried? Do you know what to do with him?
Did I do the right thing? Did I prove myself?
Do you trust me a little more now?
I blinked. I was at my door that opened onto the hall, had wrapped my fingers around the handle. I let go, stepped back. I couldn’t ask her any of those questions. I wasn’t her Whispers yet. Much had been promised, but nothing confirmed.
I extinguished the candles and climbed into bed. I stared at the ceiling, but couldn’t quieten my whirling mind.
Chapter Seven
Lia
The household had been up before dawn, submerging me in hot water to wash the princess from me. They’d brushed and twisted and pinned my hair.
For all of my financial fretting, I’d allowed no compromise on the dress. I’d parade through Arkaala before returning to the palace to be crowned. Clothing made no difference to my ability to rule, but people would remember what I wore. The dress was deep blue, the bodice and skirt heavy with gold and silver embroidery. My cloak was gold, edged in pale fur – too hot for an early spring coronation, but tradition demanded it.
My necklace, a large sapphire set in silver, had been my great-grandmother’s. I wore little face-paint, to limit the damage from nerves and the heat of too many people in one room.
I still looked a princess playing at being Queen.
A knock.
‘Enter.’
Mother held a large box stamped in gold leaves and vines. She bowed, her eyes wide in the mirror. ‘I– you–’
‘I know,’ I said, surprised at how sad I sounded.
Her mouth twisted in a half-smile. ‘Not what you expected?’
‘I’m not sure what I expected.’ I hadn’t anticipated political manipulation being so exhausting. I’d never used silence so much before to unnerve nobles and politicians into assumptions. They wanted so much, because they could. It was enough to make me scream, because I could.
And I hadn’t anticipated someone trying to kill me so soon.
Two days after the Opposition gathering, my physician had confirmed what I’d suspected: Naruum’s wine had been poisoned, strong enough to kill me. When Matthias had confronted him, Naruum insisted the dose would have only temporarily indisposed me.
When the information leaked, the Court and Parliament had infected themselves with panic. My parents had employed poison-tasters before my birth, had been almost matter-of-fact about the unavoidable consequences of being royal. Privately, no matter how I’d been taught, the attempt made me want to never leave the royal wing again. Publicly, I couldn’t let it affect me. The Court didn’t know how to react when I calmly continued with my daily routines.
Behind closed doors, Matthias tried to pry answers from Naruum and had also won our argument. He insisted on more guards for the coronation, while I wanted the original number to keep up the pretence of normality.