Long May She Reign

by Rhiannon Thomas

  “No, no,” I said quickly, darting forward and putting my hand on her arm. “Don’t worry about that. We aren’t in court.”

  “No,” a man said. “No, that we’re not.” He was one of the aggressive ones, with a voice sharp as wire.

  The elderly woman stared at my hand. “Thank you, Your Majesty,” she said eventually.

  She didn’t want me to touch her, I realized. I quickly let go.

  “Was there something you wished to say to us, Your Majesty?” the aggressive man said. “It must be important, for you to have come personally.”

  “I like to say things for myself. And hear them for myself. I think it’s easier to get the truth that way.” I was still standing in the doorway. I considered walking forward, finding somewhere to sit. But perhaps it was better to stand. To not get too friendly. “I wanted to hear what you had to say. You’re—I know you care about Epria, I know that. And things are changing now, as I’m sure you’ve seen. I wanted to know what you think. About the kingdom. I’ve read the original pamphlet, of course, but—” I ran out of momentum. It hadn’t exactly been the eloquent plea I’d been hoping for.

  Again, everyone was silent. The wary still looked wary, the angry still looked angry, and more people looked confused. “What pamphlet, Your Majesty?” the aggressive man said. Like I was trying to trick him into admitting treason.

  “Gustav’s Treatise.”

  “Never heard of it,” the man grunted.

  “Really? It’s been all over the city.”

  A round-faced girl near the window spoke up. “Why did you allow it again? I thought it was forbidden.”

  I considered her. “I don’t think knowledge can be a bad thing. And banning something doesn’t make it disappear. It just lets people twist it. People a hundred years ago might not have liked it, but I thought it had good ideas, too. The court is wasteful. I don’t agree with radicalism, or with murder. But perhaps if people read his actual words, they might rethink that. It seemed important.”

  “So you think people misunderstand him?” the aggressive man sneered.

  “I think he’s not as controversial as some people might believe. And I wanted people to know that—I understand.”

  “Forgive my rudeness, Your Majesty,” said the man who opened the door, “but I don’t see why you are telling us this.”

  This definitely wasn’t what I had imagined. I’d hoped for some reaction. But it would be all right. It was all right. No violence, no danger. I could say my piece, and maybe it would linger here. Have an effect in time.

  “I just wanted everyone to know that—anyone involved in attempted murder, or in hurting anybody, will be punished, of course. But others . . . I want new ideas in my kingdom. I want things to be better than they’ve been before. If people want that . . . you’re welcome here. As long as it’s peaceful. And I guess that’s all I came to say. And if you have anything to say to me . . . come to the Fort. I do want to hear.”

  Still no reaction. I nodded at them, once, and turned to leave.

  “Why?” someone said from the room behind me.

  Why? It was a good question. I looked back at them. “Because,” I said. “There’s no point in fighting for the throne if you’re not going to make a difference.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  STEN CONTINUED HIS MARCH. WE HAD THREE DAYS now, just three, before he would arrive at the city gates.

  We could be mistaken about his plans, I told myself. He could stop for a few days, head elsewhere to gather more support. But our spies said he was returning, and that was unlikely to change.

  I had nothing. I knew it, my advisers knew it. I could win the support of the people and talk endlessly about the Forgotten, but I couldn’t fight Sten and win, and I’d done little to stop his attack. I didn’t know who the murderer was. It was possibly Holt, probably Holt, but I needed to be able to prove it, and to prove my innocence, too.

  I couldn’t sleep now. I needed to use every moment to prepare.

  I tiptoed out of my rooms, careful not to wake Naomi or Madeleine. The front door of my chambers was ajar, and two night guards were speaking, their low voices buzzing through the gap.

  “But Sten’s a good man,” one was saying. “I know he’s not the heir, not by the way we’ve always done it, but he’s a good man, and a good leader, too. Shouldn’t that count for something?”

  “It counts for everything,” the other guard said, “when his opponent is a little girl with no knowledge of war. What can she do against him?”

  “Then why are you still here?”

  “Safest path, isn’t it?” the second guard said. “And I got nothing against our new queen. She’s a nice girl, at least. If she holds out against him, then good for her. I’ll be happy to support her. And if she doesn’t, then Sten’ll be happy enough for us to join him when she fails. He’s always been a reasonable man.”

  “True enough,” the first guard said. “True enough, that.”

  I paused by the gap in the door. Their words made my stomach clench, but they weren’t being treasonous, just honest. I couldn’t blame them for wanting to live.

  I crept back to my bedroom door and closed it a little more loudly. The guards stopped talking at once. By the time I reached the door again, they were standing to attention, as though the conversation had never occurred.

  “Can we help you, Your Majesty?” the guard on the left said.

  “No, that’s all right. I’m just restless.” I stepped into the corridor. “I’m going to walk down to my laboratory, I think.”

  “Then we should go with you, Your Majesty.”

  They should. But after that conversation, I really wanted to be alone. I didn’t want to be protected by people who knew they could not protect me, not now. “No,” I said. “I’ll be safe inside the Fort. Wait for me here.” And, with the authority of a queen behind me, neither of them could protest.

  The corridors were eerily quiet. Sconces sent orange light flickering across the stone walls, and the high ceilings vanished into shadow. Sounds echoed and distorted in the stillness of the night, so faraway whispers seemed close. I saw no one.

  My lab was empty, too, devoid of Fitzroy for once. Maybe he was actually sleeping, like a normal human being at three o’clock in the morning.

  I itched to conduct more experiments, to have focus like I’d had working on the arsenic test, but I had no idea what to do. I had nothing left to test, no leads that science could pursue. So instead, I began to work through the letters again, hunting for anything, anything, that might help. A hint at the king’s illness. A mention of Holt.

  Nothing. All I gained was more of the dead king’s words in my brain, this sense of him as a person, with thoughts and fears and priorities and humanity, rather than just the ridiculous caricature I had known.

  I didn’t want to think of him as a person. It made all of it too real.

  Eventually, the itch of working alone became unbearable. Maybe Fitzroy was awake upstairs. Maybe he’d be willing to help.

  I passed no one as I climbed the stairs. I knocked on the door to his chambers, but nobody answered. I knocked again, louder.

  No response.

  “Fitzroy?” Maybe he was asleep. I pushed the door open slightly. “Fitzroy?”

  The lamps inside were lit, casting a warm glow across the room. I stepped inside, leaving the door slightly ajar.

  The lights were on in the bedroom as well, but Fitzroy was nowhere to be seen.

  That was odd. If he wasn’t in the laboratory, and he wasn’t asleep . . . Maybe we’d missed each other in the corridors.

  He couldn’t have gone far, though, if the lamps were any indication. He would be back soon.

  I wandered over to the bookshelves on the far side of the room. Even though Fitzroy had only been here a few weeks, he’d moved several books here—a couple of novels, a history book, a copy of The Scientific Method. I picked that one up, smiling. He’d actually listened to my recommendation.

 
A few sheets of paper fluttered from between two books on the shelf. One fell to the floor, and I bent to pick it up.

  I recognized that near-illegible scrawl. It was a letter from his father.

  It was private, I told myself. I shouldn’t read it, not without his permission, but the back of my neck prickled as I stared down at it. A single word caught my eye: heir.

  I couldn’t help myself. I read through it at breakneck speed, as though my rudeness didn’t count if I did it quickly enough. But the words didn’t make sense, couldn’t make sense, so I read it again, slower, waiting for the meaning to change.

  The words stubbornly remained, so I read it a third time. And a fourth.

  It was a draft of a decree. A decree to ensure that Fitzroy could never, never inherit the throne.

  My hands shook. I grabbed the other pages from the shelf. The king had requested an adviser’s opinion on the decree. His sickness made him contemplative, he said, and more concerned about the succession than ever. He must be certain the crown was in good hands. And that could never be Fitzroy. If he did not have any other children, his brother must be heir.

  A third letter discussed plans to send Fitzroy away. Each suggestion had been analyzed based on how valuable it made Fitzroy look—a survey on his father’s behalf, for example, or a diplomatic mission would make him look too important. Perhaps banishment would be better. The king had resisted the idea—Fitzroy was still his son, after all—but had agreed that alternatives were difficult to find.

  “Freya? What are you doing?”

  I jumped. Fitzroy stood in the doorway, hair mussed by sleep. I tightened my grip on the papers.

  “What is this?”

  All the color drained from his face. “Freya,” he said carefully. “I know what that looks like, but listen to me—”

  “You know what it looks like?” I laughed. I didn’t know why. The sound was too low, too sharp. “Tell me you didn’t put this here. Tell me this is Holt, trying to turn me against you.”

  He didn’t reply.

  “You hid this from me.” Holt had been right. The certainty of it turned my stomach. “You knew your father wasn’t planning to make you his heir. He was going to exile you! And you hid it from me.”

  “I did. But please, Freya, listen.”

  He took a step toward me. My heart was pounding in my ears, humiliation burning in my stomach. “What can you possibly have to say?”

  “I didn’t know that’s what my father was planning. You have to believe me. I only found out when I read these notes in the lab, I promise.”

  “So why did you hide it?”

  “I panicked. I thought—I didn’t know what would happen if anyone else found out. Your advisers already distrust me—”

  “Are you surprised, with this?”

  “I didn’t want you to distrust me, too. I thought, if you read that—I don’t know what I thought, Freya, but you have to believe me. I panicked. But I wasn’t involved.”

  “You lied to me. And you harmed my investigation.” The first was worse, it scalded me, stealing my breath, but I had to mention the science, I had to remember what was important. Not me and him. It had never been me and him. “You had the motive, Fitzroy. You had it, and you hid it from me. What else am I supposed to believe?”

  “I told you. I lost everything that night.”

  “You would have lost everything if that night hadn’t happened. It says it right here, Fitzroy! So don’t tell me you had nothing to gain from his death.” I was shaking now, a mix of anger and fear, the weight of the words thrumming through me. Fitzroy stared at me, his face pale. “Is this why you kissed me? Why you said you liked me? To distract me?”

  “No, Freya.” He stumbled forward, hands out, and then paused when I flinched, jolting like he was caught on a string. “I do like you. I think you’re one of the best people I’ve ever met. Please—”

  “Stop lying!”

  “I’m not lying! Freya, listen to me.” His hands were shaking slightly, but he stepped closer again. “You know what court is like. If I was trying to distract you and make you like me, do you think I’d have done it like that? That I’d have shouted at you, distrusted you, been so slow to do anything nice? To tell you I liked you?”

  “You’re clever. I’m sure you could figure out the optimal strategy.”

  He flinched. “Please, Freya. Just listen to me. Let me explain.”

  “No.” If he had lied before, he could be lying now, and how would I know? I was useless at reading people, so naive. He’d proved that. If I ignored this evidence, because I wanted to . . . how would I ever survive? I’d been the perfect victim for manipulation. Self-doubting, isolated, overwhelmed. All Fitzroy had to do was help me, pretend to like me, and I’d miss every sign of betrayal.

  “If you want me to listen to you, if you want me to trust you, then stay here. I’m fetching my guards. If you try and run, I’ll know you’re guilty. If you weren’t involved, as you say, then everything will be fine.”

  “And you believe that, do you?”

  I forced myself to look him in the eye. My hands still shook. “I have to.”

  Fitzroy did not run. I fetched guards to watch his door, with strict instructions that no one was allowed to enter or leave without my permission. A lump had settled in my throat, and it swelled with every word, pressing against my windpipe.

  I couldn’t let myself get upset. I had to focus. Sten was still marching on the capital, the identity of the murderer was still unclear, and if Fitzroy was responsible . . . would Sten believe I hadn’t been involved, too? I’d look suspicious, as his friend. Just as Holt had warned me.

  I would have to hand Fitzroy over to Sten, or at least ensure that his version of justice was done. And if he was guilty . . . if Fitzroy had killed everyone . . .

  I half ran back to my chambers, the world blurring around me. Once I was safely behind the locked door, I collapsed on my bed and let myself cry, the sobs almost choking me. Dagny mewed in distress, her head butting against my forearm. I ignored her.

  A gentle hand rested on my shoulder. “Freya?” It was Madeleine. I turned my head to the left, my vision blurred by tears. Madeleine looked beautiful, as she always did. Her hair was pulled into two braids, and although her eyes were vague with sleep, she looked at me with concern. “What’s wrong?”

  “Everything,” I choked out. “Everything.” I pushed myself into a sitting position. Madeleine sank onto the mattress beside me, and Dagny hopped up, kneading my legs, still meowing sadly. I reached down to stroke her behind the ears.

  “What has happened?”

  “Madeleine—” I closed my eyes, the words stuck in my throat. “It was Fitzroy. I think it was Fitzroy. He lied to me. His father was going to exile him, and—and I don’t know what to think, but I had to lock him up, I had to, and I don’t know what I’m doing—”

  “Shhh.” Madeleine wrapped an arm around me, running her fingers through my hair. “Shh, it’ll be all right, Freya.”

  “But it won’t. I trusted him, and now . . .”

  “Do you absolutely know that it was him?” she said softly. “It seems so unlike him.”

  “I don’t know for sure. But he’s been lying. He hid the evidence from us. He took letters from my lab and hid them.”

  “What’s going on?” Naomi had appeared in the doorway, blinking sleep from her eyes. “Freya, are you all right?”

  I shook my head. Naomi didn’t ask any more questions. She walked over and sank onto the mattress beside us, a gentle hand on my shoulder.

  “You’ll figure it out,” Madeleine said. “And even if he’s guilty . . . I’ve known him for so long, Freya. He’s one of the few people left from—from before. He must have thought he had good reasons. Maybe it’s better to show mercy.”

  “Good reasons? How can there be a good reason to kill that many people? And with Sten attacking, if I’m going to convince him to stop, I have to—I won’t be able to be merciful. Sten wouldn’t ev
er let me. I just—he can’t have done it. I can’t believe he would have done.”

  “No,” Madeleine said. “No, no one would want to believe that of anyone they knew.”

  “What am I going to do? I’m going to have to explain why he’s gone, and then people will be out for his blood. But I couldn’t let him stay free, I couldn’t.”

  “You’ll figure it out,” Naomi said. “I know you will.”

  “I just—I’ve made so many mistakes, and now I’m locking away my friends, and I can’t—”

  “Freya.” Madeleine shifted on the mattress so we were facing each other. “You are a good queen. Trust me. I know royalty. I’ve known the court my whole life. And you are a good queen. You will do well. You are doing well. Just believe that you can do it. Believe in your strengths.”

  “But how?”

  “You’ve survived this far, haven’t you?”

  I snuggled back against her shoulder. “I don’t know what I’d do without you two.”

  “You’d be fantastic,” Madeleine said. “Just maybe a bit less fabulous.”

  I laughed.

  TWENTY-NINE

  “YOU ARRESTED FITZROY?”

  Holt leaned forward over the table, his expression a mixture of satisfaction and disbelief.

  “Yes,” I said, fighting to keep my voice steady. “It needed to be done.”

  “I am sorry it had to come to this,” Holt said. “But he was too much of a threat.”

  “No,” I said. “This has nothing to do with what you said before. But I found evidence that—I know he’s been lying to me. And his father—he wanted to send him away. Fitzroy has the motive, he’s acted suspiciously. I had to.”

  “A wise choice,” Holt said. “I had suspected him, as I tried to warn you—”

  “Yes,” I snapped, all my exhaustion, the hours of crying, bursting out of me. He could act as wise and superior as he liked, but I still couldn’t be sure he wasn’t involved, somehow. He’d still been suspicious. How dare he act like his good judgment had predicted this? “I know what you suspected. You’ve been against Fitzroy from the beginning, for no reason. You were determined to think he was guilty, or to deal with him if he wasn’t. Why? Because his mother wasn’t the queen?”