The Queen's Secret

by Jessica Day George

  Other horse heads protruded over other stall doors, though fortunately many of the horses were still in the south with their riders, and a few more were out in the paddocks. Still, there were a dozen or so now kicking anxiously at their doors and laying their ears back.

  “What did you do?”

  Two riders came hurrying into the stable, still pulling on their jackets. They had apparently been having a very leisurely morning—with Uncle Andrew still in the south, there was a general holiday air around the farm. But when they saw Finn they both straightened and saluted before going at once to their horses.

  “Who’s died?” the first man asked after stroking his stallion’s nose.

  “Oh, charming,” said the other. “I didn’t want him to know about the Dag,” he whispered, a hand on his horse’s halter.

  Finn rolled his shoulders back and twisted his neck from side to side.

  “All right,” he said at last, addressing the girls and the men. “You may as well all know. Andrew wanted me to make a formal announcement, but I hate that kind of thing. So just feel free to tell whomever you need to, send them to me if they want to ask questions.

  “I guess.”

  They waited. Anthea felt a heaviness in her mind, and she wondered if Constantine was eavesdropping on Finn as well.

  “A lot of people are dying—have died—from the Dag,” he said at last. “And by a lot, I mean over two hundred that we know of, and that number is almost a week old now. Many, many more are sick, and will die if we don’t find a cure. Hospitals are full, and people are panicking.

  “Panicking, and blaming horses.”

  “Isn’t that just like the southerners,” one of the men said, and spat into the straw.

  Anthea arched one eyebrow at him. She had, after all, spent most of her life to date in the south. And also, that spit had come awfully close to her boots. The man looked abashed, but didn’t apologize.

  “Look at it from their point of view,” Finn said. “They’ve been told for generations that horses bring disease, and within weeks of horses being allowed south of the Wall again, a mysterious illness spreads across the country.”

  Anthea opened her mouth, and closed it again. She felt her eyes going wide. Jilly suddenly slapped her on the shoulder.

  “Ow! What is wrong with you?” Anthea demanded, rubbing the sore spot Jilly’s blow left.

  “I could see you thinking it,” Jilly said. “I know how your little Rose Maiden brain works.”

  “I thought you liked the Rose Maidens now,” Anthea said stiffly, to cover the fact that just for one fleeting second she had indeed worried that horses were causing the Dag.

  “I like the queen, so I am all right with her Rose Maidens,” Jilly said. “And the princesses. And occasionally wearing a rose myself.”

  “Anthea’s suspicion is the reason why the scientists are here,” Finn said loudly. “The first reported cases of the Dag, and the first deaths, all happened in three places: Bellair, the Crownlands, and West Coro.”

  Jilly gasped and her hands flew to her mouth. Anthea realized that she was rubbing Bluebell’s nose so hard she was in danger of hurting the poor mare, and forced herself to stop. But Bluebell butted her head against Anthea’s shoulder and Anthea grabbed her mane for comfort.

  Bellair. The Crownlands. West Coro.

  The three places where there were Horse Brigade outposts. Other places, mostly military bases, had a single horse and rider so that they could relay messages. The foggy, awful posting where Caillin MacRennie was, and where Anthea and Jilly had been until last week, was West Coro. Finn had been at Bellair, which was near the queen’s residence at Bell Hyde. And Andrew went back and forth between West Coro and the Crownlands, a bucolic suburb of Travertine where many of the wealthy had summer homes.

  Like Anthea’s uncle Daniel and aunt Deirdre.

  “If you’re going to send word to your aunt and uncle,” Finn said, swiftly reading Anthea’s expression, as he did so often, “do it now. There’s a rumor they’ll start quarantining the more heavily affected areas, to prevent the disease from spreading.”

  “If Uncle Andrew is still there—” Anthea began, but Finn was already shaking his head.

  “They’re coming home. All of them. Until people stop panicking,” Finn said.

  “Won’t that make people think there’s something to hide?” Jilly asked.

  “What if they are sick and it spreads?” Anthea asked at the same time.

  “Anthea!” Jilly smacked her again.

  “But it’s a real problem, Miss Jilly,” one of the other riders said. “Just because it’s not the horses that caused the Dag doesn’t mean we can’t get it, too.”

  “I know it’s not the horses that caused the Dag,” Anthea said loudly, glaring at Jilly and thinking of giving her a smack on the shoulder just because. “But I don’t want it to spread if some riders are already sick. And I really want to know what did cause it, and how it started in those three places at the same time.”

  “Don’t we all,” Finn said.

  8

  THE QUARANTINE

  Leisurely rides along the Leanan coast stopped. Mornings having a cozy lie-in followed by a stroll to the stable, then school lessons followed by a long lunch stopped as well. The dinner gong, once the signal that it was time for a delicious family meal with Uncle Andrew and Jilly and Caillin MacRennie and their friends, now became the constant reminder that something was terribly wrong.

  They had come back to Leana: the riders, the horses, all of them. It should have been wonderful, after weeks and even months apart carrying coded messages between army stations. Especially since they had never been told what the messages meant, or whom they were intended for. There were rumors that it was all a big test of the brigade’s loyalty, and that the messages were meaningless. The horses and riders were anxious to be back at the farm, among friends.

  But a third of the riders had symptoms of the Dag when they arrived, and more succumbed every day. The big barn had been divided in half lengthwise, and one side was a long hospital ward, while the other was the laboratory. When the barn filled up, the small cottages where the men lived were turned into hospital wards as well, and even the men who were still strong enough to get around were ordered to stay inside.

  Which meant that there were a great many horses to care for. Everyone who wasn’t sick had to take turns feeding, mucking, grooming, and exercising the horses. Even Miss Ravel, who didn’t have the Way like her brother, and usually only indulged in a trot around the paddocks on a dainty chestnut mare named Daffodil, could be found pushing a wheelbarrow full of fouled straw out to the dung heap in the morning.

  She would call out math problems and they would yell back the answer, or she might throw out the name of a country and they would have to list the capital city and principal exports. Even the adult riders got into this and liked to try beating the students in calling out the correct answer first. Miss Ravel had assigned reading, a heavily symbolic Kronenhofer novel translated into Coronami, and Anthea was entertained to find that several of the riders were reading it, too, and voicing strong opinions about the terrible life choices that Werther, the main character, was making.

  The raucous group lessons were the most entertaining part of what was happening at Last Farm. And nothing else was even remotely close to entertaining.

  Anthea didn’t mind the work, though. She didn’t even mind exercising a variety of horses, which Finn pointed out had improved her riding considerably, since Florian and even Bluebell let her get away with a sloppy seat and slack reins. (She had, of course, thrown a wet sponge at him for that remark.) But she greatly minded the reason for it.

  There were fifty-three riders, ranging in age from Caillin MacRennie (who refused to comment anything other than that he was older than motorcars) to Keth, who was a year younger than Anthea and Jilly. They could also count Miss Ravel among the riders, unofficially, and Keth’s mother, Nurse Shannon, could be persuaded onto the oldest a
nd most sedate mares when necessary. Which meant a grand total of fifty-five people who could back a horse.

  Thirty-two of them were sick. And that included Uncle Andrew.

  The sick were kept separate from the healthy, except for Dr. Hewett and the scientists, who wore masks and long hospital gowns over their clothes and had the maids boil them clean along with the sheets and towels used by their patients. Uncle Andrew was still well enough to pass orders through Dr. Hewett, though many of the other patients were not. Those who were too weak to sit up or even feed themselves were kept in the barn so that the scientists could help the doctor and Nurse Shannon take care of them.

  Anthea also suspected that it was so Dr. Rosemary and the other scientists could study them. They had their samples, true, but despite Dr. Rosemary’s comments about Rose Academies, Anthea had studied science under a stern science teacher in Travertine, and she knew that it was always better to study live subjects. Anthea also knew that they needed to find a cure, but she wasn’t sure how she felt about her uncle and others among the riders being the live test subjects.

  As though summoned by Anthea’s thoughts, she saw Dr. Rosemary approaching the paddock where Anthea was exercising the mares. She did this by riding Bluebell, and shouting at the other mares to get them to run around, with Bluebell chasing them.

  If Arthur could be bothered to stay awake, he would help by swooping over their heads and hooting, but if the sun was too bright he tended to bite and try to hide instead. Anthea had gotten used to leaving the window of her bedroom open a crack so that he could come and go at night, even though it let in a draft.

  So for now Anthea was charging Bluebell back and forth across the mares’ big paddock and cawing like a deranged crow to make them move. She had nudged them repeatedly through the Way, but they seemed to enjoy ignoring her. Several of the mares were getting quite plump. Anthea had never paid much attention to how the riders had exercised the mares before, but surely it couldn’t have been this hard.

  Despite the scientist’s clear dislike of Anthea, she was more than willing to stop when Dr. Rosemary came to stand at the side of the paddock and leaned her arms on the top rail of the fence. The older woman had her blond hair pulled back in a tight knot and Anthea could see paler threads of white at the temples. Dr. Rosemary’s eyes were tired, and the long white coat she wore over her sensible gray skirt and white blouse was clean but very crumpled looking.

  Anthea rode Bluebell up to the fence. Dr. Rosemary didn’t flinch or move her arms, even when Bluebell nuzzled her sleeve to see if the scientist had any sugar or apples hidden there. But she did hold very still, the way someone facing a wild animal would. Anthea didn’t say or do anything, and after making certain that there were no treats to be had, Bluebell dropped her dappled gray head and began to graze.

  Dr. Rosemary breathed out rather loudly, and then lifted one arm off the fence to nervously smooth her hair.

  “They don’t bite,” Anthea said.

  That was a bit of a lie. Bluebell wasn’t prone to biting, and so long as they kept Dr. Rosemary away from Leonidas or Gaius Julius, it would be true. She had been warned, as had all the scientists, not to go near Constantine or his private paddock.

  “Miss Cross-Thornley,” Dr. Rosemary began.

  “Thornley. Just Miss Thornley,” Anthea interjected. “Or Anthea. Is fine.”

  “Anthea, then,” Dr. Rosemary said. She seemed a little startled by Anthea’s rejection of her full name. “Your uncle said the same thing,” she murmured. “Anthea, I am going to need your help,” she finished quickly, before Anthea could ask what her uncle had said.

  “If you need a ride to the station, you will have to wait until I am finished here,” Anthea said.

  “I meant for my research,” Dr. Rosemary said stiffly. “I’m afraid you haven’t gotten rid of me so easily.”

  Anthea stared at the woman. Did she really think …?

  “I’m not trying to get rid of you,” Anthea said. “What have I ever done to make you think I want you gone?”

  Bluebell stirred, raising her head from the grass and pawing the ground with a hoof. Florian whinnied a question from across the field. Dr. Rosemary took a step back, looking from the mare to Anthea.

  “Well, you haven’t done anything,” Dr. Rosemary began. “And, well, I shouldn’t have brought it up. What is important now is that I need your help.”

  Anthea wanted to just ride away. Jilly or Finn could help, if they wanted to, but Anthea didn’t want to be anywhere near Dr. Rosemary. Bluebell took a few quick steps away from the fence, ready to race toward her fellows at the slightest nudge.

  When Anthea didn’t look at her or say anything, Dr. Rosemary forged ahead.

  “We need samples.”

  Anthea looked at her. They had samples. They were surrounded by sick people, and had brought other samples with them.

  “From the horses,” Dr. Rosemary clarified.

  Bluebell took another step away from the woman, and Anthea didn’t blame her.

  “None of the horses are sick, correct? Some of their riders have the Dag, but not the horses? I mean, you could tell if they were, could you not?”

  The smell doesn’t stick to us, Bluebell remarked.

  Anthea stroked her mane. She didn’t know what Bluebell meant, but she knew none of the horses liked the scientists because of the odors of chemicals on their clothes.

  Of course not, darling, you smell of wind and hay, Anthea assured her.

  “No, none of the horses are sick,” Anthea said aloud.

  “I suspected before I came, and I still believe, that the horses have some sort of immunity that we could use to formulate a cure,” Dr. Rosemary said.

  “Yes,” Anthea said. “Although my understanding is that humans and animals don’t get the same illnesses very often. So I don’t know that horses are really the key.”

  “True,” Dr. Rosemary said, looking startled and a little pleased.

  “Miss Ravel is really an excellent teacher,” Anthea remarked, doing her best not to snap.

  “Er, yes,” Dr. Rosemary admitted. “But because of this strong bond … this Way … which makes them slightly more than an ox or a dog … I suspect that we have more in common with them and so there might be shared elements that we could exploit.”

  “Exploit?”

  “Use,” Dr. Rosemary said, though the word wasn’t much better. “We need samples from the horses … which I haven’t mentioned before because I initially thought that we would be able to simply take them,” she continued.

  Anthea’s attention had gone to the stallions, who still hovered by the fence and were steadily growing distressed. She wasn’t sure if they were eavesdropping on Dr. Rosemary, and she was trying to reassure them, but now her head whipped around, her hair stringing across her face.

  “Take samples? You mean blood and saliva? From my horses? Without my permission?”

  Dr. Rosemary closed her eyes. “We thought it would be easier. We didn’t think they would be so big and … intelligent.”

  “You thought you would be taking samples from dogs, not dragons,” Anthea said coolly.

  “Precisely.” Dr. Rosemary plucked at the cuff of her long coat. “Will you … help us … collect samples from the horses? We want to compare them to the samples we have of those who are not sick, so we can see the similarities.”

  “Do none of you have the Way?” Anthea asked. “Jilly is dying to ask. And since you’re actually speaking to me right now, I might as well.”

  Dr. Rosemary looked horrified at the very idea. “Certainly not!”

  Anthea could tell that Dr. Rosemary was telling the truth. But she wondered if the rest of the scientists should be asked, in private.

  No, Bluebell said.

  Pardon?

  None of them have the Way, Bluebell told her. We tried when they first came. They cannot hear us. We mares were enthralled at the idea of so many women in one place. Our place. But they cannot hear us.


  That is a shame, Anthea said.

  Bluebell flicked her tail and nickered in agreement. Dr. Rosemary gave a little jump. Some of the scientists had expressed an interest in the horses, beyond wanting to study them, but none of them had taken to it the way the queen and princesses had. Anthea heaved a little sigh. It would have made things so much easier!

  “So you need us to help you collect saliva, which is easy enough, and blood, not so much?” Anthea said.

  “Yes, and—”

  “Getting a horse to cough isn’t as easy as you think,” Anthea interjected.

  She noticed that Jilly was heading her way, riding Caesar and leading two more stallions. Anthea both wanted and didn’t want her cousin to be the next person to hear about the samples. Anthea looked around for Finn, and gave Marius a nudge when she couldn’t see him.

  Then Dr. Rosemary’s words struck Anthea. None of the horses were sick. One man had coughed so hard he vomited across his stallion’s mane, but his horse was just fine.

  “None of the horses are sick,” Anthea whispered.

  “No, not even the ones who came from the south, near the original outbreak.”

  The smell doesn’t stick to us, Bluebell said again.

  Anthea still didn’t understand what the mare meant, so she let that comment go and asked Dr. Rosemary.

  “So the Dag isn’t the illness that killed the horses and the Leanans back before the Wall was built?”

  “Oh, heavens, no!” Dr. Rosemary said. “That caused oozing sores and loss of circulation in the extremities. Many of the survivors lost fingers and toes. It was very well documented. I’m sure I can find you a book on it.”

  Anthea shuddered and shook her head, but pressed on.

  “Does the queen know? The king?”

  “Of course. I have put it in my reports,” Dr. Rosemary said. “But they knew that before we came here.”

  “Does everyone know that? Was an official announcement made?” Anthea pressed.

  “I have no idea,” Dr. Rosemary said. She looked at Anthea as though seeing her for the first time. “Your loyalty is entirely to these animals, isn’t it? And not … anyone else?”