Stranger to the Crown

by Melissa McShane

“I agree.”

  Faraday rose. “We haven’t stopped searching for the ‘servant,’ just in case, but don’t expect a miracle. I’ll meet with you in the morning and let you know where we stand.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Thank you for having unwarranted faith in me,” Faraday said with a bow, and left the room.

  Elspeth waited in front of the fireplace until the guards returned. The lieutenant, Anselm, saluted her and said, “There’s no one here who shouldn’t be, your Majesty, but I think you should move to an interior suite, just in case.”

  That made her even more nervous, but she said, “All right,” and had Honey and Shirley, the night maid, transfer some of her things to the room across the hall. It had no windows, and Elspeth felt instantly more secure as well as mildly claustrophobic. She put on her nightgown and climbed into bed. It was lower than the bed in her own suite and not quite as soft, and Elspeth liked it better.

  In the darkness, she waited for the shakes to return, but even the memory of how Lord Folsom had looked, convulsing on the floor, didn’t do more than bring tears to her eyes. Now that the initial shock had passed, she could think more clearly. It wasn’t her fault Lord Folsom had nearly died; it was the fault of the assassin, whoever he or she was. Didn’t they say poison was a woman’s weapon? That wasn’t a good assumption to make, not when they knew so little about her enemy. At any rate, she had nearly been the hands of an assassin that night. And Elspeth would make the person responsible for that pay.

  She wasn’t surprised to find a squad of guards, led by the efficient Lieutenant Anselm, waiting outside the east wing the following morning. They formed up around her, not so close as to be uncomfortable, but clearly in position to protect her from any attack. Elspeth didn’t fight them. She didn’t think an assassin could get at her in the palace, but given the poison attempt the previous night, maybe she was wrong. And if she was going to trust Faraday to protect her, she shouldn’t second-guess him. She laughed, and shook her head when one of the guards looked inquisitively at her. Trust Faraday. The world was upside down.

  The guards left her at the north wing, but dispersed in a way that suggested they would be there at dinnertime. She let herself into her office and settled in to the inevitable Papers. New financial reports, these easier to understand. An invitation from the Magister of the Scholia to be present at the official opening of the new location in about a month. A letter to the King of Ruskald, written by Lord Harrington for her signature. She settled in to read that one. Lord Harrington was good at threatening action without being aggressive. He came close to accusing the Ruskald King of encroaching on Tremontanan territory without ever hinting at the word “war.” Elspeth set the letter aside to discuss with Harrington later. It was diplomatic, but it left her with questions about their relationship with that country she wanted answered before that letter went out with her name on it.

  Simkins’ knock sounded, and the secretary poked her head inside. “Your schedule, your Majesty,” she said.

  “Come in, Miss Simkins,” Elspeth said. Simkins’ attitude had mellowed since the afternoon Elspeth had implied she would fire her. Since her attention to detail and meticulous politeness hadn’t changed, Elspeth had gradually become more comfortable around her. “Please have a seat.”

  Simkins sat—and that was another change; two weeks ago she would have refused the chair as too informal for their working relationship—and steadied her spectacles on her nose. “The final sitting for your portrait is this morning at nine. At ten o’clock you have high court—”

  Elspeth made a cranky noise. Simkins actually smiled—not a broad smile, barely touching her lips, but a smile—and went on, “Dinner is at noon in the east wing, as usual. At one o’clock representatives from the Scholia have a presentation and a request—”

  “What’s it about?”

  “I don’t know, your Majesty.” Simkins’ scowl told Elspeth she had pressed for this information and been denied. “They claimed it was a complex matter they would rather put before you in its entirety. I would have refused them, but you did say you wanted to meet with any Scholia masters requesting an appointment.”

  “I did. The more of them I meet, the more impressed I am by the quality of their education. I’d like to see more Scholia masters in government positions.”

  “Very wise, your Majesty. My nephew is a Scholia master, so I may be biased.”

  “I didn’t realize you had family. In the Scholia, I mean.” Elspeth had sort of assumed Simkins had sprung fully-formed from the earth itself, spectacles and circle skirt and all.

  “Yes. We are all very proud of him.”

  “You should be. I hope he’s successful.”

  “So do we.” Simkins cleared her throat before bringing the conversation back to the present. “At two o’clock, you have yet another meeting with the architects. Your Majesty, forgive me for saying, but you cannot keep putting them off.”

  “I know, Miss Simkins, but I’m reluctant to tell them all their work was for nothing. Even if we pay them for their time, it must still be a blow.”

  “You don’t want a pavilion in the royal gardens, your Majesty. They deserve to know that.”

  Elspeth let out a deep sigh. “You’re right. I’ll tell them today.”

  “And—if I might make a suggestion?” Elspeth nodded. “It would be a bad idea to engage them for a different building project simply to assuage your feelings of guilt.”

  Elspeth had been considering just that. “I—yes, Miss Simkins, that’s very wise.”

  Simkins nodded. “At two-thirty you have, as requested, a garden party in the aforementioned royal gardens. The guest list is on your desk for your convenience.”

  Elspeth shuffled papers until she found it. “Thank you. I’ll still have to match names to faces, but this will give me a place to start from.”

  “Then I wish your Majesty luck.”

  “Luck? For what?”

  Simkins gave her an arch look. “Are you not interested in finding a Consort?”

  Elspeth blushed and turned the paper upside down. “I…well, I want to get to know people, and make friends, and…if I meet young men and one of them is appropriate, I don’t see what’s wrong with that.”

  “Nothing, your Majesty. But—”

  “Yes, Miss Simkins?”

  Simkins removed her spectacles and looked long and hard at Elspeth. “I never married, and I have never felt the lack of a wife. But it is my understanding that marriage is more successful if it is based on something other than ‘appropriate.’”

  Elspeth felt her face might burst into flame. “I’ve never been in love,” she confessed. “I didn’t think I’d get married. Priestesses of the Irantzen Temple don’t. So the truth is, I don’t even know what I’m looking for.”

  “When the right person comes along, you’ll know,” Simkins said. “Ahem. The garden party is to last until five-thirty, and you have nothing scheduled between—”

  Another knock sounded on the door. “Come in,” Elspeth said, but Faraday had already entered.

  “Your Majesty,” he said, “I have information on the attempted assassination last night.”

  She’d almost forgotten about it thanks to the mundanity of Simkins’ schedule. “Thank you. Miss Simkins, is that all?”

  “Yes, your Majesty. But may I suggest you take your meeting with Mister Faraday as you go to your portrait sitting? It is in seven minutes.”

  Elspeth made a face. “The final sitting, your Majesty,” Simkins said with a straight face.

  “All right. Mister Faraday, will you walk with me?”

  “Certainly, your Majesty, but I would prefer not to discuss this in front of Mistress Bennegret.”

  “The sitting won’t take long. Will you join me for high court? We could finish our discussion on the way to the Justiciary.” She looked around for her guards, but saw no one. Faraday must consider himself protection enough.

  Faraday nodded. “There’s not
much to tell, actually. My people interviewed the service staff last night and this morning. No one was missing, and the servants matching your description could all account for their whereabouts during the time of the poisoning. That means the assassin was not a real servant, suborned or bribed by your enemy, but someone who infiltrated the palace. I think he might have hidden himself where he could approach you rather than pretending to be an actual servant. The service staff isn’t so large that the servants don’t know each other, and a stranger would have stood out to someone.”

  Elspeth nodded. “How hard would it be for someone to do that?”

  Faraday’s familiar scowl inexplicably cheered her. It was something in her world she could count on. “Too easy,” he said. “There are closets full of unused uniforms, and the kitchens and wine cellars are always bustling at these events. A stranger might be noticed, but the other servants would be busy enough not to have time or inclination to do anything about it. And all it would take would be for the assassin to come early enough to steal a tray and glasses and conceal himself in one of those retiring rooms, waiting for you to approach.”

  “That seems…careless, maybe? They couldn’t guarantee I’d even leave my seat all night.”

  “No, but if you didn’t, it wouldn’t be much riskier for the assassin to come to you. So gracious, thinking of his Queen’s need for refreshment.”

  “That’s a disturbing thought.”

  They entered the bare little room Mistress Bennegret had commandeered for the sitting to find the artist there already. “Your Majesty,” she said. “We should finish today.” Her scowl rivaled Faraday’s usual one in fierceness and the ability to convey the scowler’s profound annoyance with the world and everyone in it.

  “Thank you, Mistress Bennegret, I’m sure we’ll both be satisfied with the results. Mister Faraday, you don’t need to wait.”

  “You have no guard,” Faraday pointed out. “I’ll wait.”

  The sitting passed in silence. Elspeth was painfully aware of Faraday’s looming presence, watching her as closely as the artist did. They still weren’t friends, for all they weren’t at each other’s throats anymore, and despite their mutual resolve not to assume the worst of each other, Elspeth couldn’t help feeling he was still waiting for her to slip up. It made for an uncomfortable relationship.

  Finally, Mistress Bennegret laid down her brush. “That’s all, your Majesty. I’ll complete the painting by next week sometime.”

  “It’s not done now?” The idea of more sittings loomed up before her.

  “Background, your Majesty. Your part is finished. And don’t look, please. I don’t like criticism before a portrait is finished.”

  Elspeth wouldn’t have criticized—that might mean starting the whole damn process over again—but she nodded and stood, stretching out her legs. Faraday stirred from where he’d been leaning against the wall. He wasn’t scowling anymore, but he still looked like a thundercloud on legs.

  He took her to the Justiciary by corridors she’d never seen before, making her the most lost she’d ever been in the palace. The thought occurred to her that if he was behind the assassins, her body might never be found. Of course, if he’d been behind the assassins, she’d probably be dead.

  “Should I be worried?” she asked.

  He glanced at her. “Worried about what?”

  “You look like you’re ready to disembowel someone and it might be me. Was there more I need to know about the assassin?”

  To her surprise, he smiled. It made him look surprisingly pleasant. “I apologize,” he said. “I was lost in thought. I think I told you I don’t know nearly enough. One thing I did learn is that the poison wasn’t lethal. You weren’t meant to die.”

  “But Lord Folsom—he was suffocating.”

  “Dr. Ambrose assures me the effect would have passed in a minute or so. Not long enough to suffocate someone, or to cause permanent injury.”

  Elspeth came to a stop. “Then what was the point? Doesn’t that change everything?”

  “It does, but more importantly, it confuses matters. If we’re dealing with a single enemy, and other clues indicate this is still true, those shots in the Park weren’t meant to kill you either. Which means someone either wants you temporarily out of the way, or intends to warn you off something. Or wants you frightened. But in every case, there’s nothing eliminating you would change. You’re too new to your role to have made enemies.” He scowled again. “And worst of all, there are hints that whoever is behind this is not Tremontanan. That we’re looking at a foreign entity, either some other government or a faction within a government. Or it could just be disgruntled foreigners living in Aurilien. I just don’t know enough, damn it.”

  “Maybe someone is afraid of what I represent,” Elspeth said. “I was raised Veriboldan—what if someone thinks I’m not Tremontanan enough? That I might give preference to Veribold?”

  “That’s possible, too,” Faraday admitted. He steered her down a long, slanting hall she recognized as the path to the Judiciary. “We’re following up on every hint. One of them has to lead somewhere.”

  Elspeth saw her usual trio of guards waiting for her at the bottom of the hall. “I hope that’s true,” she said.

  15

  Elspeth examined the gown Honey held up for her inspection. “I’ll freeze,” she said.

  “It’s a beautiful day, your Majesty, and this is the perfect weight for early spring,” Honey pleaded. “And it’s so pretty.”

  The dress was white muslin embroidered with yellow daisies, with a wide scoop neck, a high waist, and a narrow skirt that would swirl around Elspeth’s ankles. It was also thin enough to require a full-length silk slip for modesty’s sake. Just looking at it made Elspeth shiver. “Can’t I wear a coat or something?”

  “And cover up the dress? No, your Majesty. You said you’d take my word on what was appropriate clothes for things, and this is a garden party dress.” Honey brandished the gown like she was shaking it out of winter wraps. “There’s a scarf goes with it,” she said as if offering a wonderful treat.

  It was beautiful. Elspeth realized she was tired of heavy clothing. So what if she froze her nose off? “All right,” she said, removing her accustomed jacket. “I certainly don’t want to stand out as odd.”

  “You will stand out as beautiful, your Majesty,” Honey said.

  The muslin gown was comfortable as well as being pretty. Elspeth sat while Honey did her hair in a roll low on her neck, deliberately encouraging wisps of it to fly free around her face. Elspeth had to agree it was a nice effect. She wound the scarf, made of the same filmy muslin, twice around her neck and tossed the ends over her shoulder to trail down her back. Honey clapped with excitement. “You look so pretty, your Majesty! I wish you’d let me dress you like this every day. You shouldn’t wear those dull trousers and plain shirts all the time.”

  “Those are more comfortable for what I do every day. But…maybe you’re right.” Nobody really cared if the Queen was pretty, but if she wanted to attract a Consort, maybe she needed to care about that.

  Her guards formed up around her as she left the east wing and proceeded down a spiraling ramp to ground level, three stories below. Elspeth didn’t know what lay beneath the east wing and was mildly curious about it. That was a lot of empty space, if it really was empty space and not solid rock. Whatever it was, it wasn’t a danger to her or Faraday would have done something about it.

  The small door at the foot of the ramp was pretty and delicate like nothing Elspeth had seen in the rest of the palace. Lieutenant Anselm opened it, straining as if it weighed a ton, and Elspeth, looking closer, realized the door was solid metal three inches thick. So much for it being a security weakness.

  The lieutenant gestured to the others to wait. Elspeth craned her neck to look outside, but saw only masses of green that could have been anything from bushes to a painted wall. The smell, though…that could only be a garden, fresh and cool and damp even at this hour of
the afternoon.

  Lieutenant Anselm returned. “We’ve checked the whole garden, your Majesty, earlier today, and your guests won’t be permitted to carry weapons.”

  “Thank you, lieutenant. Your thoroughness comforts me.”

  The lieutenant smiled. “Enjoy your afternoon, your Majesty.” It was a smile that reminded Elspeth that the lieutenant—all the guards, really—weren’t much older than her.

  She stepped through the door and into a living tunnel. Budding vines wove through tall iron hoops that in full summer would create a thick wall of greenery. Even at this early season, the effect was stunning. Elspeth walked forward, head tilted back to appreciate the fragments of blue sky peeping between the vines. They filled the air with an unexpectedly tangy scent Elspeth enjoyed.

  Past the arched tunnel, the garden opened up into a broad lawn whose grass had begun to green, giving the sweep of lawn a fresh, new look. It ended at stone walls about eight feet tall, topped with iron spikes, that were far enough apart to keep the garden from feeling closed in. Deadheaded rosebushes, spiky and bare, lined the walls; one more deterrent to any intruder. The spikes gave Elspeth a perverse desire to climb the wall and see what lay beyond it. She’d have to settle for asking someone.

  The air was filled with the sound of birds chirping and the elusive tangy scent. Something else she would need to ask about. There was also a low murmuring sound she identified as conversation, quiet except for an occasional high-pitched laugh. A breeze ruffled her skirts and made her scarf flutter and the wisps of hair tickle her face. It was chilly, but not as cold as she feared, and the feel of the air against her skin invigorated her.

  The lawn sloped gently downward to an enormous stone fountain topped with brass fish. Elspeth walked down to it, the soft grass putting a spring in her step, and discovered it wasn’t running. She ran her fingers over the slightly rough surface of the stone and imagined the cool spray from the fountain in the heart of an Aurilien summer.

  She came around the fountain and discovered the source of the murmuring: dozens of people, standing and chatting. Some of them glanced her way and stared. Elspeth blushed. It was her party, and she had no need to be embarrassed, but she felt unexpectedly exposed in the pretty dress.