If Alessandra came down and caught me crying in the dark, she’d lean into my weakness, press on my bruises in front of the others until they thought me as spineless as she did.
Slowly, slowly, I crept down the stairs.
The marble paths between the twisting bases of the trees were overgrown, carpeted with moss and fallen leaves, so my shoes made no noise as I approached the Roots of the great Arbor at the center of the room.
Conversation ground to a halt as I stepped into the light.
Da rief sie einen Jäger und sprach:
“Bring das Kind hinaus in den Wald,
ich will’s nicht mehr vor meinen Augen sehen.”
—Schneewittchen
. . . and she said to a Huntsman,
“Take the child away into the forest.
I will never look upon her again.”
—Little Snow-White
4
Potomac’s Council—Secretary Gidcumb, Secretary Moreau, Captain Marshall, Lieutenant Lefevre, Secretary Allen, and Judge Roth—stood clustered together. They stared at me, tumblers of amber Appalachia bourbon in hand.
I’d never attended a Council meeting before, and I hadn’t expected to for many years yet, not until Daddy needed me more. Until he was ready to begin training me in politics, I had expected to be left to my work.
Evidently, tonight was to be full of surprises for all of us.
A trio of strange men sat on the far side of the Council table. Their faces were indistinct in the candlelight, their voices pitched low.
I wrung my fingers, fighting the urge to shrink between my shoulders.
It was bad enough I was going to be chastised for Peter rejecting me. That’s what this was about, surely. I’d miscalculated, and it looked bad.
But the Council was elected to help the seneschal steward Potomac’s resources, to oversee its courts and its militia and its administration, small though it was. Did all of them—plus a cadre of strangers—really need to be present tonight?
“Good evening, Your Grace,” said Captain Marshall, a thick-skulled man with short brown hair. I’d never liked Marshall. Years of military service had apparently taught him only how to mindlessly obey orders.
“Good evening, Captain. Gentlemen.” I was relieved my voice didn’t shake. “Happy Arbor Day.”
Marshall nodded, swirling his liquor, not answering.
I swallowed hard and moved toward the table, set beneath the Arbor’s Roots. The great Arbor domed overhead, its Roots curling and twisting like a globe around the table and chairs.
We all straightened at the sound of footsteps on marble—one clacking step moving briskly down the stairs, one plodding tread following after.
Alessandra swanned into the room, followed by my father, and the Council drew near at a wave of her slim hand, muttering and shuffling papers as they settled into the seats unoccupied by the unfamiliar trio. Secretary Gidcumb, one of the Council’s more competent members, lit the candelabra at the center of the table before he sat.
“Now,” Alessandra began, eyeing us all significantly. “We all know why we’re here.”
I bit my lip, bracing myself.
My smother’s expression of concern was as flawless as the black curls spilling over her shoulders. “Selah, we need to discuss our official response to your rejection.”
Sympathy pierced the weary fog in Daddy’s gaze. “Alessandra, I think this is something our family should handle in private.”
“I beg your pardon, Seneschal, but this isn’t a private problem,” Secretary Moreau said smoothly. Moreau wasn’t the blockheaded yes-man that Marshall was. He was slick, manipulative, with a pointy face and shifty eyes like a weasel’s. “The choice of Selah’s eventual spouse is a matter of state. The man she marries will guide her and our country. This is not a job for any woman to take alone, let alone Selah.”
I stared at the table, drowning in humiliation.
When I was sure no one was looking at me anymore, I let myself peek up at the three strangers for the first time.
The first, seated beside Secretary Gidcumb, was gray-haired but carved like stone, biceps swelling under his shirtsleeves. His olive-skinned face was scruffy and unshaven, his gaze a stern gray. I thought he might be Mediterranean, maybe from Hellás, or Anadolu.
I didn’t know what strangers—foreign strangers, no less—would be doing in a Potomac state meeting. But something about this man calmed me.
He didn’t look particularly nice. But the austerity in his face amid all the flattery in the room was a relief. I trusted him instantly.
If sides were taken tonight, I wished he’d take mine.
“Your rejection was public,” said Judge Roth. “What will this do to your image as our future leader?”
“Nothing!” My voice was a squeak. “It—won’t do anything. Potomac knows who I am.”
So did Peter, whispered my treacherous heart, and he said no anyway.
Captain Marshall steepled his fingers. “You tend to gardens and fields with the women and to the stock with the men. That makes you one of the people. That does not make you their leader.”
“What will it say to the people that one of your dearest friends declined to become your consort?” Allen added, looking blond and impressive and dubious.
The second stranger spoke up. “Unless you wanted to lean on the Janesleys—that was the name, yes?—just a bit.”
This man looked around thirty. He was pale and pink-cheeked and dark-eyed, and I felt an unholy desire to squeeze his hands and feel if they were softer than mine. He looked distinctly pampered beside his weathered companion. But he seemed to inhabit his expensive clothes uncertainly, to cling possessively to his crystal tumbler, as though he thought someone might take it away from him. New money, I thought.
Alessandra gave him the slightest approving nod of her head.
“Now, there’s an idea,” Judge Roth said, eyeing the stranger appreciatively.
“Excuse me?” I gaped at them all, though I shouldn’t have been surprised. Secretary Allen and Judge Roth were brothers-in-law, and they were constantly moving money around, constantly scheming. I knew for a fact Secretary Allen had conned Lieutenant Lefevre into bailing him out of a tight spot last year. I also knew Allen hadn’t paid him back.
“We could make it worth their while for Peter to marry you. Was the problem with the family or the boy?” Roth asked, glancing around.
“How much would it take, do you think?” asked Moreau. Lieutenant Lefevre bobbed his head from side to side, as though running numbers in his brain. I thought smoke might start pouring out of his ears.
“No,” I said. “No. Absolutely not.” The only thing worse than not marrying Peter would be coercing him, and his own sense of honor would surely forbid such a thing. The councilors stared at me, displeasure clear on their faces.
I wanted to melt under the table and crawl to my room. I wanted to cry. I wanted to shake them all by the shoulders, these men who had never felt their agency or reasoning dismissed out of hand.
“You must marry, Your Grace,” said Captain Marshall, brows knit. “And soon. You are eighteen, a grown woman, and Potomac is not a large country. We rely on you to set the example for our young people, in matrimony and in bearing children. And you are ill-equipped to become seneschal without a husband to lead and advise you.”