The Queen's Secret

by Jessica Day George

  “His emotions are like pushing your face into a blackberry bramble,” Anthea said. She felt like her analogy was a stroke of genius, and resolved to write it down later.

  “But I like blackberries,” Jilly retorted.

  Anthea opened her mouth, but Jilly cut her off.

  “I’m not saying it’s a bad thing, and I’m not saying I’m as jealous as I used to be,” Jilly said very seriously. “But you have to understand: I don’t have the Way the way you have the Way. No one has the Way as you have the Way.” She laughed a little at what she was saying, but she sobered quickly. “Anthea!” She pulled up Caesar and swung her leg across the saddle so that she could look directly at her cousin. “You’re Leanan!”

  “Um, yes? As are you,” Anthea said, confused.

  “No! Don’t you see? It’s no wonder your gift is so strong! Your father was Leanan, and your mother is, too!”

  Anthea slumped on Florian’s back like a sack of potatoes. If her mother was really from Upper Stonesraugh, not Bellair … and her father was from Leana and the Last Farm …

  Beloved?

  “But … but she lied,” Anthea said, to Jilly and Florian. And Leonidas and Caesar and Buttercup, who were listening and pretending not to. “I mean, she always lies! It’s just … lies,” Anthea repeated uncertainly.

  “I don’t think it is, for once,” Jilly said. “Think about it: I’m only half Leanan, and my father is actually only half Leanan. Did you know?”

  Anthea shook her head. She hadn’t known.

  “That’s how we got a name like Thornley,” Jilly said. She switched her leg over and they started riding again. “Dashton Thornley, our great-grandfather, was an exile.” She waggled her eyebrows at Anthea. “A smuggler, a pirate, and a loudmouth who had a lot to say to the old king, Frederick, which Frederick did not care for. He ended up at Last Farm, with his wife and their son, who fell in love with both horses and Alisa MacRennie—she was Caillin MacRennie’s aunt. So we are related, but not that closely.” Jilly flapped a hand, cutting off Anthea before Anthea could ask.

  “I never knew,” Anthea said, but quietly, because Jilly was still on a roll and Anthea wanted to hear all this.

  “Yes, yes, it’s actually very convoluted and Caillin MacRennie’s first wife died and his second wife ran away with a blacksmith, so the only thing he likes to talk about are horses,” Jilly warned. “So Grandfather Thornley married a nice local girl with the Way, had your father and mine, they died when Da was young, in a sailing accident. From what I can tell, our family has been one Leanan marrying one Coronami for years.”

  Anthea wasn’t quite sure that was true. What about Grandmother Thornley? She was “local”—did that mean an exile or a native Leanan? It made her head ache.

  “Then my father married my mother, who was certainly Coronami,” Jilly went on bitterly. “After meeting her on a walking holiday … something which I still do not understand.” Jilly shook her head and patted her mount’s neck. “Walking,” she muttered.

  “But your father,” she said, turning to Anthea. “Your father married a Leanan, he just didn’t know it!”

  “Someone has to have known it,” Anthea said. “Assuming that my mother was telling the truth when she said that her mother was from Upper Stonesraugh. That means that she is only half Leanan, and I still don’t understand how my mother and father ended up getting married.”

  “Well,” Jilly said slowly, “I’ve never done it myself, but I think you need a church, a priest, a—”

  Anthea snapped the end of her reins at her cousin’s leg.

  “Ouch!”

  “I mean,” Anthea said ominously, “I have heard all my life how the queen arranged my parents’ marriage. I thought it was because my mother was her favorite Rose Maiden. Josie—Queen Josephine—”

  “Let’s call her Josie,” Jilly interjected. “I love that name!”

  “Josie, then, implied that she did it because she was trying to keep my mother on her side.” Anthea frowned. “But if she didn’t know about the horses, and she did know that my mother was on the verge of betraying her to become the king’s personal spy—” Anthea’s temples throbbed.

  “You know what I like about you, Thea?” Jilly’s tone was breezy.

  “We’re cousins? Sometimes I let you dress me?”

  “I like the way you no longer run and hide in your room when we talk about your mother,” Jilly said. “It’s so much easier to have a conversation with you when you’re not having the vapors every five minutes!”

  Snap.

  “Ouch! You brat!”

  “Don’t call me a brat, I’ll go to my room and hide,” Anthea mock-threatened.

  “Well!” Jilly huffed. “The good news is, we are on our way to the queen. And when we get there, we can just ask Josie herself about your mother!”

  Anthea wondered if it was too late to have the vapors after all.

  CONSTANTINE

  The human fillies were gone, and this was good. They had taken Florian and Leonidas, who said that they would not challenge Constantine to be herd stallion, but he did not like them all the same. Florian, in particular, was troublesome.

  But not as troublesome as the human filly that Florian loved so much. That Anthea. The Now King should not be listening to her. It was not the right of mares and fillies to tell the herd stallion what to do, nor his rider.

  Constantine did not like this place. He did not like the ring of stones that kept him from connecting to his herd. He did not like that That Anthea was right and his rider was wrong: They should have left. They should have all left, and returned to their home in the north.

  This place did not smell right.

  19

  TURN AROUND

  They were a day away from Bell Hyde when they saw something heading toward them. Anthea wasn’t sure what it was at first. This far to the south there was no snow, so the weather was cold but dry, and whatever it was had a plume of dust behind it.

  Anthea drew up, guiding her horses to the side of the road. Jilly followed, remarking that it was the first motorcar they had seen all day.

  “Which is both good and bad, I suppose,” she said. “I mean, I hope there aren’t so many people … well, dead, from the Dag. But it’s nice to not worry about being threat— That’s a horse!”

  It was indeed a horse, coming fast up the road. The rider was small, clinging to the back of a bay mare with tall white stockings.

  “That’s Blossom!”

  Anthea and Jilly shouted it together, and then they moved back to the center of the road to intercept the rider. Blossom slowed immediately, but they could see the rider urging her faster, so focused that she didn’t even seen Florian and Caesar blocking the way. Anthea dropped the reins to wave her arms, and Florian neighed.

  Blossom skidded to a stop just in time.

  “Hey!” The rider raised her head. She had a dark green scarf tied around her hair, but a few gold curls were escaping.

  “Princess Margaret!”

  Anthea stared at the princess in shock. The princess blinked back at them, equally stunned. Jilly came to her senses first.

  “Walk her, walk!” she ordered.

  Blossom was lathered and blowing hard. Anthea had no idea how long she had been running, but she was instantly glad that they had caught her before Blossom was injured.

  “Walk, walk,” Anthea said, taking up the chant. Walk, Blossom dear! she said as reinforcement.

  Florian and Caesar fell in on each side of Blossom, and they began to walk back the way they had come, in the direction the princess had been going. The other horses meekly followed, and Anthea felt their waves of concern for Blossom. She was a good horse for running so hard when she was asked to, and the princess didn’t know any better, Anthea whispered to the mare through the Way.

  How are you? Are you teaching Princess Margaret how to be a rider?

  Yes. She has become dear to me, Blossom replied. I only wanted to do as she asked. Our message is m
ost urgent.

  What is it?

  Anthea repeated the question aloud. “What is your message? Where were you going?”

  “To find you,” Princess Margaret said.

  “We’re on our way to bring you the vaccine, Your Highness,” Anthea told her. They kept walking back up the road, however. Part of Anthea’s mind was still concerned with Blossom’s breathing.

  “We’ve all had ring pox,” the princess said. “And please, call me Meg,” she added, almost shyly.

  Jilly’s face lit up. “We’re Jilly and Thea,” she said eagerly. “Not Jillian and Anthea, and this is going to be so fun!”

  “Thank you, Your … Meg,” Anthea said.

  She was very pleased and flattered to be asked to call a royal princess by her nickname. But she was also very worried about why the queen had sent her youngest daughter, alone, on a horse, to find them.

  “Why did you need to find us so urgently?” Anthea asked.

  “It’s your mother, Anthea. Thea,” Meg said. “She … I’m sorry, do we need to keep riding? I feel like, like I need to be on the ground or something before I say this.”

  Anthea and Jilly exchanged looks, then they steered the horses over to the side of the road. Anthea tied up the horses while Jilly showed Meg how to rub down Blossom’s legs to keep them from cramping.

  Anthea tied the reins so tight that she got her finger caught and broke one of her already too short nails. Her mother. Again.

  “Blossom wants a drink,” Meg said.

  “In a minute,” Jilly said. “Horses sometimes want things that aren’t good for them, when they’ve been running hard or are hurt.”

  Jilly was getting the water skins from the packhorses, but Anthea couldn’t wait any longer. Neither could Meg.

  “About my mother?” Anthea began.

  “So, your mother,” Meg said at the same time.

  They both stopped, and Anthea gestured for Meg to continue.

  “So, your mother,” she began again. “You know that my mother keeps track of her, when she can …?”

  “I did not know that,” Anthea said.

  “With her Rose Maidens, right?” Jilly looked eager. “Remember when I tried to tell you they were all spies?” She whispered this loudly to Anthea.

  “Only a few of them are spies,” Meg said, giving an awkward shrug.

  “I wish they all were,” Jilly said.

  “That’s not really necessary,” Meg said. She winced. “Or, it really wasn’t for most queens. They used to just make sure the queen knew all the important gossip.

  “But after your mother … well, now they bring my mother whatever information they can find on your mother. Though she is very cagey and they rarely even know where she is. But now.”

  Meg stopped and noisily sucked in a deep breath. She pulled her green scarf off her hair and shook it out.

  “Now,” she said. “My mother and her maidens have lost track of her, but they were almost certain about her whereabouts before the Dag struck, and that’s what concerns them.”

  “Oh no,” Anthea said.

  Jilly was shaking her head slowly, as though in denial, but when Anthea caught her eye she mouthed a single word. “Tube.”

  “The Dag struck in Travertine and Bellair almost simultaneously,” Meg went on. “Your mother was seen in both towns the same week. And then she was in Harkham, just as it broke out there.

  “But the reason why Mother sent you all to Upper Stonesraugh? Your mother went to Camryn, and then disappeared.” Meg sighed, looking much older than her years.

  “My mother knows that there is a woman who comes and goes from her village. She knows that she gives them information, or finds lost artifacts. But because my mother has tried so hard to hide her true home, she cannot get more than vague reports back from the MagTaran.”

  Meg looked sad at this, and Anthea thought again with a pang how hard it must be for the queen to always be hiding her true nature from everyone, including her own husband.

  “My mother has long suspected that Genevia Cross was the great benefactress of her old village, so she rather threw caution to the winds. She ordered a Matron in Camryn to follow your mother. Lady Pellegrin lost track of her, but it was within ten miles of Upper Stonesraugh.

  “My mother had her letter to Finn ready when she got word that the Dag had reached her village.”

  Jilly put her arm around Anthea. Anthea would have leaned against her cousin, but frankly she could not move. She was staring over Meg’s shoulder, her feet rooted to the ground. Florian tugged his reins free and came to her other side, nuzzling her hair with his soft nose.

  “As much as I dislike Anthea’s mother,” Jilly said, “and absolutely trust and adore and in all ways worship yours,” she added to Meg, “I still can’t grasp this. How could she?”

  “I don’t understand it, either,” Meg whispered. “Does she have the Dag, and she’s running around coughing on everyone? Wouldn’t she be dead by now?”

  “Sadly, that I do understand,” Jilly said.

  “Blood,” Anthea whispered. “Saliva. Sputum.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Meg’s hopeful smile faded and she looked faintly disgusted. “Is sputum what I think it is?”

  “It is,” Jilly said, “and we’ve found one of the vials she used to transport it.”

  “Yes,” Anthea said. “All she would need is a quick trip to a hospital. Or to snoop around Dr. Rosemary’s college. And then once it really gets going, once she starts to spread it, she would have more samples, fresher samples.”

  “Please don’t ever say ‘fresher samples’ again,” Jilly said shakily. “Unless you are talking about marzipan.” She looked at Meg. “Where is the horrible—sorry, Thea—Mrs. Cross-Thornley now?”

  “Cross,” Anthea said. “Genevia Cross.” She stroked Florian’s mane a little too savagely, and tugged out some hairs by accident. She kissed his neck to apologize. “She’s not a Thornley, not anymore. I refuse to allow it.”

  “Why is she doing all this?” Jilly appealed to them both. “Why is she killing people? With a disease? I mean … who … why?”

  “She’s ruining any chance we have of horses being accepted in the south,” Anthea said dully. “She wants them all killed.”

  “Oh, Anthea, I’m so sorry,” Jilly said. “She’s just so … and you’re so …”

  “Um, I don’t think she wants to kill the horses,” Meg said.

  Anthea, who had been lying against Florian’s neck and breathing hard, looked up at the princess sharply. Her stir of emotions made Florian whinny and stamp his feet, but he was careful not to move away from her and throw her off balance. She clutched at his mane.

  “What else do you know?” Anthea whispered.

  “I’m not even supposed to know this,” Meg said cautiously. “But Bel—my sister Annabel, that is—she and I … well, sometimes we pretend to be Rose Maidens.”

  “And spy?” Jilly asked eagerly.

  “And spy,” Meg admitted. “And when those Kronenhofer ships were destroyed, and all the angry letters were going back and forth? We wanted to know if we were going to war or not.”

  All the horses shifted uneasily.

  “We are, probably,” Meg admitted. “But the thing we remember most was about the horses. One of the Kronenhofer emperor’s letters talked about how he wasn’t going to buy our horses anymore. He said he had something better, anyway, and he could take what he wanted from us. My father was worried about that last bit, what does he have that’s ‘better.’ But Bel and I, we couldn’t understand why he said he wouldn’t buy our horses because—”

  “Who offered to sell him our horses?” Jilly said indignantly.

  “My mother, that’s who,” Anthea said angrily.

  “So the horses that didn’t die from the Dag were supposed to go to Kronenhof,” Jilly said slowly. “Giving her a lovely fortune, I’m sure.”

  “But she didn’t know the horses were inoculated,” Meg said. “None of the
m died, right?”

  “That’s right,” Jilly said.

  “She’s already rich,” Anthea said. “Her mother, Uncle Daniel’s father … she inherited so much! Why is she doing this?”

  Meg sucked in a breath and let it out again. “Emily, my oldest sister? She told Annabel, and Bel told me, that … well, Emily hates your mother because she thinks that she wants to marry Father. Or she used to.”

  “What?” Jilly’s eyes were round.

  “Maybe now she’s flirting with the emperor?” Meg made a face.

  Anthea couldn’t even think about that.

  “How is she planning on getting the horses to Kronenhof?” she whispered. “There’s got to be more to her plan than this. When was she planning to steal them?”

  “I don’t know,” Meg said. “None of us do. But my mother said it’s better for you all to know everything, so that you can be on your guard.”

  “I love your mother,” Jilly said simply.

  Anthea wanted to agree, but found she was fighting a lump in her throat.

  “What does your father say about all this?” Jilly asked.

  She shot Anthea a sympathetic look, and Anthea used her cousin’s question as cover to get a grip on herself. She checked the horses’ water and gave them all extra pats on the neck, even though Meg’s answer gave her pause.

  “He doesn’t know that we know,” Meg admitted. “He won’t talk about Mistress Cross-Thor—Mistress Cross. At all. With anyone. And of course we didn’t dare tell him we were eavesdropping.”

  “Spying,” Jilly corrected her. “It sounds more dangerous. And exciting.”

  “Exactly.”

  “What if he finds out?” Anthea managed to say. “That your mother knows all this? That she sent letters to us, to Finn? About the village?” She could feel the tension knotting her shoulders.

  “She says she will fight that battle when it comes, and not before,” Meg said uneasily. “And that she’s done putting up with his tantrums.” She made a face. “I guess … we just have to let her do it.”

  They all had to think about that silently for a moment. Anthea didn’t know if she could shoulder any more worries about the queen, about the future. About her own mother.