Queen of Coin and Whispers

by Helen Corcoran

  ‘In return for your co-operation, and information that will benefit the Queen, the spider will aid you when the Opposition seeks new leadership.’

  Her expression turned calculating. She had her own sources for dirt on her political colleagues, but to have a spymaster help ruin her opponents… ‘And if I reject the offer?’

  ‘The Master of Whispers wonders if your eldest daughter knows precisely why her beloved abandoned his suit?’

  Lady Patrinne’s shoulders stiffened.

  ‘And does your eldest son know you threatened to destroy a lady’s family because she had the misfortune to love him?’

  She seemed calm, though unaware that she was rubbing her thumb and forefinger together. Her expression shifted, revealing the tiniest spark of approval, possibly even grudging respect. ‘Well played, Miss Bayonn. Well played.’

  ‘Have you reconsidered your position?’

  ‘Yes. I must regretfully decline.’

  I ground to a halt. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Even if I responded well to threats,’ Lady Patrinne said, ‘you’re playing a dangerous game. You won’t survive.’

  ‘And if Terize were to join the Queen’s ladies?’

  ‘I might reconsider. But that depends on how close you are to Her Majesty, doesn’t it? Good afternoon, Miss Bayonn.’ She walked on ahead, until she turned and disappeared from view.

  I’d been so confident, so assured in the power of Whispers, that it had never occurred to me that someone would refuse. A spymaster without informants was useless.

  I returned to the dining room and ordered a carafe of pear cordial. A bad taste, suspiciously like failure, lingered in my mouth.

  Chapter Eleven

  Lia

  Miss Bayonn seemed convinced she could waltz into a position she’d never held and effortlessly juggle it with her Treasury work. As Queen, I admired her determination. As myself, I wanted to point out she was useless to me if she collapsed from exhaustion.

  When she wasn’t buried under her Treasury work, she pored over files, especially those of Vigrante’s oldest allies, trying to find a financial error, strange or deliberate, or any link to Naruum.

  While I worried about Vigrante, and the fragile trust between the Court and myself, my future marriage loomed. It made sense to choose a husband from abroad, as I’d invite internal fighting by choosing an Edaran one. Through my contacts, Miss Bayonn was also setting up new agents in the foreign Courts, especially in my potential suitors’ retinues.

  Some days it felt like snails could make faster progress than me. The politicians from the lower Steps and middle classes wanted progressive change, and the oldest Step families were equally determined to dig their heels in. I was left dealing with the ill will.

  I resisted the urge to rub my eyes. I’d called this meeting; I had to stay awake during it. Miss Bayonn drummed her fingers against her armrest. My gaze fell on her slim hands; my own fingers twitched, and I pressed them against my lap.

  ‘For people so close to Vigrante,’ she said, ‘Brenna and Hazell’s records are spotless. Their families are successful; they pay their debts reasonably on time; they don’t hold grudges for generations. My stepfather annoys more people on a daily basis.’

  ‘Spotless records are probably one of Vigrante’s conditions.’

  ‘They’re all hiding something,’ Miss Bayonn muttered.

  I thought of my twitching fingers, and stayed silent. You’re the Queen. Control yourself.

  ‘I’ve been thinking–’

  ‘Oh dear.’

  ‘I want to try and build a relationship with Lord Naruum,’ Miss Bayonn said, politely ignoring my attempt at humour. ‘Gain his trust. Matthias can only threaten him for so long.’ She grimaced. ‘I know Lady Brenna must have something to do with this, but the family has closed ranks–’

  ‘Unsurprising.’

  ‘–and everyone has apparently forgotten they knew each other.’

  ‘If there’s something they don’t want anyone else knowing,’ I said, ‘the Sixth and Seventh Steps will ensure it’s kept quiet. It’s how we uphold our mystique.’ I smiled at her unimpressed look.

  ‘If Lady Brenna is behind the wine, she had to be nervous that Naruum will eventually confess.’ She paused. ‘How is he?’

  ‘Perfectly well,’ I said. He was still alive, which was more than he deserved.

  ‘I still want to speak with him.’

  ‘Of course. I must cut this short – I’m due at Parliament for the final arguments before the vote.’

  Matthias and I had argued for weeks about my first legislation proposal, which would give merchants more control over their side of noble contracts – including breaking the contracts themselves, something only nobles could do up until now. He insisted I shouldn’t alienate the higher Steps so soon. I felt it was better to gain the merchants’ support.

  I knew exactly how beneficial good relationships with merchants could be. While my family’s estate was mostly known for sheep and wool, my income also involved herds of cattle and horses, and forest lumber. My ancestors had been shrewd business people long before they were royal; most of our merchant contracts went back generations.

  Parliament, ideally, had equal numbers of merchants and the middle classes in their lower benches. Most had drifted to the Opposition because of Vigrante’s broken promises, though Alexandris’s good intentions rarely succeeded. I wanted the merchants and middle classes to help push my legislation through: a formidable voting bloc that Vigrante would have to take seriously.

  If this proposal didn’t pass, Matthias could crow all he liked.

  Miss Bayonn nodded. ‘Have you used my suggestions, Your Majesty?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘You were right to clarify the selling clause.’

  It wasn’t uncommon for Step nobles to supplement their income through merchant trade. But contracts usually favoured the nobles, including profit percentages and the ability to dissolve the contract. Merchant families were often trapped in bad contracts, sometimes for generations, if the nobles wouldn’t break them, with limited choice of routes and goods.

  The new legislation would give merchants more choice and power, helped by opportunities to increase fleets and trade. They could depend less on nobles for additional income, eventually leading to increased competition, more variety, and hopefully lower prices.

  Miss Bayonn had expressed reservations as the majority of her family’s income came from trade. I’d said, repeatedly, that merchants wouldn’t end profitable, beneficial relationships, but she’d taken it as a challenge to find gaps and loopholes in my proposal.

  And she had. In my initial draft, I hadn’t restricted nobles from selling their contracts out of embarrassed pride before merchants could break them. I hadn’t considered it, precisely because it wasn’t done. If nobles didn’t break the contracts, they were inherited by their children. I wanted to give merchants a chance to free themselves of unfavourable contracts, if they wished. But nobles didn’t sell them. It was an insult, and merchants passed down grave insults like heirlooms.

  Miss Bayonn and I had rephrased the wording. As compensation for being one monarch against many politicians, I could see the legislation one final time before it was sealed and read out before the debates. I’d quietly slipped the restricted selling clause in this morning.

  Lord Vigrante still underestimated me.

  But I’d win.

  Miss Bayonn’s posture relaxed. ‘It was a logical addition.’

  ‘Well, your logic is an asset.’

  ‘Vigrante won’t settle for this.’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘He’ll humiliate you, somehow.’

  ‘Then we must anticipate his response.’

  She nodded, then rose after me.

  ‘Good afternoon, Miss Bayonn.’

  She curtseyed. ‘Good afternoon, Your Majesty. May the vote go in your favour.’

  Her skirts swirled. I dropped back into my chair after the
door closed. I didn’t have time for this. I was not like Uncle, distracted by foolishness and – and – swirling skirts.

  I had an argument to win.

  Uncle had only sat with Parliament to open it, so in that respect, I was already an improvement.

  The legislation was now out of my hands, but I still had control over my appearance. I’d changed into a blue tunic-style jacket, split at the sides and back for easier movement, with trousers and heeled boots. My hair was braided and coiled so the crown would sit easier. As heavy as the damn thing was, I had to wear it before the politicians.

  I stood in the antechamber, trying not to pluck at my clothing. If the vote went my way today, it would set the standard for all my future political involvement.

  A servant knocked and entered at my call. ‘Lord Vigrante wishes for an audience, Your Majesty.’

  There was nothing left to discuss.

  The servant admitted him.

  Vigrante smiled and bowed. ‘Your Majesty.’ His red jacket was embroidered in golden roses as bright as his hair.

  ‘Lord Vigrante.’ I remained standing.

  ‘I wanted to wish you luck, Your Majesty. One’s first Parliament is always the most difficult.’

  Vigrante probably had his merchant contracts ready to sell if my legislation passed. He hadn’t mentioned the loophole, and I also intended to stay quiet.

  ‘You’re most kind, Lord Vigrante.’ It was easier to use politeness to hide the rage and indignation bubbling in my chest. He wouldn’t have tried to undermine Uncle, but then, he wouldn’t have had to.

  ‘Your uncle had faith in Parliament,’ Vigrante said. ‘No one would judge you for sharing that same faith.’

  Of course you would.

  ‘Then I must beg you to have faith in me, Lord Vigrante. And it wouldn’t do to open Parliament late, would it?’

  He went still, then said, ‘No, Your Majesty,’ before leaving.

  I stood by the door. Shouting and the creak of wood filtered through, as the ministers took their seats amid last-minute discussion.

  The servant approached and bowed. ‘Your Majesty, they’re ready.’

  The doors creaked open. As my titles were bellowed out, I fixed my gaze on the royal banner over the throne and started towards it.

  I sat and swept my gaze across Vigrante and the rows of nobles, middle classes, and merchants. ‘Members of Parliament’ – my voice rang against the walls – ‘I bid you welcome. Who has the opening arguments?’

  Everything went as expected, all centred on the nobility’s concerns. They didn’t care if merchants were trapped by poor contracts or unrealistic demands, or feared a vindictive noble would ruin their reputations, once nothing changed for them.

  The politicians retorted at each other, while I kept my attention on Vigrante. He was cool, unruffled.

  I only spoke when tempers frayed, or the Steps tried to drown out the merchants. While people found it amusing when Parliament debates turned into shouting matches, it wasn’t enjoyable being in the middle of one.

  ‘How can changing trade agreements benefit Edar at all, never mind the Steps?’ a noble demanded from Vigrante’s upper benches. ‘The merchants already have enough power.’

  Gasps and hisses rang from the merchant benches. There was rarely much love between the Steps and merchants, but nobles generally tried not to openly show their scorn.

  ‘The merchants are the wheels that keep our trade moving,’ I said. ‘More competition means lower prices, which means more employment and money spent, which eventually benefits us all.’

  The Government attempted to rile the Opposition, coaxing them towards a shouting match that would only benefit them. I stayed quiet, too aware of Vigrante watching me, waiting for my strike as I waited for his.

  I straightened; the arguments fractured into silence. ‘We’re doing no one any favours by twisting ourselves into knots.’ I kept my tone pleasant, my hands relaxed against the armrests. ‘May the legislation be read out?’

  Nobles fidgeted during the reading. Vigrante remained calm, almost bored – until the inability to sell existing contracts was announced.

  For one wonderful moment, his calm faltered.

  Silence spread through the chamber. The nobles’ expressions ranged from shocked to calculated, while the merchants and middle classes looked astonished.

  ‘Why the shock?’ I asked. ‘I wouldn’t expect anyone in Court or Parliament to fear these clauses.’ And if they did have something to fear, now they were warned: the days of my uncle’s Court were over.

  Vigrante recovered first. ‘Of course not, Your Majesty. No one has anything to fear.’

  The mood had turned: the merchants and middle classes were almost gleeful. I’d cornered the Steps neatly: if they didn’t vote it through, it would seem they wanted unfair contracts to continue. The ones who built friendly terms with their merchants, like the Bayonns, would be elaborate and showy in their vote, keen to embrace change that would eventually ‘benefit us all’.

  Lord Ealkenor called for a vote, backed by Lady Patrinne, whose daughter had joined my ladies two days before. I silently counted each raised hand and ‘Aye’.

  When the vote tipped in my favour, Vigrante’s clenched jaw betrayed him.

  Chapter Twelve

  Xania

  The Parliament arguments went deep into the evening. Once again, I was the last one in the Treasury. Even Coin had retired, probably waiting for whatever headaches the new legislation would bring.

  My head throbbed as I stared at numbers. When the clock chimed, I finally locked my work away and left. The halls were mostly deserted – I’d missed the evening meal, and everyone had returned to their rooms or joined small gatherings. I ducked down a small corridor and into the passages. As I trailed my fingers along the shimmering walls, rage boiled in my veins.

  I stepped out into a corridor on the opposite side of the palace, shut up for years as the old King had preferred his courtiers close by. My heels thumped against thin carpet as I approached a plain dark door. Two guards stood on either side. I held out a note embossed with the royal seal.

  One of the guards entered with me and shut the door behind us. Dim candlelight flickered, high on the walls so Naruum couldn’t use it as a weapon against himself or anyone else. The room smelled of dust.

  The light couldn’t soften the circles under his eyes, the deep lines around his mouth, or how his skull strained against his skin. His hair was still dark brown and curly, his nose and cheekbones still strong. But a good nose didn’t make up for poor judgment. I’d never like him, but I still internally recoiled at the hopelessness in his sunken eyes.

  ‘Lord Naruum.’ I sat at the opposite side of the table. ‘How are you?’ Chains were looped and secured through holes gouged into the wood, keeping him manacled to the table and chair. He ate and slept in an adjoining room, one arm still chained.

  ‘I’m perfectly well. Comfortable beyond all expectations.’ His words began sarcastic, then trailed into resigned despair; this was better than anything he could have hoped for. He rocked back and forth for a few moments, the chains grating against the table, before he added, ‘I know I’m at the Queen’s mercy.’

  I sighed. ‘Lord Naruum, you know damn well no monarch would drink from an untested glass.’

  A strange expression, a mix of shame and relief, flickered across his face.

  My eyebrows jutted together. ‘You panicked’ – he jerked – ‘or you wanted to fail. Or both. I’d panic if I were to assassinate the Queen in public.’

  He eyed me loftily. ‘You forget yourself, Miss Bayonn.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I should be ashamed, with my Third Step roots and Fifth Step notions.’ I didn’t need a mirror to know my smile wasn’t friendly. ‘Try a different song, Lord Naruum. If I believed it, I wouldn’t be able to get out of bed in the morning.’ It was almost a relief to finally say what I so often thought. Lord Naruum could no longer depend on rank and etiquette as a shield. Here in thi
s dusty room, he may have been Sixth Step, but I held the power. I was in control.

  ‘Did you think slamming into me would win you royal favour?’

  ‘I had the least to lose by stopping you,’ I said.

  ‘You had no way of knowing the wine was poisoned.’

  ‘I couldn’t know it wasn’t.’

  Had he been duped? An attempt to bring about his downfall through the Queen? It might explain his embarrassing sloppiness. But whoever he’d allied with, whoever he was trying to protect, he must have trusted them to offer the Queen untested wine.

  The Queen had said Lord Naruum and Lady Brenna had been childhood friends.

  Naruum was already teetering towards brittle fear. I could work with this.

  ‘Lady Brenna,’ I said. ‘Her new wardrobe is lovely, isn’t it?’

  His expression slackened, before his cheeks reddened. ‘I have no idea what you mean. We haven’t spoken in years.’

  I practically tasted his lie on the air. I imagined it like a sharp briar between us that would draw blood if he made another mistake.

  My smile was as cruel as any twist of thorns. ‘Of course, Lord Naruum.’ I stood. ‘The Queen believes someone else is hiding behind your actions. No one has confessed. No one has begged for your life. Only Her Majesty and myself believe in you, Lord Naruum, and you won’t help us.’

  His face twisted. The chains clicked together as he sagged. ‘I’m afraid you’re mistaken, Miss Bayonn. I acted alone.’

  I drew out my silence until I held out my closed fist between us. I opened my fingers to reveal the Whispers’ mark.

  ‘The Queen’s mercy doesn’t last forever, nor does the Whispers’,’ I said gently, surprised at the pity pricking my chest. But then, he was pitiful.

  Lord Naruum swallowed.

  I left. As I made my way back through the passages, I turned over the conversation in my head, trying to find a crack I could coax wider.