by M. J. Scott
She caught herself on the doorjamb and tried to act composed as she stepped into her place at the rear of the group of ladies waiting to be readmitted to Eloisa’s bedchamber. Beata wasn’t there—she had to sleep sometime—so Lady Naiomi was the most senior lady present and in charge of the group. Naiomi turned at the sound of Sophie’s arrival and glared her disapproval.
Sophie bobbed a quick curtsy of apology, and Naiomi pursed her lips but nodded. Lady Honoria, who was with Sophie in the last row of ladies, sent a semicurious but sympathetic smile in Sophie’s direction. As Naiomi turned back to face the bedroom door, Lady Honoria leaned over and whispered, “Where were you? And what happened earlier? The Domina hasn’t let any of us back in yet. Just some priors. Beata was fuming when she left.”
Sophie shook her head. “It’s a long way from the erl’s apartments,” she said, prevaricating. “I misjudged the time.” She stared at the bedroom door, willing it to open before all the ladies decided this might be a perfect time to start finding out exactly what had been happening to Sophie since her Ais-Seann.
“You’re still staying with Inglewood?” Honoria asked, her curious expression deepening. “I thought your parents had returned to Kingswell.”
“They have,” Sophie said. “But they’ve taken a house in town, and the queen-to-be asked that I stay in the palace.” Honoria’s parents weren’t any wealthier than Sophie’s and, what’s more, didn’t have the advantage of a link to the line direct. “Are you offering to share your room?” She fervently hoped not. She hated sharing a room. In the somewhat confined world of the ladies-in-waiting, privacy was at a premium.
“No, but why—” Honoria started to say, but then the door opened, revealing the Domina.
“The queen-to-be will see you now,” she announced.
Sophie kept her face smooth but once again felt an inward frown. It should be one of the ladies who had stayed with Eloisa and who told the rest of them when Eloisa was ready for company or wanted distraction. Not the Domina. If the healing they had done this morning had been successful, then surely there was less need for Domina Skey to dance attendance on Eloisa every minute of the day. She must have other duties.
As the group of ladies moved forward, Sophie heard light footsteps behind her. Turning her head, she saw Princess Margaretta walking into the antechamber. The princess wore head-to-toe black like the rest of them. The choker of black pearls at her neck was almost as fine as her sister’s, and there were more dark pearls at her ears and wrists. But despite her somber attire, a smile lit her face.
Automatically, Sophie curtsied and stepped back to let the princess precede her into the bedroom.
Sophie waited until the princess and the lady-in-waiting who accompanied her—a girl a year or so older than Sophie who had recently joined the court—were through the door and then followed.
Just in time to hear Margaretta exclaim, “But how is this possible?”
Sophie’s view was blocked by the crowd of people. She stepped forward, wriggling her way into place between Honoria and Aria, who both gave her annoyed looks but moved apart so she could see. The queen-to-be wasn’t in bed. She was, instead, sitting in a chair, having her hair dressed. Fully clothed. No bandages. No bruising on her face. Margaretta’s face wasn’t the only one showing astonishment.
Eloisa smiled and extended her hand to her sister.
Margaretta clasped it and dropped a kiss on it. “You’re well again. But how?”
The queen-to-be’s gaze skimmed over the assembled ladies, lingering for a moment on Sophie before moving on. “We owe thanks to the skills of Domina Skey, who has worked a miracle for me. For Anglion. So that we can answer this insult done to our country and avenge our beloved father.”
There was clear, cold anger in the words. Sophie was familiar with Eloisa’s temper, but she didn’t think she’d seen her this way before. Not even after the worst of the clashes with her father after she had first returned to court following her husband’s death.
Well, she had a right to her anger. Her father had been killed. Her palace was half in ruins. Anger might serve her well. And, as wary as she was of the Domina, Sophie was perfectly happy for the credit for Eloisa’s recovery to be laid at the Domina’s feet rather than her own. Half the ladies would suspect that Sophie had been involved. They knew that she had been alone with Eloisa and the Domina. However, if the queen-to-be publicly proclaimed it was the Domina’s achievement, then it seemed unlikely any would contradict her.
There might be whispers and rumors. This was, after all, a court, and courts, in Sophie’s limited experience of them, ran on intrigue and gossip and the trading of information. But they would remain whispers and rumors unless Sophie did something foolish and exposed her secret. She had no intention of doing so. All she wanted was to be safely married to Cameron and out of the queen-to-be’s sights.
Margaretta’s eyes, brown rather than the brilliant green of her sister’s, had filled with tears at the mention of King Stefan. She smiled down at Eloisa, though. “Are you sure you are well?”
“Yes. There’s no need to worry,” Eloisa said. “No time to worry, in fact. We have much to do. And most of it requires an audience hall. I am told the Salt Hall is unusable?”
This brought nods of affirmation from everyone assembled. King Stefan’s grand hall—which he had refurbished lavishly during his reign until it was a testament to the art of woodcarvers and tilers and the metalsmiths who worked with inlay and half the other artisans of the capital—was in ruins.
Eloisa frowned. “Then we need an alternative.” She looked at Naiomi. “I need to speak to the commander. He should have an accounting of how many people remain at court. That will tell us how many we need to accommodate.”
Sophie hadn’t heard any final casualty numbers. She made a note to ask Cameron when she got the chance. If she didn’t find out today.
“There’s always the ballroom, milady,” ventured Naiomi. “That would do.”
Eloisa looked thoughtful. “The ballroom will be required for other things.”
Naiomi shrugged one of her elegant shoulders. “I’m sure the servants can handle any necessary changes to make it fit whatever purposes you desire, Your Highness.”
That would be true if there were still a full complement of servants in the palace. But Sophie wondered if Naiomi was overestimating what could be achieved with everything in its current disarray. There were plenty of servants amongst the dead and injured as well.
But if that were true, it didn’t seem to be a concern to Eloisa, who smiled at Naiomi. “I will consider it,” she said. “Meanwhile, I need a list of other options. Perhaps Master Egan can attend me as well. With whoever is assisting him in assessing the damage.” The queen-to-be paused a moment as the maid slid a long pin tipped with pearls into the coil of braids she’d fashioned at the back of Eloisa’s head.
Master Egan was one of the senior Illusioners. He, along with others, tended the wards and the glamours that manipulated the interiors as needed. He always reminded Sophie of Captain Turner. Kind but determined. And unfailingly thorough. Not at all the typical image of a gadfly Illusioner. If he had been put in charge of the repairs of the palace, then things would be done properly.
“Yes, Your Highness,” Naiomi said.
The queen-to-be nodded. “Good. Send word to all the members of my father’s council. I will meet with them later today. We will hold the late king’s funeral on first day, I will hold audience on third day, and the coronation will be sixth day.”
There was a round of hastily stifled gasps at this last pronouncement. No doubt all the ladies were thinking of how much work it was going to be to procure a suitable dress for Eloisa in less than one week. Not to mention outfits for the rest of her retinue.
“And last,” Eloisa continued, “we will then turn our attention to Lady Sophia. Whose Ais-Seann celebrations were so rudely interrupted. We need to do something special to mark the arrival of our latest royal witch.”
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Sophie held her breath, wondering if Eloisa were going to say anything more. Like announce her betrothal. Instead, she nodded at the maid to dismiss her and then stood, which sent the ladies all fluttering toward the ground in a wave of curtsies.
Maybe she didn’t trust the ladies-in-waiting not to spread the word before the first audience was held. That was where such announcements would usually be made.
“I will see Master Egan and the commander in an hour,” Eloisa said as she walked out of the bedroom. “Bring them here to my parlor. That will suffice until we work out better arrangements.”
King Stefan had had several audience chambers of varying size, from his small private study to the eight-man council chamber to a room that could seat ten times that and the Salt Hall itself. But other than the study, which adjoined his apartments in the far end of the western wing, the others were located near the Salt Hall and presumably no longer fit for use.
Sophie could understand why Eloisa didn’t want to go to her father’s study. It was one thing to know that he was dead. Another to face the reality of belongings and places no longer required. She remembered helping her mother clear out her grandmother’s rooms after the older Sophia had passed away and the unexpected tears that had risen over the smallest things. Eloisa seemed in no mood for tears. Nor would she want to appear weak as she took over the court.
As Eloisa left the room, Naiomi started assigning tasks with rapid-fire orders. Sophie was assigned to writing notes to the council members and to others who would be needed to put arrangements in place. Honoria scored the same task. It was hardly exciting but needed to be done, and Sophie was glad to have something to do that would put her out of the Domina’s reach.
She and Honoria fetched notepaper printed with the princess’s seal and retired to the workroom the ladies-in-waiting shared to begin writing. As her pen dipped into ink and touched paper, each stroke formed carefully so as to be clear and elegant enough to pass Lady Beata’s standards, her thoughts began to wander. Back to the library and the small green book. Amplification. She had never heard the term before. She remembered that she needed to invite Chloe de Montesse to take tea. Which first meant getting her mother to agree to hosting such a guest. She added “see my parents” to her growing list of things to do. She could speak to her mother at the services for seventh day. And perhaps Madame de Montesse would be available on second day.
She wrote three notes and then a fourth. That one was addressed to Liam Mackenzie, who had technically inherited his father’s seat on the council. Eloisa was free to change her council members, of course, so Liam’s tenure might be short-lived. But the Inglewood holdings and the extent of their influence at court made Sophie think it unlikely. True, Liam might have to work to retain the power that his father had established, but from what she’d seen of him over the last few days, she had no doubts that he was capable of doing so.
She took extra pains with his note. He was, after all, her future brother-in-law. But as she was reaching for a fifth sheet of paper, Lady Naiomi bustled into the workroom and told Sophie that the queen-to-be wanted to speak to her. She could see Honoria practically biting her tongue to stop herself from asking what was going on. Thankful that Eloisa’s command gave her a chance to escape any questions, she put the notes aside.
She walked back to Eloisa’s apartments more slowly than might have been strictly prudent. She didn’t want to see the Domina again so soon after what had happened earlier. Eloisa seemed well, but Sophie didn’t trust Domina Skey to want to experiment further with what exactly she could accomplish with Sophie’s power.
But perhaps the Domina would have returned to the temple. With a king’s funeral rites to hold and then a coronation to perform, not to mention the backlog of burials that must be waiting, surely the temple had enough pressing issues to hold Domina Skey’s attention now that Eloisa was healed and presumably out of danger. On the other hand, retreating back to her temple would mean seeing less of the queen-to-be. Somehow Sophie doubted that the Domina was going to give up the influence she seemed to have gained since the attack.
Eloisa was in her parlor. And, Sophie noted thankfully, there was no sign of the Domina. Just a steady stream of servants and ladies-in-waiting ducking in and out with messages and papers and notes. Eloisa shooed Beata, apparently returned from her nap, out of the room.
“Close the door, Sophie.”
Sophie did so, wondering what was about to happen. Trying not to feel nervous. This was Eloisa, not the Domina.
“You should know that I intend to announce your betrothal at my first audience,” Eloisa said, taking a seat in one of the armchairs. “The court doesn’t need the eligible lords being distracted from the work we need to do. Best to make it clear that you are not available as soon as possible.” She paused a moment, leaving Sophie wondering if she was supposed to offer an opinion. As she had no wish to become the center of a court power wrangle, she stayed quiet.
“You and Cameron are a good match,” Eloisa continued. “The court will accept my decision.”
That wasn’t strictly true, but Sophie wasn’t going to argue. Cameron was far preferable to any of the other likely candidates. For one thing, she knew that he was a good lover. And more important, she knew that she liked him and that he seemed to like her—though the court wouldn’t care about that. They would care only that Eloisa had made a choice and how strong she was in enforcing her will on the court. “Yes, milady.”
“You should wear something suitable. I will not keep mourning for my father. Margaretta may, but I will not decree it for the court. We need to show strength, not weakness.”
“Yes, milady,” Sophie repeated. “My mother was bringing a dress for my Ais-Seann celebrations. I’m sure it will be suitable for the audience, if you want me to wear it. Do you intend for the betrothal ceremony to be held at court?” Sometimes such things were. But generally only when the husband-to-be was someone higher ranking than Cameron.
Eloisa shook her head. “No. Given the situation, we will keep the betrothal private. Your parents. Cameron’s brothers, if he wishes. The Domina will perform the ceremony, and I will witness.”
Sophie nodded. “Whatever you wish.” She was happy not to put on a show. She had seen betrothal ceremonies, though never one for a royal witch. She hadn’t been at court for the last witch’s wedding. She probably should study up on it. If there were actual magical elements to the ceremony, then she wanted to know what to expect. Then maybe she could prevent anything going wrong. Another thing to add to her list.
Eloisa tilted her head, which made the black pearls studded through her hair glint dark shades of green and purple. “We have much to do. But we have not forgotten your father’s request for an audience. We will find the time. Perhaps tomorrow, after the services. I will speak to him in the temple. I assume your parents will be attending?”
“Yes, milady. My family goes to the temple every week.” Her mother had only a very little power, but she didn’t waver in her devotion to the goddess. And she insisted that all her family attend with her.
“Good. Then I will wait after the rituals. In the private chapel. You can bring him to me there.”
The thought of venturing back into the depths of the temple didn’t appeal, but it wasn’t like she could avoid it. If she stopped going to services, she was just going to appear guilty of something. No point giving the Domina more ammunition against her. She bobbed a curtsy, acquiescing. “Yes, milady. Was there anything else?” A wedding date, perhaps? Eloisa and the Domina had spoken of the need for haste. Or maybe even a thank-you for helping the Domina to heal her.
But Eloisa just shook her head and waved a hand toward the door. “No. You can go back to whatever it is you were doing. I will see you tomorrow at the temple.”
After escorting Sophie back to the palace, Cameron tried once again to sleep. To avoid his brother, he had gone back to the barracks, but it was just as chaotic as it had been earlier. The noise and bustle, usua
lly familiar enough for him to drown out, kept jolting him awake.
After an hour or two of fitful dozing, he gave up and went down to the barracks to see where he could be useful. To his surprise, he was sent back to the palace, to the work going on at the Salt Hall. Not to help move any remaining rubble or assist the Illusioners in their work, but to stand witness. The Red Guard, as personal guard to the king, were considered to be honest to a fault and were sometimes used to observe events or proceedings in order to be able to give evidence about what had occurred, should it be required.
The Salt Hall lay open to the sky, half its outer wall and roof crumbled. The stone that remained was charred black in many places, the paint and wood and metal that had covered them burned away, testament to how fierce the fire had been.
How quickly it would have killed those who’d been trapped here.
He hadn’t stopped to think about it when they’d given him the duty, but the thought slowed his step as he walked across to the group of Illusioners examining a section of wall.
This was where his father had died.
The erl had been at home here, in the spectacle of the court in full assembly. Wheeling and dealing and trying to find the advantage in any situation. Cameron had heard him arguing his point in this very room, presenting a claim to the court or trying to convince the king about the wisdom of a course of action too many times for the Salt Hall not to be inextricably linked with his father in his mind.
For the briefest of moments, he thought he heard it again. That and the buzz of the court filling the room, the noise echoing around the hall as it always had. But then the sensation vanished, and he shook himself and pushed the fancy away. Maybe it was a remnant of Illusioners’ art. Catching a wisp of conversation and playing it back. He didn’t want to know. His father was gone, and there was nothing to be done about it.
