Even now I’m being trained, supervised, and measured.
Memories of time in the kitchen with Angel flood my mind, but I brush them away savagely. She’s not a friend, a mentor, or a teacher, not right now. She’s a suspect. “Angel.” My voice is smaller than I wanted it to be. I repeat the name, louder the second time.
Her chin lifts, and her eyes open. The corners of her mouth turn down, and her eyes well with tears. “Oh, Judica.”
I wipe away a tear that pops out unbidden in response to her simple exclamation. “Angel, I am here to ask you some questions. I’d ask you not to employ any emotional devices or manipulation. I’ve been through the requisite courses of study, taught by you in fact, and I’ll spot any attempts you make.”
I’m interrogating the leader of my mother’s spy network. She has probably interrogated more people than any other person in Alamecha. The irony isn’t lost on me.
“Mother trusted you implicitly, and you’re the one person who had complete unlimited knowledge and access to everything she consumed. As you know, she died by poison.”
Angel nods.
“Start with the beginning of the day and walk me through the protocol for the preparation of Mother’s meals.”
“I wake each day at four a.m. I oversee the operations of the entire kitchen, and I personally create the food consumed by every member of the royal family in residence here at the palace. You, Chancery, your mother, and Inara. Your mother ate breakfast every morning at six-thirty a.m. She liked a spread of food, but she especially enjoyed egg products. Omelets, deviled eggs, fried eggs, Eggs Benedict, soufflés, etcetera.”
I know all of that, but she needs to lay it all out, so I don’t interrupt.
“I would begin with inspection of the eggs, all of which came from our own chickens. Sometimes I even collected the eggs myself. It allowed me to check for signs of illness or unrest among the chickens, and I like to keep the staff on their toes. I would whip the eggs, prepare the breakfast items, including pastry, and then taste it all myself. I had the person carrying the food taste it as well. In such a way, anyone who might come in contact with the food is also eating it. These things will be reflected by the video feeds. I plated the food, and then walked it to the edge of the kitchen. Once it leaves my custodianship, there are always two guards who accompany the server to your mother’s breakfast room. Some days, if I had something to discuss with your mother, I’d carry it myself.”
“Did anything strange happen over the past few days? Anything at all, no matter how small?”
Angel looks at the ground and shakes her head slowly. “I’ve been going over the past week in my mind, over and over. I can’t think of a single thing that was out of the ordinary.” She looks up at me. “From a food perspective, that is. There was the bizarre EMP that someone set off. I assume you’re looking into that. In my experience, very few things are as unconnected as we would like them to be.”
I grit my teeth.
“But from a culinary perspective, we throw parties quite often. Your mother’s nine-hundredth birthday is a large event, and I made a very large, very fancy cake, but she hadn’t even taken a bite of that. The rest of her diet remained the same as it always is. The same people working for me. I haven’t had a new member join my staff in eighteen months. We have prepared the same foods for several months, on rotation of course, and I’ve had the same suppliers for the last eight months or more. The same ovens and stoves and storage containers have been used. Most of the produce is grown either here by my people, or by my agents on Kauai.” Her shoulders tense. “I lost the best queen we’ve ever had, and I have no idea how or why.” She meets my eye. “Are you positive it’s poison? Could it have been something else?”
I arch one eyebrow. “Acute onset old age? A stomach grenade planted by a flea that went in through her nose? What else, exactly, could it have been?”
Angel’s voice is flat. “I notice Job’s not down here with me, but he had access to her as much as I did.”
“He checked her weekly as the court physician. I doubt anyone would say that’s quite the same as three meals a day and intermittent snacks.”
“There’s one thing that struck me as odd last week,” Angel whispers.
I step nearer to the cell, almost touching the titanium bars. “What was that?
“The day before your mother died, I brought dinner to her. Chancery was showering, and as you know, the power was still wonky. It was a strange night.”
I nod. It was a bizarre day all around.
“Your mother asked me to vow to always do whatever it took to protect the family.”
“That’s part of your oath when you’re placed on the Council.”
Angel nods. “It is, but that oath ends upon death of the monarch you serve. She wanted me to promise her specifically, regardless of timing, or anything else. I’m nearly as old as her, so it seemed odd.”
“What did you say?”
Angel shrugs. “I agreed, of course. I loved your mother, and I love Alamecha. I’ll always serve.”
The night before my mother died, she asked Angel to make an oath that would outlast her life. Like she knew she was going to be poisoned.
“Could she have done it herself?” I ask, regretting the words as soon as they leave my mouth.
“You think your mother poisoned herself? After destroying the heirship documents, but before completing new ones?” Angel’s head cocks sideways. “Doubtful.”
Of course she didn’t. The whole idea is absurd. “Never mind. But I wonder whether she knew.”
“The Empress is always in danger,” Angel murmurs. “And Enora lived a very long life.”
I shake my head. “She would have done something to stop it if she knew.”
“Maybe.”
“What do you mean, maybe?” I ask.
“Did you see your mother after she killed Lyssa?”
“I was there,” I say. “I watched the entire thing.”
“I’m asking if you saw her. Did you notice her quiet desperation? Have you ever killed a friend?”
I square my shoulders. “I’ve never killed anyone at all.”
Angel’s eyes soften. “Of course you haven’t, not at seventeen years old. But trust me when I tell you that the first time you end someone’s life, it takes a toll. I pray you never have to kill a dear friend, but if you do, it saps your resolve and deadens your soul. Enora felt her own mortality that day, I’m sure of it.”
“So you think she begged the promise from you because of what happened with Lyssa?”
Angel shrugs. “I don’t know why she did what she did, but that was my assumption at the time, yes. I didn’t think much of it, other than Lyssa’s death caused your mother to examine how much longer she’d be with you and your sister. But then when she died. . . The timing seemed strange.”
“Fine.” I take one final step, my face almost pressed against the bars. “What are you afraid of, Angel? What makes you squirm the most when you consider you may be locked up in here for the rest of your days?”
“Motive.” Angel’s mouth turns up in a smile. “You’re wondering about my motive.”
She taught me to interrogate people, and I’m sure botching this one. But she would see through any attempts at subtlety, so what’s the point?
“Look through all my belongings, child. Talk to everyone in my family, every one of my children. I had access, and I had opportunity. I could have killed your mother every single day of her life. But I have absolutely no motive to do it. I’ve spent my entire life serving her. I respected her immensely and I loved her deeply. I would have died for your mother for the past eight hundred years, and I’ll die to honor her memory or protect her family now. There’s not a scintilla of evidence that will contradict that, and I don’t fear waiting here in this cell until you come to the same conclusion, because it means you are looking for her killer.” She opens her mouth, then closes it again, without saying anything else.
“But?”
“While I’m in here, you have who knows who making your food. You have a poisoner on the loose, and it makes me nervous. And I don’t want you to waste too much time on me while the evidence is still fresh.”
“I should release you so you can keep me safe, like you didn’t keep my mother safe? And you’re worried about me being in here talking to you, only because I’m not tracking down other leads?” I slow clap. “Brilliant performance, masterful really.”
“You think I murdered her.” Angel’s shoulders slump. “I’d probably think the same. Opportunity, knowledge, and expertise. That’s fine. Do what you need to do, and I’ll cooperate any way that I can, any time you need me. I swear that I won’t struggle or try to escape. Ever. Eventually you’ll see.”
“What if I don’t want to wait? What if you’ve convinced me that you had the chance, and no one could have done it without your knowledge?”
She shrugs. “Then you execute me, and the whole debate ends.”
“But you know I won’t do that, spymaster.”
She smiles. “You’re many things, Judica. Savage, brilliant, coy, direct, and audacious. What you aren’t is premature. You think things through, and you come to the logical conclusion. You’ll eventually see that I had nothing to gain from your mother’s death. Nothing at all, in any way or conceivable form. Unlike Lyssa, there are no skeletons in my closet, no dire secrets, no treasonous lies. I’m exactly who I’ve always appeared to be, which is why I make such a perfect Intelligence Director. No one can blackmail you when you have no secrets to expose.”
Everyone has secrets. I intend to find hers. But I won’t find out anything else here in this cell.
“I’ll be in touch.” I spin on my heel and climb the stairs, guards taking position in front of me, and several steps behind, sandwiching Balthasar between them along with me.
He follows me, one step behind. I had forgotten he was even there during the interrogation, he was so silent and motionless.
When we reach the main hallway, he puts a hand on my shoulder. “That was hard, to interrogate a master. And what’s more, a master you respect. You did very well. You handled it very much as your mother would have. She would be quite proud.”
My heart swells, but I can’t hug him here, and I can’t break down in the main hallway either. “Do you think Angel had anything to do with it?”
Balthasar considers for a moment before answering, his eyes distant, clearly filtering through his memories of our recent interaction. “Enora the merciless.” He chuckles and shakes his head, walking down the hallway until we reach the door to my room. He inclines his head toward my door.
I push it open and Balthasar follows me inside, closing it behind us.
“Everyone called her merciless, and they were right in many ways. Your mother never wasted time on tears and general theatrics when something had to be done. She chopped her best friend’s head off without batting an eye.”
“She had her reasons,” I say, defending her reflexively.
Balthasar laughs. “Of course she did, young pup.”
“Treason is a good one.”
“Treason,” Balthasar says. “Pah. She was protecting sweet Chancery.”
I can’t quite contain my shock.
“Your mother told me most everything, and what she didn’t tell me, well, I’ve known her for a very, very long time.” Balthasar frowns. “I knew her for a very long time.” He breathes in and out once, then twice. “But she trusted Angel, and I do too.”
“She miscalculated something,” I say. “Someone she trusted killed her.”
Balthasar’s entire face crumples and tears well in his eyes. I’ve never seen this man upset, much less crying. It’s not pretty. He makes an odd sound, almost like a bark. “I failed her, and obviously I should have stepped down years ago.”
Without even thinking, I hug him tight. “You didn’t fail her. All of us did everything we could.”
“It wasn’t enough, and now you need someone better than me to run this investigation.”
I pat his back awkwardly.
He stiffens. “You shouldn’t be comforting me, not you. This is backward.”
“Grief doesn’t play by the rules.” And strangely, hugging my mother’s brother-in-law, her warlord, somehow it’s soothing, like we’re all broken, and we’re all doing the best we can together.
Probably because it’s the first time since Mother died that I haven’t felt utterly and completely alone.
A moment later, Balthasar straightens up. “I’m not the man Enora deserves to pursue justice for her death, but I’m what we’ve got.”
“I’m glad you’re with me on this,” I say. “We got very little from Angel, but I have some ideas, direction, if nothing else. How about you dig into her room and her motives, and I’ll look into Mother’s office and check the video feed of her for the last few weeks.”
Balthasar grunts. “Is Roman the new captain of your guard?”
I gulp. I forgot about that. With Edam gone, I need a new one. “Sure, yes.”
“Not a bad call. He’s motivated, that’s for sure.”
I narrow my eyes at him, but I don’t ask. “Let’s eat dinner together and review what we’ve discovered.”
He nods. “You need to train today, too. Make time, and use Rivera, Sloan, Crewel, and Dmitri.”
Four guards, four different attack specialties. He’s not taking things easy on me. For some reason that makes me feel better, not worse. He knows Chancery will be preparing, and he wants me ready for it, but I’m not worried about her. She can’t catch me, not anytime this year in any case. No use fighting him over it, though. “Sure,” I say. “Sure I will.”
“Dante.” I call the senior guard once Balthasar has rounded the corner. “Where’s Roman?”
“Reviewing the footage of your mother, Your Highness. He insisted on handling it himself.”
I’m not even surprised that he’s already thought of it. “Let him know I’ll join him shortly, and send for the four Balthasar named to meet me at the training arena.”
After a long and challenging session, I stride down the hall toward the security bay.
Roman greets me with a tentative smile. Poor guy has no idea how to act around me. I’m sure he wants to be sympathetic, but I’m not exactly the gushy, needy type of boss. “I’m fine, everyone. Assume that at all times.”
Roman’s shoulders relax, and Lorn shifts in his chair, his foot resuming its typical tapping.
“Have we found anything?” I notice the time stamp on the video footage. Twelve days ago, which means it was Mom’s meeting with Larena and the Secretary of the Treasury for the United States. She sips her tea and I have to regulate my breathing and heart rate. Why is every single thing hard right now? I shove my feelings down so deep I doubt I could find them again if I tried.
“No,” Lorn says. “Nothing interesting, anyway.”
“Even the slightest detail might matter,” I say.
“Thank you,” Roman says. “We hadn’t realized that. In fact, what else can you tell us about how to do our job?”
I scowl. “I know you’re being thorough. But make sure you watch all of the feed, both of you. Something might click that otherwise might not if you split it out.”
Roman pauses the video feed and crosses the room in a few long strides. He whispers. “I know you need to know. I won’t miss anything, I swear.”
More than knowing, I need to do something about her death. I can’t stomp around helplessly any longer. I turn to leave. “Make charts and lists of every person with whom she comes into contact. Names, and the circumstances in which they interacted. Then compile a ‘best of’ track for the feed so I can watch relevant sections myself. I’ll be reviewing her correspondence from the last month in her office when you need me.”
I tear my eyes away from my mother’s face on camera. Gazing longingly at her won’t bring her back, and it won’t avenge her murder. I’m not Chancery to wallow in grief an
d self-pity at the expense of action.
Mother’s office is well organized, as I knew it would be. First, I review the correspondence from the other five empresses. The missives contain the usual amount of griping and sniping, but nothing too surprising, except for a letter from Venagra. I was born just two years before her, which makes her barely sixteen. In spite of her tender age, she’s furious with her own mother, Melamecha, and offers an alliance with Alamecha if we will pledge our aid in overthrowing the throne so she can ascend. There’s no way to know exactly what Mother said, but I can guess. It would be an attractive offer, and Mother could have turned Shamecha into a fiefdom with that kind of access, but she’d never work with someone who showed that kind of disloyalty and ingratitude. I imagine Venagra’s eyes are still stinging from Mother’s reprimand.
I sort through letters from various Alamecha evians next. I had no idea Mother’s subjects were so whiny. Graig copied my idea. Nimerick lied about me. Dax went back on our agreement. Mother should have invested in a whipping post to deal with most of this. But I find a partially drafted response to Graig, and she’s so even and reasonable. Her response makes his letter complaining look hot-headed and petty.
The pain that tears through me feels like lemon juice on an open wound. I curl inward and clench my fists until my nails slice into my palms. Even that isn’t enough. Great heaving sobs wrack my body and I cry on Graig’s dumb, whiny missive. How can she be gone? How? She was the one person who truly loved me in the entire world. No matter how badly I let her down, she would hug me and tell me it was okay. No matter how epically I failed, she always forgave me with grace. She led our family with strength and purpose. I still had so much to learn. The gaps in my knowledge terrify me.
I hate the idea of doing everything without her.
But she taught me to be better than this. Finally, my tears dry up and I straighten. I wipe at my face and sit upright. Eventually, these idiotic fits of weakness will stop, but until they do, I need to make sure I’m never in public when they hit. Thankfully, no one witnessed that breakdown.
I plow through all of it, making notes about each letter. I could go back and recall everything I see, so notes aren’t strictly necessary, but it helps me integrate my thoughts. I shred my notes as soon as I’ve finished making them. I don’t like to leave evidence of my suspicions. It feels good to be doing something, even if it’s only digging into leads. It’s cathartic enough that I don’t stop to eat. No lunch tray ever comes, which means the kitchen is chaos incarnate with Angel’s incarceration. I wonder who Balthasar would trust to fill in for her until she’s been cleared. The last time I saw Roman make his own lunch, he slathered more mayonnaise on his sandwich than cold cuts. I can only imagine the mess Balthasar makes of cooking. No thank you.
unForgiven (The Birthright Series Book 2) Page 9
