“Does he want to marry you?”
“He claims it’s why he’s visiting.”
“But why would he want to marry you?”
Bitterblue giggled. “Don’t worry, I’m not insulted.”
Giddon was grinning. “You know what I mean.”
“Yes. I’m sure he intends some advantage to himself or Estill, but I don’t know which advantage, and unfortunately, I’ll never know, because I’m not going to encourage him. Is Joff what you wanted to talk about? I got the impression it was something about your trip.”
“Oh, yes,” he said. “What’s zilfium, exactly?”
“Zilfium?” she repeated, rubbing her braids the way she did when her neck was hurting. “It’s a rock that’s a powerful Torlan fuel. It’s used all over the Torlan continent, except in Winterkeep, where it’s illegal.”
“Why is it illegal in Winterkeep?”
“I believe it’s because zilfium use pollutes the air,” said Bitterblue, going to the large desk that sat in the middle of the room. She began to shuffle through papers, the gold rings on her fingers catching the light. “Maybe the water too. Winterkeep mines zilfium and exports it, but they don’t use it there. I have more information here somewhere. We can call for Froggatt—”
“Before you do,” said Giddon, “we have a message from Raffin. He says one of your men who died in Winterkeep wrote him a letter. Whichever man it was—”
“That would be Mikka, my envoy,” said Bitterblue, her voice suddenly quieter. “He had a correspondence going on with Raffin and Bann about medicines. He was an outdoorsman. He used to go hiking for days, then send them packages full of seeds and leaves.”
“Ah,” said Giddon. “Well, Mikka wrote to Raffin that he had news to tell you about zilfium. Did you get any news about zilfium?”
“None. What kind of news?”
“I have no idea. But Raffin says you should look into zilfium.”
“Look into it?” said Bitterblue, who was still shuffling through papers. “Look into it how?”
“Again, I have no idea.”
“What a silly message. Why can’t I find anything on this desk? Oh, weaselbugger!” said Bitterblue, then strode to the stairway and bawled “Froggatt!” down the steps.
A moment later, Froggatt appeared in the doorway. “Yes, Lady Queen?” he said, peering at her over his droopy whiskers.
“Where’s my information about zilfium?”
Froggatt turned and ran downstairs again.
“Katu is always talking about zilfium,” Bitterblue muttered, starting on a different pile. “Not that he’s bothered to write to me in forever.”
Giddon made his face even and friendly. Katu Cavenda was a Keepish man, wealthy, an adventurer, who’d come to Monsea sometime back and become Bitterblue’s instant boyfriend. He was irritatingly young and likable, irritatingly handsome with his Keepish looks, his soft Keepish accent, and the streak of white in his black hair that pulled everyone’s eyes to him. He was also a perfectly nice person. Giddon’s friend, really; he’d taught Giddon to sail a boat, right here in the river.
“What does he say about it?” said Giddon pleasantly.
“That everybody fights about zilfium in the Keepish Parliament,” said Bitterblue, then tilted her head as if remembering. “A lot of people in Winterkeep want to legalize zilfium use.”
Froggatt bolted into the room again, huffing and pink, bearing a sheaf of papers, which he placed into Bitterblue’s hands.
“Thank you, Froggatt,” said Bitterblue. “Will you please tell everyone to stop for the night and go have their dinners?”
“Of course, Lady Queen.”
“That means you too.”
“And you, Lady Queen?”
Froggatt wasn’t a particularly tall man, but everyone was taller than Bitterblue. Nor was he old, but there was something fatherly in the tone he always took with the queen, folding his hands and tucking his chin against his chest, peering down at her and patiently waiting.
“I’m quite hungry,” said Giddon, who wasn’t really.
“Yes, all right, you’ve both made your points,” said Bitterblue, pretending to be annoyed. “Go away, Froggatt.”
“Have a lovely night, Lady Queen,” said Froggatt, giving Giddon one last, pointed glance of disapproval.
“Did you see that look?” Giddon said after Froggatt had gone. “When I took his side about dinner!”
“They’re being so grouchy,” said Bitterblue, “ever since I refused to spend more time with a horrible Sunderan earl.”
“They want you to marry an Estillan revolutionary and a Sunderan earl?”
“He kept talking over me,” said Bitterblue. “Then, when I finally told him to stop interrupting, he said, ‘I like a woman with a temper,’ in this creepy way that made it clear he was talking about sex.” She was flipping through the papers Froggatt had given her while she talked, her eyes scanning them quickly. “Here it is,” she said, stopping at a certain page and reading. “‘Zilfium deposits occur naturally all across the Torlan continent. Winterkeep’s environmental laws prohibit the use of zilfium in Winterkeep, but it’s mined there and sold to Kamassar and the other Torlan nations, where it’s used to power trains, ships, plows, machinery in factories.’”
“Winterkeep has airships,” said Giddon. “Don’t the airships use zilfium?”
“No,” said Bitterblue. “Airships are powered by the wind, and held aloft by some gas that doesn’t pollute the air. Airships are uniquely Keepish, and a zilfium-free technology.”
She dropped the papers onto the desk, then raised her eyes to his, steady, calm. “There,” she said. “I’ve looked into zilfium. Do you suppose that’s what Mikka wanted?” Then she smiled, her tired face opening with humor, and Giddon was no longer worried, and suddenly happy, hungry for dinner.
“Most certainly,” he said.
“I guess we should write to Raffin and ask him if he can be any less obscure,” she said, taking his arm. “Let’s go eat.”
* * *
—
Bitterblue’s Graced spy and half sister, Hava, was at dinner. So was Bitterblue’s cousin Prince Skye, who hugged Giddon just as if they hadn’t had dinner together in this same room a week ago. Like many from Lienid, Skye was demonstrative. Giddon had always welcomed it; it made him feel like he had a brother.