She stood, steady despite the pain she was surely feeling. The bishops passed her the sceptre; she held it as if her palms weren’t bloodied. She turned for our adoration.
‘Long live the Queen! Long live the Queen! Long live the Queen!’
For a moment, amid the roars and cheers, she looked ready to weep.
As Fifth Step, we were invited to the private celebration after the ceremony. Well, as private a gathering as a banquet can be. While the Queen went to the balcony to greet the crowds, we headed into the banquet hall attached to the ballroom.
I followed Zola’s gaze to Ernest Blackwood, the centre of his group as always. ‘No. We talked about this.’
‘We need to show ourselves. We can’t be rude.’
‘Why is nothing he does ever rude?’ I muttered.
When Ernest saw Zola, his expression went cold. I could hardly believe he’d ever liked her.
Etiquette demanded that Ernest acknowledge us first. He stayed silent until his companions shifted uncomfortably. Zola trembled at the slight. I silently counted to ten. Again, the urge to break Ernest’s nose overwhelmed me.
Then I nearly toppled to the floor, courtesy of Matthias.
‘Miss Bayonn! I’m so sorry, please forgive me!’
I gritted my teeth as he pulled me up. His cologne stung my nostrils. ‘Please, Baron Farhallow, no apologies necessary.’ I plastered a smile on my face. He grinned, then glanced at my sister.
‘Miss Zola, lovely to see you again!’
My sister, to her credit, answered him with admirable smoothness.
Matthias turned to Ernest. ‘Marquess Ashfall. Are you quite well? I hope your bout of inexplicable silence isn’t contagious.’
Ernest and his group stared.
Don’t laugh, don’t laugh.
Matthias bowed. ‘Miss Bayonn, Miss Zola, please follow me. There’s someone who wishes to make your acquaintance.’ He swept off. It was a lie, but a way for us to leave with dignity. As the Queen’s personal secretary, Matthias now had more power than his Third Step rank warranted.
‘Lovely to see you, Marquess Ashfall.’ I beamed and hauled Zola away before she could protest, or I laughed.
‘– an upstart,’ Ernest snapped behind us. ‘He considers himself much too highly. Her Majesty will immediately replace him once a better candidate presents himself –’
Zola turned quiet as we wandered through the crowds, but brightened when we sat for the meal. At the final course, she looked at her dessert in despair. ‘I don’t think I can eat it.’
‘I will gallantly eat yours and mine,’ I said. ‘It has custard. I’m not leaving it behind.’
As Zola picked up her spoon with renewed determination, I returned to watching the Queen and Matthias.
At her arrival, we’d paid our respects along with everyone else. She’d smiled and talked with her mother and aunt throughout the courses, but now she looked ready to sleep for a century. Matthias stood at the wall behind her chair, occasionally conferring with the staff. He’d stopped Zola from suffering more embarrassment than Ernest had already thrown at her, but he was wrong if he thought this improved things between us.
Despite his position, he and the Queen had hardly spoken today. No wonder they’d managed to hide their friendship for years. He looked poised, cheerful, and competent. But I knew – or thought I knew – him better. Despite his smile, his face gleamed with sweat. His laughter was slightly too loud. All this could be explained away by stress – organising a seven-course meal with copious alcohol for too many nobles wasn’t easy. But Matthias thrived on stress. And there were too many guards against the walls. The Queen might pretend nothing had changed since Naruum’s assassination attempt, but I’d bet Matthias didn’t agree with her.
The extra guards were a precaution, but...
If Matthias was unusually stressed, it wasn’t a good sign.
When he slipped out through a side door, I pretended a trip to the privy. I caught up as he entered the passages and crept in after him.
The passages’ dim lighting still unnerved me: a wavering gleam that shimmered from the walls. I couldn’t figure out if it was natural, a remnant from the First Empire’s myths, or something created to intimidate people who stumbled upon them, unaware.
A shout exploded in the distance, abruptly cut off. Sweat burst under my arms, and I hurtled towards the noise. My arms scraped against the walls. The sounds of grunts and scuffling footsteps grew louder.
I whirled around a corner. Matthias was struggling to get a masked man against the wall. I rushed forward, dodging Matthias when he reeled back from a punch. The man lunged towards me. Silver flashed in his hand. Of course he’d have a weapon when I had none. They were banned from coronations and funerals; we’d been searched before entering the throne room and again at the banquet hall.
Our parents had taught Zola and me basic skills to disarm knife opponents and defend ourselves, even without weapons. Lord Martain had insisted our skills be kept sharp. Panic shrieked in my brain, but my body reacted from years of practice. I crossed my hands around his wrist to stop the knife. His eyes widened as I forced his hand up and twisted. I couldn’t remember which joint to hurt, so I slammed my heel into his foot instead. His cry turned into a wheeze, as I forced him to his knees and yanked the knife away.
Matthias pinned him against the wall.
I braced my palms against my knees and panted. The man’s jaw twitched, like he was about to grind his teeth.
‘His mouth!’ I said.
Matthias shoved his fingers between the man’s lips, but he’d already bit down and swallowed. It was too late. Matthias released him and stepped back.
The poison was quick. The man slid down the wall. Spit bubbled down his chin. When he reached the ground, he went still.
For a moment, we stared in silence. Matthias finally swore at the dead assassin with quiet, harsh efficiency.
Revulsion shot through my veins, turned sour on my tongue. A dead assassin was worthless. It was easier to focus on that than the horror of a man killing himself before me.
Matthias closed his eyes. The rage fled from his face with terrifying speed. ‘I was going to knock him out.’
‘You’re welcome.’ No matter what he said, he hadn’t been in control of the fight.
He had the grace to look sheepish, but asked, ‘Do you still want to do this? Face-to-face death is ugly.’
Fine words considering Matthias had dumped me on this path. ‘Who does – did – he work for?’
‘I have my suspicions,’ he said. ‘A handful of assassin groups use suicide-by-poison when things go wrong.’
‘Would Vigrante have hired him?’
Matthias shook his head. ‘He wouldn’t try this so soon after Naruum. This was probably orchestrated from abroad. If Lia dies, the Crown passes to Farezi.’ He worked his jaw. ‘But who hired him? The timing is suspicious so the Farezi royalty would deny it, though they benefit from Lia’s death. Whoever is behind this, they didn’t think it through.’
‘They still tried to kill the Queen.’
Matthias rubbed his forehead. ‘Indeed.’
‘Was her uncle targeted like this?’
‘From what I’ve heard, no,’ Matthias said. ‘But Vigrante probably helped to prevent these situations.’ He crossed his arms. ‘Everything would be easier if Lia didn’t despise Vigrante, and he didn’t want her to rely on him like her Uncle had.’ He gestured at the dead assassin. ‘I’ll find out who hired him. It’ll take some careful tugging to reach the source, but I’ll manage.’