Sophie took a deep breath to shore up her nerve. She was quaking inside, but then she thought of Tom, shouting at the queen to spare the dog. He did not wear his courage as she did, as a mask to be slipped on and off. If a small boy could be brave, so could she.
“Zara, is it? You’re a beauty,” she said softly as she approached the dog.
At the sound of her name, the hound got to her feet. Her eyes were huge and pleading.
“Steady, girl,” Sophie said. “I’m not going to hurt you. No one is. Not if we’re quick, you and I.” She hooked two fingers under Zara’s collar and coaxed her away from the wall. Her skirts shielded the dog from view. “Come on, girl, just a bit farther … Hurry now …”
A wooden gate stood only a few feet away. Sophie led Zara to it, then quickly unlatched it. “Go!” she whispered as she opened it. “Run from here and never come back!”
The dog was off in a flash. Sophie’s heart swelled as she watched the cream-colored blur streak across the fields and disappear into the woods. She latched the gate, then turned and glanced around again. All the members of the hunting party were still occupied with breakfast; the servants were busy with their duties. No one had seen her. Sophie allowed herself to exhale. As she walked back across the courtyard, she passed Tom. He was standing in the center, turning around in a slow circle.
“My father says I’m to find Zara and bring her to him,” he said dully. “Did you see where she went, Your Grace?”
Sophie affected a regretful expression. “The little hound?” she said. “I’m afraid she ran off, Tom. I opened the gate, and I shouldn’t have. I wasn’t paying attention.”
Tom smiled. With his mouth, his face, his whole body. Sophie winked at him, then walked on, eager to finally get to her chambers.
It was then that she saw her stepmother.
The queen was standing in the open doorway of the stables, watching her. Dread’s thin, icy fingers closed around Sophie. How long has she been standing there? she wondered frantically. How much did she see?
The queen’s silence, cold and forbidding, quieted the chattering court.
After a moment, she spoke, her voice ringing across the yard. “Cowardice is like a plague; it spreads. One sick individual can infect an entire population. The hound—the one I ordered to be put down, the one who appears to have escaped—that hound should have attacked when it was ordered to. What will happen next time, should the other hounds decide to do as they wish, not as they’re told? I shall tell you: The wolf will attack, and your queen will die.”
Sophie’s dread turned to fear. But not for herself. “It was my fault the dog got out, Your Grace. I opened the gate,” she said, her words tumbling out in a rush.
“You are a princess of the realm, not a kennel hand,” the queen retorted. “The boy was negligent. He should have leashed the dog immediately.” She paused, allowing her gaze to settle on Tom. “I order every hound in the kennel to be slaughtered, lest any have caught the disease of cowardice. And I order that this boy here, who coddles cowards, who places more value on a dog’s life than that of his queen … I order that he be taken to the guards’ barracks, where he will receive ten lashes.”
“No,” Tom whispered, shaking his head. “No. Please. I’m sorry … I’m sorry!”
Sophie gasped. She wanted to shout at her stepmother, to beg her not to do this, but she knew she could do no such thing. So she watched, impotent and mute, as Tom backed away, stumbled, and fell once again. Two guards picked him up, then half marched, half dragged him out of the courtyard.
“Papa! Papa!” he cried, reaching back for his father.
Alistair took a step toward him, but the captain of the guards blocked his way. He turned toward the queen, to beg her to spare his child, but she was already gone.
Sophie knew what the queen was doing. She wished to teach lessons. Not to the boy. That was only a ruse. She wished to teach the powerful nobles who had accompanied her on the hunt that cowardice was dangerous and disobedience even more so.
And she wished to teach Sophie a lesson, too.
And that lesson was perfectly clear: There is nothing more dangerous than kindness.
FOUR
In her chambers, the queen stood gazing into a mirror.
The silver glass showed a tall, straight-backed woman with indigo eyes, blond hair, and high cheekbones. Her name was Adelaide.
She had once been more beautiful than the dawn, but the years had not been kind to her is how the storytellers start their tales about her. Or Time had etched deep lines at the corners of her eyes and grooved furrows across her brow.
Tell me, what stories of kings begin with their wrinkles?
Why did no one speak of her ferocious intelligence? Her bravery? Her strength?
The stone floor was ice-cold beneath the queen’s bare feet, the air chilly on her skin. A shiver moved through her, for she had just bathed. Her skin was still damp, and the thin linen shift she wore provided little warmth, but she barely noticed. Her eyes, fever bright, were fixed on the silver glass as if searching its depths.
For what, no one could say. Though many did.
A lady-in-waiting appeared with a white satin gown and slipped it over the queen’s head. Another laced her into a stiff bodice, then pulled the strings tight. Two more brought a golden surcoat embellished with scores of flawless diamonds.
“It’s as heavy as a suit of armor,” said Lady Beatrice, the eldest of the queen’s attendants, as she settled the costly garment on her mistress’s shoulders.
“It is armor,” said the queen. “I will meet with the Hinterlands’s ambassador in an hour to discuss disputed territories in the north. He’s a treacherous old snake, just like his master.”
As Beatrice left the room to fetch the queen’s shoes, one of the younger ladies-in-waiting, Elizabetta, shyly stepped forward. “You look very beautiful, Your Grace,” she said.
Her words were all wrong. The hapless woman saw that immediately. Anger blanched the queen’s face. She knew what her enemies said about her. That she was jealous and vain. That she cared only for her own reflection. She motioned Elizabetta to her.
“Do you think I cover myself in shiny stones out of vanity?” she asked. “Do you think I care a fig about my appearance, when enemies of my realm prowl my borders?”
Elizabetta swallowed. She glanced left and right, hoping for a shred of support, but everyone in the room, from noble ladies to lowly maids, had averted her eyes.
“I—I think … Well, no,” she stutteringly began. “Actually, I do not think—”
“That much is clear,” said the queen.
She walked to a window and raised her arms. Rays of sun, streaming in through the panes, turned the jewels on her surcoat into prisms, encasing her in a brilliant light.
“I use these diamonds to head off war,” she said. “When the ambassador sees me, he will conclude that if I can afford to strew gemstones over myself like confetti, I can also afford to strew warships along my coast. The best way to win a war is by not starting one.”
Elizabetta, her eyes downcast, nodded silently.
The queen lowered her arms. She glanced at a golden clock. “Where is she? Why is she not here?” she asked impatiently. “I summoned her half an hour ago.”