Greystar

by C. L. Polk

  “Then we’ll try the next one,” the examiner said with a shrug. “I will get answers. I always do.”

  Guards pushed past me to seize the Star-Priest. They clapped copper manacles around his wrists. Niikanis gritted his teeth, but he fought the horrible sensation to look me in the eye once more.

  “You can’t stop him. None of us can.”

  The guards led him out of the cell. I followed, keeping up with the tangle of red coats.

  “At least tell me who,” I said. “If I can’t stop him, I can expose him. That’s what he was trying to prevent. Exposure will hurt him. Let me do that, at least.”

  “You cannot extinguish a star,” he said. “Turn away from this. You cannot reach that high.”

  A guard turned around, barring my way. “You’re done,” he said. “It’s for the examiners now.”

  I stopped in the same intersection of hallways where I had met the examiner’s guards. I stood there, listening to the party march away.

  You cannot extinguish a star. Sevitii’s murderer stood too high. I didn’t know what it meant. And then I did.

  I ran through the halls, desperate to get to Miles.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Plans and Preparations

  Tristan was there. I’d expected that. They were sitting down to a candlelit dinner. I ought to have expected that. But seated at the table, twisted to peer at me still in my hat and hand-warmer, was Robin Thorpe, and that wouldn’t do. That wouldn’t do at all.

  “Grace,” Miles said. “Good to see you. Come and eat.”

  I put my arms around Miles’s shoulders in greeting and whispered in his ear. “I know who killed Sevitii an Vaavut.”

  He squeezed my shoulders twice, our old signal of “talk later,” and brought me to the table. “There’s plenty. You’re going to eat where I can see you do it.”

  I couldn’t wait! This couldn’t wait. But I took off my hat and hand-warmer to sit before gold-rimmed serving bowls filled with mouthwatering stews and unfolded a thin pancake, spooning lamb cooked in cinnamon onto it. I tried to hide my impatience with a hand-feast, a meal consumed with leisure and conversation, only ending after hours had passed. There was no clock in my line of sight. I couldn’t look at my watch.

  The wine was amber colored, and I tested it against the lamb. Peach wine, heady and sweet with a bit of toasty flavor in the back. I eyed the other stews with renewed appetite, as a serving of peach wine promised hot and spicy dishes.

  “Where is your coat?” Miles asked.

  I spooned up pepper-roasted skirrets in ginger sauce, letting it cool on another pancake. “Kingsgrave Prison,” I said. “The Queen had Avia Jessup arrested for sedition this morning. It’s cold there.”

  “She was arrested? For telling the truth?” Robin’s brows furrowed together.

  “I’ve hired her the best advocate in town,” I said. “She’ll stall the courts for weeks over this.”

  “Stalling isn’t the same as freeing,” Robin said. “Does the court have anything besides that one article?”

  “Yes,” I said, “but Dorothy can get it thrown out. She can cut the Crown’s case to shreds.”

  “No one has ever walked away from a sedition trial in all of Aeland’s history,” Robin said.

  I was trying not to think of that. “I just need time.”

  The moment I said it I wished I could take it back. I stuffed lamb dara into my mouth and made an appreciative noise over the flavor.

  Robin’s mouth slid sideways, and her shrug was sympathetic. “You may not get it.”

  She was right. “I still have to try.”

  Robin scooped up fiery hot prawns in stewed chili sauce, the kind that made your eyes water and your nose run. “It’s lucky that you’re here. I was just telling Miles that we’ve gained five more votes in favor of the prorogue. That puts us at forty-six.”

  So many. Robin was the best lobbyist Aeland had ever seen, having pulled off that feat in so short a time. “So if five people abstain, you’ll have it.”

  It had already started snowing—not the storm, but the storm’s herald. Maybe if it snowed enough, some of the objecting members would stay home, thinking the vote a sure thing.

  “It’s so close,” Miles said. “I’m getting a bellyache just thinking about it. And with Miss Jessup in jail, we’ve lost our voice in the papers—”

  “I’ve spoken with the editor,” I said. “If that will help.”

  “What will help is your support in the House,” Robin said. “But the Queen’s tied your hands.”

  But Ysonde had appeared in the Cabinet and summoned the Queen to Aife’s presence. They were meeting tomorrow. The prorogue vote was that afternoon. If Aife laid down the law with Constantina, she might change her tune.

  “I’m going to try one more time to persuade her,” I said.

  “Tomorrow. After Aife gets through with her,” Tristan said, echoing my thoughts. “That’s your best chance.”

  “Who is going to be at the summons?” I asked.

  “Aife and her advisors, of course. Guards. Prince Severin. The Queen herself.”

  Robin dabbled her fingers in a crystal bowl of hot water. “How many advisors does Aife have?”

  “Me,” Tristan responded. “Ysonde and Aldis.”

  “And the session will begin at nine,” I said. “Will you be there early, to discuss things?”

  “We have a meeting half an hour before. Why?”

  “I want to know when to start pacing in my office,” I said, my heart beating fast. I drew a circle on the tabletop and then an “N” inside it, waiting for Miles to notice. It meant, I have to tell you something now. “N” was a hint about what.

  “Just tell us, Grace.” He lifted his glass. “I told him. Tristan knows.”

  I didn’t quite thump the table. “That’s a national secret!”

  “He’s going to be my husband. Husbands don’t count.” Miles smiled around the rim of his glass. “Robin may as well hear it too—she was at Sevitii’s examination. Go on now, you’re ready to burst.”

  I glared at him. This was supposed to be a secret! But I didn’t honestly expect him to keep it from Tristan, and Robin had been at the examination, just as he said. I sighed and told them. “I think I know who killed Sevitii an Vaavut. It was Aldis.”

  “The deuce,” Miles said.

  “Who is Aldis?” Robin asked.

  “Aldis is one of Aife’s advisors, as Tristan said.” I nodded to Tristan, who had gone very still, his mouth open but silent. “Tristan, whatever is the matter?”

  “Why do you think it was Aldis?”

  “Niikanis an Vaavut, Sevitii’s father, said as much. You cannot extinguish a star, he said.”

  Tristan leaned back in his seat. “And you took that to believe that the one Amaranthine who actively champions the Laneeri here in Aeland murdered one of them.”

  “He told me that he was a steward of souls. That’s a Deathsinger. Right?”

  I directed that last at Robin, who nodded. I went on. “I think he uses the palace ghosts as spies. That’s possible, isn’t it?”

  Robin nodded again. “They avoid me. They avoid Mahalia and Joy, too. You could be on to something. And that could be why I couldn’t contact Sevitii’s spirit.”

  “There. You see?” I picked up my glass and drank fruity, floral-smelling wine. “Do you disbelieve?”

  “No. But you can’t fling an accusation like that at an Amaranthine.” He grimaced. “You’ll need a way to prove it.”

  “Can’t we just tell Aife?”

  Tristan shook his head, his blond hair gleaming in the candlelight. “If you accuse him without proof, he can challenge you to fight him for the insult. Did you learn the sword?”

  “I think you can guess the answer to that,” I said. “How do I prove it?”

  “You need to produce evidence of his deeds, or you have to force him to confess,” Tristan said. “I don’t think you can force him to confess without fighting him first.”


  Damn Amaranthine custom! I knew nothing about it, but I knew the history of duelling in Aeland. Plenty of crooked leaders had gotten away with murder by declaring their honor smirched by an accusation. If Aldis did the same, I couldn’t defend myself. Drat Great-Grandmother Fiona for outlawing the practice! If she hadn’t, I would have been as fast with a blade as I was with calculations. Father would have seen to it. “Blast it. How do I do that?”

  “I do it,” Miles said. “I’m a bit rusty, but—”

  “You are not fighting an Amaranthine duel,” Tristan said. “Not that Amaranthine. He’s better than me, and I’m quite good. Besides, you could be brilliant, but Cormac hasn’t declared you healed.”

  “If he can beat you, Tristan, then you can’t do it either,” I said. “That leaves finding proof.”

  “Look for Sevitii’s star bangle,” Robin said, touching the lockets at her neck. “It’s an anchor. He’ll have it hidden somewhere no one else goes.”

  “I think I know where,” Tristan said. “He won’t let anyone in his room. Not even the maids. They leave him firewood and fresh linen by the door.”

  That only made my instincts sharpen. He had something hidden in there, all right. “Then I absolutely have to search his room.” I rolled up the spicy roasted skirrets. “And I know when he won’t be in it—while you are meeting with Aife, before the Queen and the Prince arrive. Then if I show up before the summons, we’re set.”

  “It’s too dangerous. He locks the doors. You can’t get in.”

  “Tristan, my lamb,” Miles said, leaning against Tristan’s shoulder, “you said there wasn’t a lock in this palace that would keep you out.”

  Tristan looked up at the ceiling. “The both of you,” he declared. “Foolhardy adventurers.”

  “I’ll do my usual hallway constitutional,” Miles said. “When I see him leave, I’ll come in. Then you will take Grace through the service door, pick the lock to his suite, and then dash off to the meeting so you’re not suspiciously late. Grace and I—”

  “No,” I said. “I’m not risking you.”

  Miles huffed. “Two can search faster than one.”

  I rubbed my temples. “Fine.”

  “Jolly! We’ll bring this villain down in no time,” Miles said. “Now that we’ve settled all that, will you stop picking at that rolly and eat something? We can fill Robin in on the rest.”

  * * *

  I usually tried not to make William and George suffer through a long day of waiting for me to finish my business at the palace—and then there were days like these. I hurried through the halls of Government House with the collar of Miles’s Service coat turned up, an incongruous mix with my hat and hand-warmer, but it would do to get me home. Most of the temporary gaslights were extinguished, their fuel hoses bundled against the baseboards. I rushed from one pool of light to another, pausing at my darkened office.

  I could go inside and search Janet’s desk. I could confront her with the evidence of her conspiracy— No, I couldn’t. I couldn’t let on that I knew of it. I had to keep operating as if I were ignorant while I looked for a way to tear it apart—

  But did I want to? Father was working toward putting Severin on the throne. That was something we desperately needed if Aeland was going to survive the judgment of the Amaranthines and the ire of the people. But something was missing from my understanding of Father’s scheme—namely, what was in it for Father.

  There was no way Severin could pardon the Cabinet for treason. No one would abide Father walking free, not after everything he had done. Did he really do this simply to save Aeland from destruction?

  He wouldn’t stand by and do nothing. There had to be something in it for him. But what was it? What?

  I moved through the half-lit hallway, my ten-foot shadow stretching in front of me. At the end of the hall, the door to the stairwell opened, and Prince Severin stepped out.

  “Grace. Oh, this is luck from the Makers! You’re exactly who I wanted to see.” His smile lit up the hallway as he came to me, a goldenrod-colored file folder in his hands. “I’ve just been rooting around the archives.”

  “I see you found something.”

  “I found the key.” The stars in Severin’s dark eyes danced. “I’m so glad you’re still here. But I shouldn’t be too surprised. The correct path sings in harmony, after all.”

  “I had dinner with my brother,” I said. “Rollies.”

  “Oh, I do love a hand-feast,” Severin said. “No wonder you’re here so late. You’re going to find a letter from me at home, informing you that I convinced the Grand Duchess to include you in the summons tomorrow.”

  Oh, the deuce! Blast it to pieces! I smiled. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

  “It only makes sense to include you,” Severin said. “And I wanted you to be there.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “I have a conflicting event that must be attended a quarter hour before the meeting. I can’t reschedule, but I think I can be finished in time to accompany you if I run like the blazes.”

  “Is it magic?” Severin asked, alight with curiosity. “To do with the storm?”

  Only the truth would do. “The safety of Aeland depends on it. I am deeply worried that I will be late.”

  “I know you’ll do your best,” Severin said. “Now let me tell you the best part. The time has come to end Mother’s rule.”

  I froze. “Has it?”

  Severin scowled. “She still thinks she can kick and fight when it comes to the Amaranthines. She is going to explain to them one more time why their demands are impossible. And that is when I will make my move.”

  Tomorrow. He was starting the coup tomorrow. I took a dizzy breath. “So you’ll use the Queen’s resistance to contrast with your willingness to work with the Amaranthines. Will you tell them that she plans to quash the prorogue if the vote goes through?”

  “Yes. But this is the final blow. Look.”

  He offered me the folder. I held it in my spread hand, the spine cradled against my palm, the leaves buttressed against my fingers. The first item was a photograph that made me cock my head.

  Constantina Mountrose was a handsome woman today, but as a newly wed princess, she was luminous. All her dark hair was carefully, securely dressed in an upswept style that wouldn’t have budged even had she done cartwheels down the aisle of the private train car where she stood beside her equally handsome husband, Lord Pearson Hayes of the Duchy of Red Hawk. They were the perfect couple—beautiful, wealthy, poised on the threshold of a match made for love and not dynasty.

  This Constantina was merely a royal daughter. She had a life of setting fashion and championing worthy causes ahead of her, able to live in luxury with none of the burden of a kingdom on her shoulders. I stared at her clear skin, her brilliant smile, the way she tilted toward Pearson as if he were her lodestone even with her eyes on the camera.

  Pearson hadn’t even bothered to try to look less than besotted. He gazed at the Princess in open adoration, a little smile on his mouth that said, Ah! How fortunate I am, how blessed we are.

  I flipped the photograph over, reading the date. She’d been pregnant with Severin by then. She’d only had six more months before the accident that killed her husband and her brother upended her life.

  It hurt my chest to flip through these photographs of her highly publicized national honeymoon, where she and Pearson had traveled the length and breadth of Aeland by the newly constructed, monstrously expensive railway network. She cut ribbons. She kissed babies. She rode bicycles in a dozen Main Street processions, the figure of fashion in a calf-length split skirt that fit close to her hips, a peplumed jacket making her waist look a handspan wide, the tops of her buttoned boots disappearing under the hem of her skirt legs.

  She had been so happy.

  I turned a page, and there was Constantina in a smart, tailored traveling suit, squinting at the tall spires and whitewashed walls of an asylum. I narrowed my eyes and read the wrought iron sign over the
entrance—Talonlocke Hall, in Red Hawk.

  I looked up at Severin then, openmouthed. “She knew.”

  “She did.”

  I turned the pages, and she was observing patients who had been washed and combed for her visit. I studied the inmates. Most didn’t look at her, or at anything. But there were sidelong glances: watchful, distrusting, even hostile.

  There were no pictures of her inside the basement room where they forced witches to channel the dead into soul-engines, but did Severin really need one? She had been inside an asylum. It was hard to pretend she didn’t know what was going on inside it.

  “If you reveal these to Grand Duchess Aife—”

  “She’ll denounce Mother,” Severin said. “It will be over at that moment, but we’ll do it properly—we’ll call an emergency session, call a vote of no confidence, climb every step.”

  If this went the way Severin thought it would, and I couldn’t see an alternative, then we’d hold the government in our hands. We could fix everything. And the key had been hidden in the basement of the archives, forgotten, unused promotional material.

  “Severin,” I said, closing the folder, “how did you know to find these?”

  “Your father told me where they were,” Severin said.

  Disquiet slithered around my middle. I smiled. “That makes sense. Father makes it his business to know where the bodies are buried.”

  “All my faith in him was soundly placed.” Severin gestured down the hall, in the direction of his office. “Shall we celebrate with a drink?”

  “That’s pushing the Maker’s luck too far,” I said, still smiling. “And I called for my sled some time ago, so my men are freezing out there. We’ll have time to offer thanks to the Makers when it’s all said and done.”

  “Always so pragmatic,” Severin said. “The New Year will dawn on a better Aeland. But you’re right. We wait to celebrate at the proper time.” He laid a hand on my shoulder, beaming. “I don’t know how I’m going to sleep tonight. I’ll see you at nine.”

  I nodded. “At nine.”