She put on a smile and walked forward. This couldn’t be very different from parties in Veribold—might be better, as the only parties she was used to were Veriboldan landholder gatherings and ambassadorial events. The first were never the kind of fun that let you relax, as she’d always had to be on alert for Veriboldans who felt it acceptable to snub the foreigner, and the second had always required her to be on her best behavior as a representative of Tremontane. Here, she was the Queen. Nobody would snub her. And in a sense, whatever she did was considered best behavior.
“Good afternoon, and welcome,” she said, causing a few more faces to turn her way. “I hope it’s not too early in the year for a garden party, but I wanted an excuse to finally see my garden.” A riffle of laughter passed over the crowd. “I look forward to getting to know you. Enjoy the garden, and the food, and…everything.”
The murmur grew louder, and the rustle of fabric as everyone bowed or curtseyed temporarily drowned out the singing of the birds. Elspeth found a servant at her elbow, someone she recognized from suppers in the east wing dining room, offering her a tall glass of dark red liquid with tiny bubbles clinging to its curves. Hesitantly, she took it, sniffed, and discovered it was cranberry juice mixed with sparkling water that smelled faintly of apples. Relieved, she sipped, and relaxed when nothing bad happened.
Two people approached her, one of them blessedly familiar. “Thank you for the invitation, your Majesty,” Serena d’Arden said. “May I introduce Michael Argent? Of the Minsonal Argents?”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Elspeth said, remembering not to offer her hand to shake—Miss Jones White’s instructions again. Argent bowed. “Welcome to my party.”
“It’s a pleasure,” Argent said. He had an unexpectedly deep voice for not being a very large man, and his golden curls and bright blue eyes made him look even more like someone who should sing tenor in one of the more epic Eskandelic operas. “Thank you for the invitation. I’d hoped to meet you ever since I heard you had intended to become an Irantzen priestess. My sister has attended the festival every year for the last three years.”
“Oh!” Excitement fizzed through Elspeth. “I might have met her—we don’t use last names during the Festival—what is her given name?”
“Charlotte. She looks like me, only prettier, of course.” Argent smiled, making the corners of his eyes crinkle merrily.
Elspeth cast her mind back. “I think…I remember a young woman in my meditation group named Charlotte, two years ago. She had very blonde hair I was jealous of—so curly, but so easily managed. Not at all like my mane.” She touched her hair lightly and smiled. “Does your sister have a habit of raising one eyebrow when she’s curious?”
“That’s Charlotte!” Argent laughed. “May I remember you to her? She would be so thrilled to know she has a connection to the Queen.”
“Of course.” Elspeth became aware that Lady d’Arden had drifted away. “She isn’t here?”
“She had a prior engagement. Betrothal matters—she’s to be married in two weeks.”
“How lovely. Please give her my best wishes.”
“I will. But tell me, what’s it like? The Festival, I mean. Charlotte won’t talk about it—or does that mean it’s too private to discuss?”
Elspeth took another drink of her juice. “Not the way you probably think. So much of what we do is personal, it doesn’t mean much to anyone who hasn’t gone through it. But there’s meditation, and fasting, and a lot of discussion so we can help each other understand the visions we see—”
“Visions?”
“That’s also hard to explain. We’re given something that allows our unconscious minds to communicate with us, and that takes the form of a waking dream, but clearer and more coherent than a dream. We share those visions with the other women at the Festival, and their insights help us understand.” She thought back to the vision of the palace, and for the first time since leaving the Temple, she didn’t feel resentful.
“So why aren’t men allowed?” Argent asked.
“The Festival celebrates Haran’s discovery that the gods had abandoned heaven, or been driven out—there’s so much speculation on that question. Anyway, Haran’s revelations were at first only believed by women, who founded the first religious communities, and the Festival honors that. But Veriboldan men are allowed in the Temple at other times, for instruction and counsel.”
“Veriboldan men? I’m feeling increasingly excluded,” Argent said with another smile.
“Well, it is a Veriboldan temple, and it’s in the Jaixante, which is for the most part forbidden to non-Veriboldans. Aside from certain events like the Election. The only non-Veriboldans allowed to live in the Jaixante are sworn servants to the rulers of Veribold and priestesses of the Irantzen Temple. But there are other religious communities in Veribold that are open to men. Other temples.”
“Fascinating,” Argent said, sipping his straw-pale wine. “I shouldn’t monopolize your time, your Majesty, but I hope to speak with you again. You’ve lived such an interesting life.”
“It’s not as interesting as you think—but I’d like that, Mister Argent.”
Argent bowed again and turned away, leaving Elspeth feeling strangely adrift. She searched the crowd for someone she knew—how ridiculous if she threw a party and custom prevented her from talking to her guests!
Across the lawn, she saw the Countess of Waxwold conversing with a man dressed very finely in sharply creased trousers, a well-fitted spring coat, and a cravat that pushed his chin unnaturally high. She walked in their direction. Lady Quinn saw her first, and a surprisingly unpleasant look crossed her face, swiftly enough that Elspeth almost doubted having seen it. From someone who’d always been pleasant to her, whom Elspeth had hoped someday to call friend, it was like a slap to the face.
The man turned to see who Lady Quinn was looking at. His expression became frankly assessing, admiring Elspeth in a way she found profoundly uncomfortable, as if he could see through her clothes to her skin. Between the two, Elspeth regretted approaching them, but it was too late to turn away now.
“Good afternoon, Lady Quinn,” she said with a smile. “I’m so glad to see you. I still know so few people, I’m grateful for the guests I can speak to.”
A confused look touched Lady Quinn’s eyes briefly, and she shot a glance at her companion. “Good afternoon, your Majesty,” she said. Elspeth detected hostility beneath her polite tone of voice. “May I introduce Lord Randolph Chadwick, third son of the Count of Harroden.”
“Good afternoon, your Majesty,” Lord Chadwick said, bowing. To Elspeth’s surprise and discomfort, he took her hand and brought it swiftly to his lips before releasing her. “I am most pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“I…it’s nice to meet you,” Elspeth said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your conversation.”
“It was nothing,” Lady Quinn said in a tone of voice that said it absolutely was not nothing. “Simply discussing plans for my birthday celebration in ten days.”
“Ten days?” Astonishment drove her embarrassment out of her head. “My birthday is ten days from now.”
Lady Quinn’s expression grew pinched. “Is it,” she said flatly.
“Yes. I’ll be twenty-three.”
The pinched expression went even more sour. “So will I. What a coincidence.”
Elspeth sensed she had made a mistake. It seemed the Queen would overshadow the Countess on her own special day. “How do you intend to celebrate?”
“Well, of course we’ll attend the Queen’s birthday celebration,” Lord Chadwick said with a smile not nearly as pleasant as Argent’s had been.
“That seems like a dreadful way to celebrate your own birthday,” Elspeth said. “Surely you’ve made plans of your own?”
Lady Quinn eyed Elspeth, looking for hidden motives. Elspeth put on her most sincere smile. “Lord Chadwick has agreed to escort me to the opera,” Lady Quinn said.
Elspeth mentally kicked hersel
f. Interfered in the woman’s courtship, ruined her birthday… “That sounds much more fun,” she said. “I’ve never been to a Tremontanan opera. You’ll have to tell me all about it later.”
“Perhaps you—” Lord Chadwick began.
“Oh, I see someone I must speak to,” Elspeth said. “Please continue your conversation, and forgive my interruption!” She turned and hurried off toward a knot of guests before Lord Chadwick could be stupid enough to invite her along on the opera outing. Lady Quinn couldn’t possibly be interested in a man who’d flirt with another woman in front of her. Or maybe she was in love, and it had blinded her to Lord Chadwick’s true nature. In either case, Elspeth was glad to be out of it.
She found Lady d’Arden again and squeezed a few more introductions out of her, some of them women, mostly men. Lord Erickson from the previous evening was in attendance, and she chatted with him, finding him an entertaining partner even with the awkwardness of her never having read his poetry between them. She nibbled cakes and accepted a second glass of juice, and by the time five-thirty arrived, she’d enjoyed herself enough that she felt disappointed that the party had to end.
She waited near the arch to say goodbye to her guests, wondering idly how they exited the palace. Of course there wasn’t an outer gate to the garden, that would be insecure, but people couldn’t be allowed to wander the palace unescorted, could they?
“Thank you again, your Majesty, I enjoyed our conversation,” Michael Argent said with a bow. Elspeth looked him over, remembered how she’d enjoyed speaking with him, and made a decision.
“Mister Argent,” she said, “do you like opera?”
He looked startled, but concealed it quickly. “I do, your Majesty.”
“I’ve only ever been to Veriboldan operas, and I’d like to experience a Tremontanan one. Would you care to accompany me some evening?”
His carefully concealed astonishment gave way to a delighted smile. “I’d be honored, your Majesty.”
“My secretary will contact you with the details,” Elspeth said, feeling giddy at having Simkins she could pass all this off to, “but shall we say in three or four days?”
“I’m at your service, your Majesty.” Argent bowed again and disappeared through the arch.
When the last guest was gone, Elspeth joined her guards for the long walk back up the spiral ramp to the east wing. She felt tired, but it was the kind of tired that came from pleasant exertion. Michael Argent was pleasant to talk to, and had a nice smile, and was handsome…she wasn’t sure she felt the kind of excitement she’d always believed was part of falling in love, but maybe she was wrong about that being necessary. Anyway, it was just one evening.
Supper was just her and Veronica. They ate mostly in silence, Elspeth because she was tired of conversation, Veronica because she was Veronica. When dessert was served, Veronica said, “Did you enjoy your party?”
“Yes, it was very nice. I met some interesting people. It’s getting easier to be the Queen now that I know more of my peers. Are they still peers if I’m the Queen and outrank them? But you know what I mean.”
“I do.” Veronica took another bite of the decadently rich chocolate cake, with the center that oozed dark chocolate pudding. “You’re looking for a Consort, aren’t you.”
Elspeth nearly choked on her mouthful of cake. Veronica hadn’t sounded judgmental, but her words, so matter-of-fact instead of questioning, had felt like a judgment nonetheless. “I wouldn’t put it that way,” she said when her mouth wasn’t so full. “I want to meet people, and if one of them turns out to be someone I could love, then that’s good, isn’t it?”
“Landon and I met before he was King,” Veronica said. She set her dessert fork down with a tink against the china. “He wasn’t what I thought I wanted in a husband. He was loud, and boisterous, and he enjoyed a good story that ended in a good laugh. And I didn’t think I was what he wanted in a wife. I never have understood why he pursued me. So many women wanted to marry the Crown Prince.” She smiled, memory lighting her eyes. “Some of them wanted to bear his child, legitimate or not. He was very handsome—those blue eyes with that black hair…”
Elspeth held her breath, hoping not to distract Veronica from her reminiscences.
“And he wasn’t who I thought he was,” Veronica went on. “He was so much like a little boy, afraid of doing or saying the wrong thing, and that came out as brashness as he tried to hide how much he disliked being laughed at. His mother…” Veronica’s eyes hardened. “What a bitch.”
Elspeth had never heard Veronica use coarse language before. It was like hearing a nightingale swear. “She tried to control that family—succeeded, for the most part. Marrying me was the most rebellion Landon ever managed. Genevieve wanted him to marry a d’Arden cousin, keep the families tied. And don’t think I don’t know she drove your parents out of the country entirely. I don’t know why she wanted Sebastian disinherited, but it wouldn’t surprise me if it had something to do with Fiona. She’d have burst a vein if Emily had tried to adopt out while she was still alive.”
Her eyes suddenly focused on Elspeth. “But that doesn’t matter anymore. I was talking about Landon. I did love him, you know. He had his faults, but that’s true of anyone. And he was a bad King, but he was a good husband. He should have divorced me when I couldn’t have children after Francis, but…you know, it was the one time I saw him angry, the night I suggested it. He said he could face the country with only one heir, but he couldn’t face heaven if I couldn’t be with him.” She wiped her eyes. “It was terrible, and beautiful, because before that night I hadn’t believed he really, truly loved me.”
Elspeth couldn’t think of anything to say. Her memories of her brash, outspoken uncle whom she’d disliked were turning somersaults in her head.
“I’m sorry,” Veronica said. “I didn’t mean—anyway. Elspeth, you’ll meet so many men who want to be the Consort. They’ll act like they love you, but they won’t even see you. But among those men will be the ones who would want to marry you if you were a road-sweeper’s daughter. If you can’t marry one of those, better you stay single, because you might be the Queen in this life, but you’ll be Elspeth North forever.”
Elspeth let out a breath. “How do I know? I never imagined marrying, let alone falling in love. I don’t even know what that feels like.”
“I wish I could tell you.” Veronica nudged her fork until it lay at a tangent to the curve of the plate. “I knew because there was a day I woke up and couldn’t imagine not spending it with Landon. That might not matter to you. You’ll have to work it out for yourself.” She smiled. “Pray about it, maybe. I’ve never been able to guess at what heaven will care about, when it comes to human needs.”
“I will,” Elspeth said, catching hold of something she could understand. “Thank you, Aunt Veronica.”
“If you can learn from my experience, that makes me doubly blessed,” Veronica said. She pushed back her chair. “Good night.”
“Good night,” Elspeth said.
Back in her new suite, filled with her things thanks to Honey and Gloria’s efforts, she undressed and climbed into bed, but didn’t turn down the covers. Instead, she sat cross-legged atop the counterpane and clasped the toan jade in both hands. Her fingers found the fourth meditation ritual, the path of understanding. The deeply incised words read that all may have place on earth and under heaven. She might have followed the path of awareness, to guide her in discovering her heart, or the path of harmony, to make herself in tune with heaven’s desires, but after Veronica’s revelations, she found she craved understanding.
She relaxed into a meditative state and let her fingers trace the carved words. The principle of understanding as taught by the Irantzen priestesses was of finding how things fit into the world around them. Sela, whom Elspeth didn’t like, had nevertheless put it in a way Elspeth understood: a bird’s wings make sense when you see it in the sky. So how did that apply to Elspeth?
The more she thoug
ht about it, the more she wanted a Consort, someone to share her burdens and support her in ways her staff and councilors and even her family could not. Maybe that was a longing for love, too. She knew so little of romantic love, she couldn’t tell if that were true. But that longing meant she needed to find the right person, not just someone who liked the idea of being Consort and was maybe fond of the Queen as well.
She considered what she knew of love from watching her parents. She knew they had overcome great obstacles to be together, which told her love meant a willingness to face hard things without giving up. They clearly desired each other—they were never shy about holding hands or kissing in front of their children—so love meant physical affection and desire as well. And they were always one when it came to making decisions for the family, which suggested two people in love ought to share the same goals and principles. Persistence, desire, unity. Those were ideals she could found her search on.
She removed the toan jade from around her neck and laid it on the bedside table. Someone she would be willing to fight for. Someone who wanted the same things she did. And someone whose touch she longed for. That last made her uncomfortable, because she’d never met anyone who aroused her physically. Maybe there was something wrong with her.
She shook her head to make that thought fly away and tunneled under the blankets. In a few days, she would go to the opera with Argent, and get to know him better. And maybe he would turn out to be the right kind of man. What would be the odds, she chastised herself, and settled in to sleep.
16
Elspeth gazed at the lavender and green banner representing Huddersfield. The colors were so delicate it was hard to imagine them marching before an army. No enemy would be able to take them seriously. Though it had been generations since Huddersfield had sent men and women to war. Just over a hundred years, in fact, when they’d supported Willow North in her fight against the pretender Terence Valant. Elspeth knew this because the Count of Huddersfield always found a way to drop this fact into ordinary conversations.
Stranger to the Crown Page 18
