I dropped the papers on Lia’s desk, then backed towards the doors. My hand closed around one of the handles when she lunged from her chair.
Her mouth crushed against mine. We gasped and wept into the kiss.
I pulled back and shoved the door open. Before Lia could speak, I hurtled through the doors and slammed them closed.
I braced myself for a moment, swallowed a sob, then hurried through the halls, ignoring any curious onlookers.
Inside my bedroom, I released the cry swelling in me since I’d run from Lia.
After a moment, there was a faint knock on my connecting door. I closed my eyes, ready to wait it out, then opened the door.
Zola caught me as my legs failed, letting me drag her to the carpet. My pain and worry and hatred poured from me in choked tears. She held and rocked me, as I finally let out everything I’d buried deep since Lia had returned from the markets.
Chapter Forty-One
Lia
The day of the executions dawned clear and bitterly cold. I wore blue hemmed with violet. Blue for justice. Purple, the colour of royal grief; the closest I could hint, with Rassa present, that I regretted this.
The executions took place in the market square where everything had started. The stalls had been cleared out, in exchange for a compensation fee none of the owners would accept. The dais had been a rush job.
I wished Xania were with me.
I understood what my cruelty had done – what I’d done – when I let her run from me. But I still missed her, and her frankness that was different to Matthias’s.
She was right about the rioters. Executing them was a short-term solution. But I had no other option. Anything except the rioters’ death would lead to hostility with Farezi and devastation for Edar.
If a handful of riot leaders had to die so thousands would live, so be it. I’d deal with the repercussions.
The higher Steps followed me to the square. I walked alone, the Master of Justice three steps behind me. My mother, Matthias, and Rassa trailed after us.
I stood on the dais with the Master of Justice. The executioner waited, masked and silent. The nobles arranged themselves behind the dais. The front was for everyone else.
The crowd regarded me warily. Outside the Court, this wasn’t a popular decision, as Xania had predicted. But they’d react worse to Farezi threatening war, or so I consoled myself.
Justice spoke first: a list of names, the charges against them, and a ridiculous reminder of our laws and why this execution was for everyone’s own good.
Only Farezi gained anything from this. When the assassin confessed that I was his intended target, not Rassa, it had been too late to stop what had been set in motion. I couldn’t stop executions for a riot that had put me in danger, no matter that the instigators had responded to genuine insult. Rassa would ensure his parents heard about it.
And despite my fury at being backed into a corner, the thought of how close I’d again come to death spread ice up my spine and kept my back straight.
Justice finished his speech. After a moment of uneasy silence, I spoke. Empty, pretty words, carefully crafted, appealing for reason and respect for our laws, explaining the balance between my duty and the law.
I was being manipulated, and I despised it.
As my words dissolved in the icy air, I wanted to go back to Uncle’s death last spring and start all over again.
The guard who protected me from the assassin had died last night.
I wanted Xania beside me.
I took another gulp of cordial, unable to look away from the envelope. Matthias had given it to me when we’d returned from the executions. A tiny, elaborate W on the outside corner showed Xania had already read the contents. I tried not to feel hurt that she hadn’t come herself. The distance between us now seemed insurmountable. She was still in the centre of the web, but now Matthias reported to me on her behalf.
The distinction was clear: Xania was still technically my Whispers, since rebuilding the network around someone else would take months, but everything else between us was finished.
I stared at the envelope as the lamps burned. Matthias left for the evening at my urging. Outside, the night drew in. I finally ripped it open.
The Eshvon caravans, with our desperately needed grain, had been attacked at our border with Farezi. The merchants were dead, everything burned. A potentially disastrous winter was now assured. Farezi was our only chance for emergency grain so people wouldn’t starve.
Rassa had surely orchestrated this.
Diana had been right. I’d been foolish to refuse her, so certain in myself. For all Uncle hadn’t cared and let others do his duty, I’d made worse mistakes by caring.
I dropped the reports and picked up the notes I’d written in code. The words blurred from exhaustion, but I moved steadily through the pages, searching for any loophole. This was more important than any law I’d pushed through, every snare I’d hidden for Vigrante. If Rassa outmanoeuvred me, I had to depend on Othayria and Eshvon containing him with international law. There couldn’t be a single mistake, or I wouldn’t survive this.
Someone knocked, and I hid the papers under a pile of reports. A guard entered, opened her mouth – and scowled when Rassa breezed in.
‘Cousin.’ He dropped into a seat and smiled.
Deep breath through the nose. No outward anger at Rassa’s disrespect.
‘Thank you,’ I told the guard, who left, still scowling. I hid the papers deeper under the guise of tidying. Rassa glanced at the glasses by the decanter, but I ignored him. He could get his own damn drink.
I sipped my cordial as the tension rose between us.
He cracked first. ‘You’re up late, Cousin.’
‘What’s on your mind, Rassa?’ I used the clipped tones of one who was tired, yet still working. He had to think I was annoyed at being interrupted, not that I knew he wasn’t trustworthy. Not that I was furious because I’d have to ask him for help, regardless.
He traced the whorls on my desk. ‘I’m grateful for your speed in capturing the assassin and making an example of the rioters.’
‘You don’t appear to be grateful.’ I wanted to chop off his hand and see how he felt about that example.
‘Oh, no, please–’ Rassa began.
‘What do you expect? Their heads on a silver platter?’
Rassa looked like I’d sprouted claws and swiped at him. ‘No, no! I simply… feel you should be taking diplomatic relations between our countries more… seriously. In light of recent events.’
‘And if I should not?’
Rassa stroked his chin. ‘My parents could react to my unhappiness with… drastic measures.’
‘Drastic measures’ could range from grain penalties to a declaration of war.
‘I see.’
I met Rassa’s gaze with the intention of a brittle smile. From the change in his expression, I didn’t come close. His knuckles tightened on the armrests. He rose halfway out of his seat, before catching himself and sitting again.
‘That will be all, Rassa.’ He tightened his lips, then stood. He flung his arms out in an elaborate bow from our grandparents’ time, when monarchs could behead people where they stood for displeasing them.
He paused by the decanter, downed some cordial, and saluted me with the empty glass before leaving.
If only I could behead people where they stood for displeasing me. Life would be much, much easier.
Chapter Forty-Two
Xania
The executions did exactly what I’d thought they wouldn’t: they made Lia popular with the Court.
I couldn’t forget the first death, the ruddy-faced merchant who’d trembled and told his family he loved them, or how blood had scented the air when the axe went down. Yet the Court felt chopping people’s heads off was decisive action expected from a capable Queen. Someone – perhaps Matthias – had spread rumours that one of the executed men had been connected, somehow, to Vigrante’s death. It was flimsy s
peculation, but the relieved Court seized it as proof that the threat of murder was gone.
I was still angry, but I spent my time with Zola, and occasionally Astrii. I avoided Terize, claiming overwork at her baffled upset.
But as Court support for Lia grew, so did public anger. Now that Lia had nobles to support her reforms, her people were turning against her.
When I mentioned this to Matthias, he replied, ‘Politics isn’t fair.’
Lia had called a sudden meeting for the higher Steps and foreign parties. Zola and I were members of the royal ladies for this occasion.
I’d dressed carefully from obligation, not expectation. We hadn’t spent time together privately since after the riot. I missed Lia’s laughter, her perfume, her overacting as she read to me. I missed dozing in her bed. I missed waking up beside her, warm and content.
With too much time on my hands, I obsessed over the connections between Hazell and Rassa, and the Duchess’s role in Papa becoming Whispers. Lia and I hadn’t spoken about the connection between our parents. We needed to, but for now I wanted to avoid the inevitable argument.
I sat in a corner with Zola. She’d already asked if I knew why Lia had called the meeting, her disappointment obvious when I shook my head. She’d taken the estrangement hard.
The Seventh and Sixth Steps had dressed to impress: lace and embroidery clung to velvet and silks; jewels gleamed against skin and hair. From their excited whispers, everyone expected an engagement announcement.
Zola nudged me. ‘Don’t scowl.’
I had plenty to scowl about, but I changed my expression into general lack of interest. Once this was over, I could hide and mope.
A flash of red, like blood before it dried, caught my eye. Aubrey stood near the empty throne, talking with a small crowd of Othayrians. He noticed me, but I looked away.
Silence descended when Lia appeared on the dais. We dropped into curtseys and bows.
She wore layers of cream silk webbed with blue lace. Her collar and sleeves were blue velvet; the embroidery and sapphires caught the light. She was beautiful, but the effect was stern, a reminder that she ruled us.
‘Daughters and Sons of Farezi, Othayria, and Eshvon,’ Lia said, ‘please step forward.’
They approached the dais. Othayria and Eshvon stayed close, but the Farezi party kept themselves separate, in either pride or a pointed reference to Rassa and Lia’s blood tie.
‘We thank you for coming here,’ Lia said, ‘with the intention of strengthening our countries through marriage and renewed trade.’
Aubrey’s smile wasn’t smug or triumphant, merely relieved. He could finally do his duty.
‘However, we must regretfully request that you leave Edar,’ Lia said. ‘Immediately.’
Aubrey frowned.
Lia looked directly at him. ‘All of you are to leave.’
Zola dug her nails into my arm. ‘What is she doing?’
Matthias stood frozen near the dais.
Lia had rejected all the suitors. And she was kicking them out in late winter.
‘I expect you through the border by sundown tomorrow,’ Lia said.
Aubrey’s face fell. Angry whispers and muttering swarmed around us.
‘That is all,’ Lia said, cold and proud.
The room exploded into noise.
Lia turned back towards the antechamber.
‘Your Majesty!’ Isra called out.
Lia paused, then turned.
‘What about your decision on your future marriage?’ Isra asked, tense and defiant. ‘Since that was why we came here.’
‘I must regretfully decline all offers of marriage,’ Lia said, ‘for there is another.’
For there is another.
She didn’t look at me.
Aubrey whirled, as if searching the crowd.
I didn’t look at him. I didn’t look at anyone. I stared at the wall behind Lia.
There is another. There is another.
Zola didn’t say or do anything that would give us away. Better to stay still, keep quiet, and wait for it all to pass.
Lia turned again to leave.
‘You can’t do this!’
She swept back around in a swirl of skirts. The accent had been Farezi, but Rassa’s party stayed close together, refusing to reveal the speaker.
Lia descended the dais slowly. The Court, along with the Othayrian and Eshvon parties, moved back, abandoning the Farezi to her wrath. Rassa stood before his people like a shield.
‘Reveal her,’ Lia ordered him.
‘I won’t give up any of my people,’ Rassa snapped.
‘But it’s acceptable for me to execute mine for your satisfaction?’
Gasps rang out.
Rassa grimaced.
‘Reveal her,’ Lia said.
He turned at hissed voices and scuffling. A girl with light brown skin and gleaming hair, around our age, burst from the knot of Farezi. She faced Lia, her head high.
Lia eyed her thoughtfully.
‘You can’t do this,’ the girl repeated, quieter this time but no less certain.
She had to be in love with Rassa. Only love would make someone face down an enraged Queen.
Lia gripped the girl’s chin – Rassa sputtered – and stared into her eyes. ‘I am the Queen,’ Lia said, soft enough that I shivered. ‘Of course I can.’
She released the girl, and slowly looked around. ‘Does anyone else wish to question my judgment?’
No one spoke.
‘I thought not.’ Lia swept back up the dais and left the room.
‘You have to go to her,’ Zola whispered.
I shook my head. Lia had just caused a diplomatic incident. I had to be careful.
‘Matthias–’ Zola said.
I looked up just before he hauled me to my feet.
‘Wait,’ Zola said, ‘what are you–’
Matthias pulled me away before she could finish. I barely managed an astonished glance over my shoulder before we disappeared through a side door.
I expected us to zigzag through a few halls before ducking into the passages, but Matthias kept to the busy routes, leading me past groups of huddled courtiers. Two corridors away, I realised he was taking me to the royal portrait gallery. I didn’t spend much time there: I didn’t like being surrounded by Lia’s exalted ancestry.
It felt like the portraits were watching me, like when I’d first sneaked into the royal wing. I kept my head down until Matthias stopped and relaxed his grip. ‘Look.’
We stood before Lia’s great-grandfather. The only one painted in full battle armour, his sword seemed almost as tall as me. Lia’s hair was a few shades darker, their eyes similar under a certain light, but they otherwise didn’t share much resemblance, except –
‘Oh,’ I said.
They said the truth of a person was in their eyes. From the steely gaze of Lia’s great-grandfather, I could believe he’d raised armies. I could believe he’d fought and killed in battle. And I could believe he’d held the Aurien King’s head aloft, roaring in triumph.
Lia had faced the Farezi lady with the same steely gaze.
‘She didn’t tell you what she planned.’
‘No,’ Matthias said, quietly furious.
‘We have to talk to her.’
‘I tried to see her this morning. I was refused,’ he said.
I frowned. ‘She’s planning something she knows we won’t support.’
‘Most likely.’
‘We have to stop her!’
‘She won’t see us,’ Matthias said, ‘and will have closed the passages to us.’
‘She needs our help.’
‘She needs our help when she decides it.’ Matthias looked sympathetic, which was marginally better than pity.
I wanted Lia beside me, not him. I wanted her to need me again.
Chapter Forty-Three
Lia
I changed out of the beautiful, ridiculous gown. A measure of brandy couldn’t stop my pacing. Everyth
ing was falling apart: my duty, my hopes, my dreams.
I had to tell Xania. Rassa would act immediately, now that I’d given him a time limit.
My pen trembled over the paper as I struggled with the code. If Rassa forced me to abdicate, international law stated I would still be Queen for another three days. It wasn’t enough, but I didn’t know what else to do. Xania and Matthias would have Aubrey and Isra on side, representatives of foreign crowns who might curb Rassa long enough to –
To what?
Reverse my panicked decision? Reinstate me as Queen?
Offer me a place to survive my exile?
Rassa wouldn’t let me live, no matter what he told others.
My dearest Xania, I wrote in shaky letters, if you’re reading this, then Rassa has…
Has what?
I didn’t know what else to do. But Xania and Matthias would never support my abdication.
Someone knocked on the door.
I dropped my pen. Ink splattered over the paper.
They would dethrone me politely, at least.
Three of Rassa’s lawyers entered. They should have been frazzled, the tools of their trade trailing after them, but instead were formal and neat.
Rassa had changed into a fresh shirt and a jacket thickly embroidered in gold. His smile was almost as bright. ‘An impressive display.’
‘I’m glad you approve.’
He laughed. ‘A pity you never follow through on your promises or threats.’
‘Have you already forgotten that people are dead?’
All vitality drained from his face, leaving him cold and hard.
I could barely hide my weariness. ‘Do you truly think no one will wonder at my neat abdication?’
‘Of course they will. Your Court’s extravagant and selfish, not foolish. Your statement will reassure the confused and the skeptics, and my supporters will ensure my ascension is smooth.’ Rassa dropped into a chair, uninvited. ‘You know what will happen if you fight me.’
Queen of Coin and Whispers Page 25
