Stranger to the Crown

by Melissa McShane

  “Good idea.” Faraday swung her around as the music came to an end. “I’m afraid that wasn’t a very enjoyable dance. I’ve robbed you of the opportunity to audition a suitor.”

  Elspeth made a face that dissolved into laughter. “That is not…all right, it is, a bit.”

  Faraday bowed. “Thank you, your Majesty, for your generosity in sharing your time with me.”

  Elspeth curtseyed. “Thank you, Mister Faraday, for generously not complaining when I stepped on your toes.”

  “I consider it a sacrifice for the good of the country,” Faraday said, and smiled.

  18

  “In conclusion,” Lord Harrington said, leaning forward to rest his hands on the ancient round table, “we must assume that Ambassador Larssin’s outburst was meant to garner international sympathy. He claims we are the aggressors, so when his country attacks Tremontane, Eskandel and Veribold will support Ruskald’s action.” He sat and interlaced his fingers in front of him.

  “Thank you, Lord Harrington,” Elspeth said. “Ladies and gentlemen, any comments?”

  Master Keswick rose. “Ruskald honors bold action,” he said. “King Osjan’s actions in moving his troops secretly must go against his instincts. It may be that the ambassador’s verbal assault was also intended to give Ruskald a pretext for moving openly.”

  Elspeth glanced at Lord Harrington, who nodded once. “Thank you, Master Keswick, that is a valuable insight. Anyone else?”

  Lady Wilde rose as Master Keswick sat down. “We should approach this problem from the direction we intend to take. We want to avoid war. What actions will help us do that?”

  “If Ruskald is intent on war, we have to respond to that,” General Beckett said. “We can’t let them walk over us.”

  “True,” said Lady Wilde, “but I assume that will be our last resort. What I’m asking is, is there anything we can do to minimize the chance of Ruskald attacking?”

  “Not much,” Lord Harrington said. “If we show even the slightest weakness, they’ll see that as an opportunity. Even withdrawing our forces at this point might be what sets them off.”

  “But there has to be something we can do,” Elspeth said. “What would they accept as a peace offering? Something they wouldn’t see as a weakness?”

  Lord Harrington shook his head. “I can’t think of anything. We’re at an impasse.”

  “Maybe not,” Master Keswick said. He pressed his fingers to his lips thoughtfully. “There’s an old tradition among the Ruskalder people, dating from when the clans weren’t so interconnected. They were more like independent tribes back then. Anyway, when one tribe wanted to show respect to another, as a precursor to joining more closely—like in marriage or adoption—it would send a token of its respect. The token would be something very important to the donor tribe, and giving it to the second tribe was a gesture of trust. A way of saying they respected the second tribe and believed them worthy guardians of the token.”

  Elspeth sat up straighter. “And it wasn’t seen as weakness?”

  “No, quite the opposite. The strength of the donor tribe was implicit in the token they gave. Meaning that the tribe had to be strong to even make the offering. Kind of like how a rich man doesn’t miss the two guilders he gives to a beggar.”

  Elspeth turned to Lord Harrington again. “What do you think?”

  “I’ve never heard of that,” Lord Harrington said. “Are you sure it’s not such an old tradition it’s been forgotten, Master Keswick?”

  “Fairly sure. Nowadays it’s associated with marriage settlements, but any Ruskalder would know the significance if it came from a rival clan or, as in our case, a foreign country.”

  “And it’s something they would recognize as showing we intend no malice,” Elspeth said. “Thank you, Master Keswick. Do you think you could come up with a suitable, um, token?”

  “I do, if you think you can part with Jeramen’s Bequest,” Master Keswick said.

  “What?” exclaimed Lord Harrington.

  Elspeth eyed him in concern. “I don’t know what that is.”

  “It’s a priceless relic of Tremontanan history,” Lord Harrington said. “It’s impossible.”

  “It’s a wooden shield carved with a map of Tremontane, and it’s ideal,” Master Keswick said. “The symbolism is potent—handing over Tremontane, so to speak, and therefore putting its safety in Ruskalder hands. It would suggest strongly that Ruskald going to war against Tremontane is a breach of honor.”

  “Jeramen’s Bequest is four hundred and sixty-two years old,” Lord Harrington said. “It was carved after the Battle of Aurilien to symbolize how no one would fight over the city again.”

  “Until Willow North did three hundred and fifty-seven years later,” Elspeth said. “If it can prevent an actual war, I think it’s worth the sacrifice. Master Keswick, I’ll need your help drafting a letter.”

  “Of course, your Majesty.”

  Lord Harrington still looked stunned. “It’s all right, Lord Harrington,” Elspeth said comfortingly, “just think of the stories our children will tell about how we used history to make history. Ladies and gentlemen, that’s all. We’ll have our regular weekly meeting in five days. Thank you.”

  She sat, waiting, until the room cleared and she and Lord Harrington were alone. “I’m sorry to overrule you, Lord Harrington, but I really believe that relic is best used in this manner.”

  “I understand, your Majesty. That’s not what concerns me.”

  Elspeth gestured for him to sit. He pushed out Lady Quinn’s empty chair and lowered himself heavily into it, as if his joints pained him. Since he was normally very hale for his sixty years, Elspeth felt uneasy.

  “Master Keswick’s solution is ingenious,” he said, “but it will only work if Ruskald is not intent on waging war. If they are, no number of ingenious solutions will help us. I believe we still need to be prepared for an attack.”

  “I agree with you,” Elspeth said, “which is why I haven’t asked General Beckett to withdraw the troops from Daxtry and Avory. I don’t think we should be careless. But I also don’t want to appear so aggressive the Ruskalder feel compelled to attack us to protect their honor. So we’re going to stand down. Keep the troops in place where they are, but minimize our martial actions.”

  Lord Harrington shook his head. “I’m not sure that’s wise.”

  “I know, but I think it’s a fair compromise. I have faith in your agents and their ability to keep us informed in a timely fashion.” Elspeth smiled. “Weren’t you impressed with Master Keswick’s solution? I really do feel encouraging Masters from the Scholia to take part in our government is a good idea.”

  “I admit I wouldn’t have thought of that,” Lord Harrington said. “Very well. I’ll pass on the word that the troops are to stand down—without looking like they’re turning tail.”

  “Perfect,” Elspeth said. “I’m off to dinner. Please give my regards to Lady Harrington.” She managed to say it with a straight face. Lady Harrington had never given her husband any indication of her animosity toward Sebastian North’s children, and Elspeth didn’t intend to enlighten him.

  She hurried back to the east wing, hunger putting a spring in her step. It had been a long morning, and would be a long afternoon, especially if she had to make time for writing an appeasing but firm letter to Larssin. Maybe she could do that after she ate—no, it wasn’t fair to make Master Keswick miss his dinner just to make her life easier.

  She hurried into the drawing room and came to a dead stop. “Oh, my,” she said, involuntarily covering her mouth as if to hold back a stronger exclamation.

  The round table that normally stood beneath the northern windows had been pulled away from the wall, and heaps of packages, small boxes, books, and folded piles of fabric lay upon it. Larger items sat on the floor nearby, including an ivory statue of a collie, sitting alertly upright, and a rotating book stand with ornate metal grilles on two of its four faces.

  Elspeth’s earlier
objections to the gifts evaporated. She approached the pile with something like awe. So much—and all of it for her—it was incredible. She sank to her knees and pushed on the book stand to make it spin slowly. It was just the right height to go next to the armchair in her sitting room. She eyed the ivory statue with skepticism—attractive, but for a specialized taste, and she liked cats better than dogs—and tried to think where she might put it.

  “It’s dizzying, isn’t it,” Veronica said, startling Elspeth. “I remember Landon’s first birthday as King. We had such fun deciding what to do with all the gifts he didn’t intend to keep. It’s a challenge, because you can’t just give them away, but you aren’t obligated to keep them…anyway.”

  “Let’s eat quickly,” Elspeth said, “and you can help me. It sounds like a fun game.”

  She’d never eaten dinner so quickly, feeling the pull of the pile of gifts like a hook embedded in her flesh, but gentle rather than sharp. When she finally returned to the drawing room, though, she stood in front of the table, unable to decide where to begin.

  “The fabric,” Veronica suggested. “Some of it may even fit.”

  Only one of the folded piles of fabric turned out to be a gown, far too large for Elspeth, and she set it aside quickly. The others were shawls, scarves, and even unfinished lengths of cloth, some of them exotic, one of them a Veriboldan silk that brought tears to Elspeth’s eyes. Each item came with a card upon which was written the giver’s name and a description of the gift. Elspeth sorted the fabric into two piles and gave Veronica the cards of the items she intended to keep. Veronica was right, this was fun.

  It turned out the book stand was a gift from Lord Erickson. Delighted, Elspeth added his card to the “keep” pile. Tucked inside one of the grilles was a bound copy of Lord Erickson’s most famous poem, signed by the poet. Elspeth made a mental note to thank him for that as well. The young lord moved to the top of the list Elspeth wasn’t quite prepared to admit she had.

  Some of the packages had been opened and re-wrapped, for which Elspeth thanked Faraday or his helpful assistants. Opening presents was much more fun than simply being handed a gift. About half the items were unsuitable in some way: the wrong size, an unattractive color, too intimate, far too intimate—she and Veronica laughed over the silk undergarments from a young man Elspeth remembered as examining her as if he wanted to use his hands rather than his eyes. Some of them were just odd, like the mounted fish skeleton and the lump of glass whose purpose even Faraday’s people hadn’t been able to divine; they’d just marked the card with a ?

  But the remaining half were splendid: new books with the pages uncut, old books that smelled deliciously of worn leather and sharp ink, an elegant necklace from Eskandel of polished jasper and onyx, a pen set with a crystal jar of bright blue ink, Devices that did everything from shedding a warm light to playing music with a touch, and pragmatic things like a set of silver soup spoons impressed with the North sign and shield or a pair of opera glasses similarly marked. They were things that said the giver had given some serious thought to what Elspeth North might like, and it warmed her heart even as her head reminded her that all of this had a mercenary motive as well.

  She picked up a cubical box about four inches on a side and shook it gently, hearing something rattle dully inside. “I know I should stay at least a little cynical, but if these men intend me to think better of them because of their gifts, I have to admit the ploy works. That book stand is lovely.”

  Veronica squared up her stack of cards and tapped them against her palm. “If they choose the right gifts, that already is a mark in their favor.”

  “That’s what I thought.” The cubical box came in two parts. She worked the top off and set it aside, then looked into the box, and froze.

  “Ohhhh,” she breathed, lifting out the bracelet inside. It was a bangle of creamy jade the width of her first two fingers and the exact color of her medallion, delicately carved and smooth as soap. Elspeth slipped it over her wrist and ran her fingers over its surface, and received another shock. “It’s the fifth meditation ritual,” she said. “The path of harmony.” She touched the deep carvings again: that which is two becomes one, but much must be shed to reach it. How had anyone in Tremontane known to give her this?

  “Where’s the card that came with this?” she demanded.

  “I didn’t see one,” Veronica said. “Why?”

  “It must be from Mihn,” Elspeth said, sitting back on her heels and turning the bracelet one way and the other. Mihn would know whom to buy from in Veribold, and the bracelets weren’t uncommon there. The trouble was, Mihn also knew enough not to buy a bracelet engraved with the path of harmony for a woman he wasn’t in love with. That which is two becomes one…even Elspeth knew that for a declaration of love. She couldn’t accept this. She wanted to accept this. The bracelet spoke to her on a level she never knew was part of her.

  She went through the rest of the gifts, but some of the wonder had worn off, supplanted by her curiosity about the bracelet. No extra cards turned up at the end. None of the cards mentioned a bracelet at all.

  Finally, Elspeth sat back and examined the much diminished pile. “I know I said I would let Miss Simkins write the thank-you notes,” she said, “but so many of them are personal, I feel I want to do it myself.”

  “Landon always let his secretary write them,” Veronica said. “But his handwriting was awful, so there’s that.”

  Elspeth idly spun the bracelet on her wrist. It had grown warm from her body heat. “And then there’s this,” she said, tapping it. “I shouldn’t accept a gift if I don’t know who sent it. Who knows what kind of message that would send?”

  Veronica regarded it. “It’s beautiful, and it’s clearly perfect for you. Whoever sent it put a lot of thought into choosing it. Why not wear it, and show it matters to you?”

  “And suppose the card was just lost, and I’m inadvertently telling the giver I’m in love with him? I can’t risk it. Especially if I don’t know the person. What if it’s someone horrible like Mister Gibbons, or boring like Lord Folsom?” She gasped. “What if it’s someone who paid someone else to figure out what I’d like?”

  “Now you’re just working yourself up over nothing,” Veronica said. She handed Elspeth the stack of cards. “Wear it, or don’t. But definitely keep it.”

  Nothing could compel Elspeth to get rid of it. She slipped it off her wrist and put it back into its box and closed the lid securely. After summoning Gloria and giving her instructions about the disposition of the gifts, she took the little box into her bedroom and set it on her bedside table. It sat there quietly, not at all like it contained something precious. Twice she reached out for it, twice she withdrew her hand before she could touch it. Finally, she turned and ran from the room.

  She set the stack of cards on the table in her sitting room along with the pen set, promising herself she would write messages to each gift-giver after supper. Then she turned and looked back at her bedroom door. If she wore it…maybe the mystery giver didn’t know the significance. Maybe he thought it was just a pretty gift suitable for someone who’d almost been an Irantzen priestess. Maybe it wasn’t a “he” at all. It could be a woman who wanted to be friends, or an older couple honoring Elspeth’s faith. But if it wasn’t…

  She left her suite and headed back to the north wing. Somebody in Faraday’s department must know more.

  “I didn’t open the gifts, your Majesty, but I can send you the ones who did,” said Miss Chisholm, Faraday’s liaison with the palace’s Army detachment and security supervisor. “Were you not pleased with them?”

  “Some of them were wonderful,” Elspeth said. “I just had a question about one or two.”

  She walked slowly to her office, her mind still caught up in thinking about the bracelet. If it was from a young man, and it was a declaration of love, why wouldn’t he have signed his name? It would be an easy way around the law that said she had to speak first. Except…it couldn’t possibly b
e love, given that she barely knew anyone in Aurilien. It must be a mistake. The giver had picked it not understanding its true significance.

  She sat in her office, going over a series of reports Master Keswick had produced about improving the post horse routes without really reading them, until a knock on the door preceded a couple of people in Tremontane colors. They were a middle-aged man and an elderly woman, and they looked around curiously as if they’d always wondered what the Queen’s office looked like. “You sent for us, your Majesty?” the man said. “Something about your gifts?”

  “Yes,” Elspeth said. “There was a box with no card. Did either of you see that?”

  They exchanged glances. “I don’t…actually, yes, your Majesty,” the woman said. “It was a jade bracelet, as I recall. There was no name attached when we received it. It might have fallen off—the gifts are delivered to the front door, and taken from there to the gold receiving room, and then they’re collected by Internal Affairs and taken to where they can be examined. You can see how that might make for something going missing.”

  “So you don’t have any idea who sent it?”

  “I’m afraid not, your Majesty,” the man said. “Mister Faraday approved everything we examined, so he must have thought it didn’t matter if the gift-giver’s name was missing.”

  “We might be able to find out, if it’s important,” the woman said, examining Elspeth’s face closely.

  “Could you?” Elspeth asked, hope surging up inside her.

  “Well, it’s possible,” the woman said. “But it wouldn’t be private. We’d have to make some kind of announcement.”

  “Oh,” Elspeth said, feeling deflated. She definitely didn’t want to make this public, like some kind of newspaper advertisement: WANTED—Young man, single, hopefully handsome, knows how to pick the perfect gift. “No, that’s all right. Thank you.”

  “We hope your birthday was lovely,” the woman said, and the two bowed themselves out.