Queen of Coin and Whispers

by Helen Corcoran

  ‘It’s a boy!’ the same man said, and all thoughts of crassness and reputations fled.

  Lariux worked his jaw for a moment, then squeezed into the crowd. I followed right behind him.

  I caught a glimpse of a pale face before the guards closed around the body, bellowing for us all to step back. Lariux moved towards the man who’d seen the body. ‘Garjian, did you recognise him?’

  Garjian nodded. ‘Riavaan’s eldest son.’

  Lariux cursed.

  Riavaan. I knew that name. They were one of the oldest, most distinguished merchant families. Vigrante had coerced them into contracts years ago, probably so he’d seem more legitimate as he rose to power. Marius Riavaan, the current patriarch, had supported the Queen’s legislation, surprising everyone by going against Vigrante.

  And now his eldest son was dead.

  The Steps still peered down at merchants from the heights of their titles and bloodlines, but no one threatened their children. It wasn’t good business. It wasn’t right.

  Garjian focused on me, wary rather than assessing. ‘Who’s your shadow, Lariux?’

  ‘This is Miss Bayonn–’

  Garjian’s expression sharpened. ‘The baron’s daughter.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said.

  Garjian looked from me to Lariux, his mouth downturned, as if he regretted saying anything around a noble, even one my age.

  Lariux pressed his hand against my shoulder. ‘We’ll take our leave. Safe home, Garjian.’

  We walked back in silence. As Lariux’s gate loomed towards us, I asked, ‘How old was he?’

  ‘Fifteen, I believe.’

  Only a little younger than Zola.

  I wanted to stab something. Preferably Vigrante’s heart.

  ‘The family had contracts with our common friend.’ I took great pleasure in alluding to Vigrante as such, as did Lariux. ‘And when they broke them, he killed their son.’

  I’d convinced the Queen to use the selling clause against Vigrante. In my own way, I’d caused this boy’s murder. If I hadn’t pushed, maybe this family would be furious at Vigrante for selling their contract, not in mourning.

  ‘Surely someone witnessed him being thrown into the canal?’ I asked.

  ‘Possibly. If they’re willing to admit it.’

  There were rumours about a man who’d done Vigrante’s dirty work for years. There was, of course, no direct link between them. But...

  ‘This was sloppy,’ I said.

  ‘Yes,’ Lariux said. ‘Whoever did this won’t be around for long.’

  Once the connection between Vigrante and the Riavaan family became common knowledge, everyone would realise this was a message to the Queen. Many nobles were convinced she would ‘see sense’ and reverse the new laws, but more merchants than I’d expected planned to terminate contracts with difficult nobles. Vigrante hadn’t waited for the Queen to reconsider.

  I’d expected him to be angry.

  I hadn’t expected him to murder a boy.

  I had to stop underestimating him. All of Vigrante’s subtle manipulation eventually resulted in genuine repercussions. Papa’s death had made that clear.

  The Queen was going to burst a blood vessel when I told her. Several blood vessels.

  I had to spin this to our benefit, somehow.

  I stopped at Lariux’s gate. ‘I need a favour, Mr Bisset. Not for my family.’

  He folded his arms.

  ‘I need you to find out as much as possible about the murder, its investigation, and how the Riavaan family – and our common friend – respond. What they do and don’t say. How soon the man we suspect ends up dead. Anything – I would greatly appreciate it.’ This was about as subtle as a battering ram. But the boy’s death meant there was no more time for niceties.

  ‘Who else would greatly appreciate my information?’ Lariux asked.

  I swallowed. ‘I have unintentionally found myself in the… the spider’s services.’

  ‘You foolish child.’

  If only he really knew how involved I was. ‘Mama doesn’t know.’

  ‘Of course not,’ he said. ‘She’d lock you away and deal with the spider herself.’

  Or face the Queen.

  ‘I won’t reveal your name. I’m just a link on the chain. I don’t even know who the Whispers is.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can find out,’ Lariux said. ‘But I’m not drawing attention to myself. The ranks will close after this.’ He rubbed his face. ‘We can hammer out the details of this arrangement at our next meeting.’ He frowned, his disappointment clear, though he had no right to judge me. He wasn’t my father. I was in this position precisely because of Papa’s murder.

  ‘Your ships will be in next week,’ he added.

  ‘I’ll tell Mama. Goodnight, Mr Bisset.’ I paused. ‘Thank you for keeping our contracts. It was good of you.’

  ‘I don’t throw away good business.’

  I stood there, awkward in my silence, then curtseyed.

  ‘A servant will bring out your things. Until next month.’ Lariux bowed and went back inside.

  I stood in his driveway, waiting for my cloak and papers, and wondered how to explain a boy’s murder to the Queen.

  The Queen went still during my report.

  ‘Again,’ she ordered.

  I hesitated, then repeated it all.

  The Queen lowered her head. Her hair was pulled back into a twisted braid, a few wisps floating around her face, so she couldn’t use it as a shield. She dragged her nails against the blotter.

  I flinched. ‘Your Majesty–’

  ‘Quiet.’

  I swallowed my words.

  ‘Damn him!’

  ‘Your Majesty–’

  ‘Don’t! Don’t. He’s a lying, scheming coward. How dare he? And don’t bother saying I did my best–’

  ‘You didn’t! We let a boy die.’

  She clamped her mouth shut, then tilted her head, as if I’d done something unexpected and interesting.

  I didn’t feel interesting. I’d shouted at the Queen. I’d been encouraged to act like I wasn’t afraid of her, but this went beyond any acceptable tolerance. ‘My apologies, Your Majesty, I didn’t mean … that is …’ I bypassed a curtsey and dropped to my knees, staring at the carpet. My thundering heartbeat overwhelmed my harsh breathing.

  No response. No laughter. Nothing.

  A gown rustled. The Queen’s perfume – a floral scent built from roses – curled around me. She knelt. Heat radiated from her skin. I forced my shivering to slow.

  Cool fingers reached under my chin and raised my head. The lamplight cast parts of her face into shadow, turned her grey eyes darker. The light caught her rouged lips.

  Her thumb hovered near my mouth. My breath caught, before I swallowed, fighting not to lick my lips.

  She released my chin and stood.

  Breathe! Breathe. You need to breathe. I sucked in air. She held out a hand to help me stand, but I gasped out, ‘No, thank you, Your Majesty,’ and staggered up.

  She went to a cabinet near her desk. A clink of glass, a trickle of liquid, then she continued to the seating area near her desk. She nodded at a chair. I collapsed into it, and accepted the glass with shaking hands.

  ‘Calm yourself,’ the Queen said. ‘I won’t punish you for shouting at me.’

  She thought I was shaking because of that.

  ‘Your uncle would have, Your Majesty. So would your grandfather. Even your father wouldn’t have allowed such disrespect.’

  ‘I didn’t give you the brandy to look at.’

  I took a gulp. It was smooth, with a warm burn. I glanced around the room, refusing to linger on her eyes, her lips, the splash of shadow across her collarbone. The thick curtains were drawn, the hems sprawled against the carpet. It felt like the room was closing in around me, oppressive instead of safe.

  ‘I have it on good authority people shouted at Father when it was necessary,’ the Queen said. ‘He usually overstepped as a diplomat.’ />
  I sipped the brandy.

  She tilted her glass between her hands, then sighed. ‘Vigrante killed a boy. It shouldn’t surprise me, and yet…’

  Because you’re an idealist, I thought. You were born into wealth, and privilege, and you’ve never had to truly fight for anything until now.

  I’d never been an idealist, even before Papa’s death.

  The Queen had built up political support and passed laws to benefit the merchants and middle classes, yet still believed people would do as she said because she expected them to.

  ‘The boy was only a little younger than my sister,’ I said. ‘I saw him.’

  Her bleak expression tightened. ‘Are you reconsidering our agreement?’

  When I closed my eyes, I saw Zola fished out of the canal instead of the merchant boy. It had been easier when this felt like a chess game. Vigrante had made it real.

  ‘No. But …’ I hesitated, yet had to say this. ‘You must anticipate how far people like Vigrante will go – and who they’ll kill – to get what they want. This could only get worse because Vigrante lacks your support, but isn’t afraid of you.’

  She didn’t speak.

  ‘We need him to make a mistake that you can openly punish, so the Court knows your laws can’t be flouted by anyone, noble or not.’

  I took a deep breath. ‘I must be ruthless for you. I need your permission to do what is necessary.’

  The Queen remained silent. Heat spread across my face and down my neck.

  ‘Your Majesty,’ I added.

  ‘Lia,’ she said. ‘Those closest to me call me Lia. In private, so may you.’

  ‘I couldn’t–’

  ‘You’ve earned the right.’ She quirked her mouth. ‘I can order you to, if you prefer.’

  I lingered again on her collarbone. ‘That’s unnecessary.’ I squared my shoulders. ‘I’m inviting Lord Naruum’s sister to visit him.’

  ‘His family disowned him.’

  ‘But his sister loves him most,’ I said. ‘She’ll tell him because she’ll want his forgiveness, and he needs to hear it from her to confess. We need an admission of guilt involving Lady Brenna.’

  She frowned, considering, then nodded. ‘Have Matthias escort Naruum’s sister. I’d prefer she didn’t see you.’

  I nodded. ‘May I leave to prepare, Your Maj – Lia?’

  She smiled faintly. ‘Of course. Goodnight… Xania.’

  She murmured my name, almost drawing out the syllables, then rose.

  I closed the panel after me, then leaned against it, trembling. Her damn collarbone. And I’d liked how she said my name. Very much.

  Nothing good could come from this. I was Fifth Step; she was the Queen. The power imbalance was ludicrous. Logically – as if logic mattered – I knew why things had changed, even if I couldn’t pinpoint when it had happened.

  She was confident and decisive, a natural result of privilege and comfort. It had drawn Matthias to her years ago, and I wasn’t the only one who noticed it now. She no longer tolerated the Court’s prevailing attitudes. Ladies who’d never met the Dowager Queen’s standards of beauty and attitude now found the new Queen considering their opinions.

  Perhaps Matthias was right. Maybe she really could change everything.

  Sometimes she watched me like I was a puzzle she couldn’t solve. Sometimes she held my gaze longer than our conversation warranted. Once or twice she opened her mouth, as if to admit something, but never did.

  It didn’t matter. I could never let any hint slip that she intrigued me. If she ever acknowledged anything, or pursued me, I wouldn’t be in a position to refuse, even if I wanted it. And while she’d never shown any inclination towards her uncle’s pettiness, I didn’t want to test her. The easiest way to keep myself and my family safe was to never be in a position where I could reject her.

  I rubbed my face. I’d wake tomorrow and mock myself for letting my thoughts get this far. In the harsh light of day, even contemplating she could be attracted to me was ridiculous.

  Her collarbone was still distracting.

  It didn’t matter. I had a job to do.

  When Naruum saw his sister in the doorway, he blinked, as if fearing a hallucination. He was bathed and shaven, freshly dressed, his hair combed; as presentable as possible, under the circumstances. But there was no way to hide his terror, his regret, or the chains.

  I watched through the spyholes in the passages. As Vianne hugged him and choked back a sob, I tried to ignore my pricking conscience. Naruum had offered Lia poisoned wine.

  He hadn’t been beaten. He hadn’t been tortured: I didn’t need his lies to make the pain stop. We’d asked him the same questions over and over – who gave you the wine, why did you do it, who are you protecting? – and each time he wouldn’t answer. We’d worn him down with fear, but I needed him to break.

  And his family abandoning him – Brenna abandoning him – would do it.

  Vianne straightened her shoulders, sniffed, and wiped her tears. ‘Naruum, how could you do this?’

  He shook his head. ‘It… it wasn’t poisoned…’

  ‘The royal physicians say otherwise. If the Queen had drunk even a little, she’d be dead.’

  ‘The royal physicians lie–’

  ‘Why would the Queen lie about something that makes her look weak?’

  I was starting to like Vianne.

  Naruum slumped.

  ‘Why would you do this?’

  ‘Vianne–’ Naruum reached towards her, but the chains pulled him up short. ‘It’s not important, not now.’

  So foolish. I circled back to the question that had no good answer: Why had Brenna chosen Naruum? Surely she had known he wouldn’t succeed?

  ‘Not important?’ Vianne’s eyebrows jutted together; her voice rose an octave. ‘Our family is in disgrace. Our friends have abandoned us. Mother and Father disowned you–’ Her eyes widened.

  Naruum swayed in his seat. ‘No…’

  Vianne’s eyes gleamed with tears, but her jaw hardened. ‘What did you expect? You shamed us.’

  If I’d injured Matthias with my knife and Lia had been less forgiving, I could have been in chains with Zola demanding answers.

  ‘Then why did you come?’ Naruum asked. His hands shook, and the chains knocked against the wood.

  Vianne started crying again. ‘You’re my brother. I love you. But you can’t blame us for your mistakes.’ She stood. ‘I’ve tried to change their minds. But they won’t. They hope the Queen will eventually allow us to leave Court.’

  His face drained of hope. ‘You’re leaving me.’

  ‘The Queen won’t pardon you. She’ll keep you alive until you give her answers, or she runs out of patience.’

  I waited.

  ‘I love you,’ Vianne whispered, ‘and I’m sorry.’ She tried to kiss his forehead; he turned away. She left, weeping softly.

  I counted sixty heartbeats, then released the panel and stepped into the room. After delivering Vianne, Matthias had gone to take my place in the passages.

  Naruum had pressed his face into the table, but it couldn’t stifle his wretched sounds. Pity pricked my chest again, but I steeled myself against it. I was Lia’s Whispers. I was her justice.

  ‘Lord Naruum,’ I finally said, more gently than he deserved.

  He raised his tear-streaked face. Straightening in his seat, he swiped his fingers across his red-rimmed eyes. ‘Miss Bayonn.’

  I’d contemplated drawing it out, but now I simply wanted this over with. ‘You and Lady Brenna were previously engaged. She broke it. Did you do this for her? What did she promise you?’

  He frowned, then jumped when I slammed my hands on the table.

  I leaned in. ‘You have no one left. Your family has abandoned you. Lady Brenna hasn’t begged the Queen for clemency. She doesn’t even publicly speak your name. The only mercy left to you is the Queen’s, and she is running out of patience.’

  Tears slid down Naruum’s face.

&nbs
p; I waited.

  ‘Lady Brenna and I were engaged’ – his voice cracked – ‘until two years ago, when she reconsidered her decision.’

  ‘When she began to support Vigrante.’

  ‘She said her feelings had changed,’ he said. ‘In reality, I no longer suited her rise in status.’

  From Vigrante’s point of view, it made sense. The fewer ties Brenna had to her past, the more loyal she would be to him.

  ‘How did Brenna explain the wine to you?’

  Naruum traced the whorls on the table. His mouth trembled. ‘If… if I did a favour for her, this once, s-she would reconsider our engagement. She assured me it wasn’t poisoned. The Queen would merely feel ill for a day or two.’

  I didn’t scream. I didn’t dig my nails into his eyes. I didn’t wrap the chains around his neck and squeeze until he was silent. I took a breath, another, and then another, until the fire within me changed from a killing rage to disdain.

  ‘You’re a fool to believe someone would make the Queen ill instead of killing her,’ I said. ‘No one survives after attempting either.’

  ‘I wanted to believe her,’ he said. ‘I loved her. I still do.’

  ‘Then I pity you.’ Now I knew why Brenna had convinced Naruum, an unlikely assassin, to attempt this, when she knew he would fail. This had been Vigrante’s test. It was possible she still loved Naruum, but she valued Vigrante as an ally more. By doing this, she’d proven her loyalty to him and rid herself of Naruum, an uncomfortable reminder of her past.

  If she’d left Naruum alone, perhaps he eventually might have found someone who truly cared for him. He would have been happily married in the country, safely away from Court.

  Now, he was imprisoned and powerless, with no hope of survival.

  ‘Brenna knew you wouldn’t succeed,’ I said, ‘and she convinced you to do it anyway.’

  He wept again, whether for himself, or for Brenna and the love he still felt for her.

  ‘I need proof,’ I said. Hopefully his foolish love had led him to equally foolish actions.

  ‘There are letters,’ he whispered, ‘hidden in one of my bedchamber walls. I was… I was supposed to burn them.’