Chasing Shadows (35 page)

“Where are you from, child?” the queen asked. Her thick red-brown hair had been piled on her head in a series of intricate braids and curls, and it seemed an unconscious movement when she patted the underside of the arrangement, as if to ensure it was still perfectly intact.

“What makes you say I’m not from around here?” Sarah asked distractedly as her eyes scanned the faces around the table. She met a pair of gray eyes assessing her from the prince’s other side, and a chill shot down her spine. It was no wonder she had neglected to notice him before—mostly grayed-brown hair tied back from a thin, weathered face, narrow, stormy gray eyes, close-cropped salt and pepper beard over an angular jaw. He was almost like a ghost, and Sarah would have passed him up had it not been for the piercing eyes staring back at her, waiting for her reply. Every instinct told her this was Cadius, and her pulse kicked into overdrive.

“I am familiar with every lady and courtier in the province,” the queen was saying. Sarah swallowed hard and forced her gaze away from his icy scrutiny. The woman had lifted her goblet and was smiling sassily. “My powers of deduction are far more keen than some might believe.” She took a delicate drink, her movements slow and practiced.

Sarah tried to follow her example and lifted the fresh goblet a servant had placed before her, trying to buy herself time. She smelled the pungent scent of wine as she brought it close to her nose and grimaced. Feeling several pairs of eyes on her, she pursed her lips and barely tipped her glass with a shaky hand before placing it on the table. She licked her lips and tried not to cringe at the bitter taste.

Knowing that several ears were listening in, she forced a smile she hoped appeared sincere and answered vaguely, “No, I’m from a very small and uninteresting province quite a ways from here.”

“Well, I am sure that lord Lisandro was quite pleased you came when you did.” Queen Meredith smiled fondly at him, and Sarah could tell that she wasn’t the only one he had charmed.

A platter of roast chicken and potatoes was set before her, and Sarah looked up to thank the servant. She recognized her as one of the girls who had given her such dirty looks when she had become a “lady.” She quickly ducked her head, not wanting to give the girl further reason to hate her when she realized the former maid-turned-lady was already dining with the royal family.

But she needn’t worry; the girl kept her head bowed as she moved past her, only raising her eyes to set a platter in front of Damien, but he was distracted with watching Cadius—she was sure it was him now—with a suspicious gaze as the older man continued to stare at Sarah. The servant girl ducked her head again and moved quickly to a corner of the room, where she gazed submissively at the ground.

Sarah pretended she didn’t notice his unwavering stare as she took a small bite of her food. It looked delicious, but the taste was lost on her; she was too occupied with trying to think of something to say that might get Cadius to incriminate himself, aside from coming right out and accusing him of murder in front of a room of guests. All that came to mind to get the conversation turned in that direction was, “I was so sorry to hear about your husband.” She directed her condolences to the queen and hoped the man across from them overheard.

Queen Meredith smiled graciously, though it looked plastic, like she had perfected it before a mirror. “Yes, it is a great loss to his people.” Her words, like her smile, were clearly rehearsed, though all her practice couldn’t hide the tears she blinked back.                      

“My brother’s death shook the land, milady.” Cadius’ sudden words surprised her, and she turned to him almost against her will. He leaned forward, placing a weathered hand on the table. Sarah wanted to look away from his penetrating gray eyes, but it was as though the intensity of his unearthly stare demanded her attention, and all she could manage was to shift uneasily in her seat. “But this country
will
rise again, under the rule of another leader.”

A few of the men raised their glasses in salute to the prince. The queen smiled encouragingly at her son, who pulled his lifeless stare from the bottom of his empty goblet to give her a faint smile of acknowledgement. Sarah noted the way the queen’s face tightened with concern. The candlelight caught the silver streaks at her temples, making her look older than her forty-odd years.
It looks like the prince isn’t the only one to be aged by the king’s death,
Sarah thought sadly.

With all eyes on him, the prince sat a little straighter, looking more dignified than he had all evening. “I will do my utmost to rule with as much honor, fire, and compassion as my father before me,” he said for the benefit of the table’s occupants. A chorus of “Here, here” went up around the room, and people raised their goblets and tankards in respectful salute to the deceased king and the one who would take his place on the throne when the mourning period had passed.

Their side of the table lapsed into silence as they all enjoyed their meal, though Sarah’s gaze constantly wandered to the faces around her: Cadius was rolling his goblet between his frail hands, listening disinterestedly to the man next to him as he prattled on about the tumultuous security of a nearby province, though Sarah couldn’t catch most of the hushed conversation. And the prince had gone back to staring into his goblet, though he attempted to look more involved when his mother shot him a worried, pleading look. Family dysfunction at its finest.

Sarah leaned in and whispered to Damien, “Is it always this lively?”

He grimaced. “Occasionally, I can engage the prince in talk of politics, but, yes, I’m afraid it is often this quiet.” He took her hand under the table and gave her one of those smiles that made her feel like the only person in the room. “But tonight is far more interesting.” His thumb traced idle circles over the scar on her hand, and she had to consciously close her mouth, which had slowly drifted open in surprise.

Clearing her throat, she forced her attention to the real reason she had come and turned to the queen, trying to ignore Damien’s finger as it stroked her skin. Almost under her breath, so as to not be overheard by those across the table, she said, “It was such a shock when I discovered the king had passed. Did it surprise you, as well?” She knew she was probing at a sensitive subject and didn’t want to offend the newly widowed woman, but she couldn’t think of another segue into a discussion of the king’s death. Her justifications didn’t make it seem any less insensitive, though.

The queen shook her head gently, a pained look crossing her practiced expression of serenity. “It was quite prolonged, I’m afraid. I only wish for my husband’s sake that it had been sudden.” Her face was a mask of queenly composure once more, but she had wrinkled her skirt severely as she knotted clumps of the fabric in her fists. Sarah felt a stirring of compassion for the woman. It would be exhausting to be such a public figure, having to act a certain way and hide her true feelings all of the time in the wake of her husband’s death. Had she been able to mourn privately?

Driven by sympathy, Sarah lightly touched the queen’s trembling hand, though she wasn’t sure if it was appropriate to touch royalty. The woman appeared surprised, but she didn’t look disturbed or upset, so Sarah gave her hand a gentle pat. “I’m so sorry.” It seemed the only thing she could say, but she meant it.

Queen Meredith gave her hand a quick squeeze of gratitude. She sniffed back tears, and her smile was wobbly. “Thank you, child.”

Sarah pulled back, thinking carefully on her next words before speaking. “I didn’t arrive until after he had passed,” she said slowly, with the right amount of curiosity in her tone. She felt Damien give her palm a warning squeeze, having forgotten he still held her other hand. Swallowing back the niggling guilt, she hedged, “But if you don’t mind my asking, how, exactly, did it happen?”

“Of course I do not mind.” The woman stiffened her spine, and it looked like it was meant to give her courage, though Sarah heard the underlying waver in her voice. “It feels strange to speak of it, since his passing is common knowledge here. But several months past, after supper one evening, the king became ill. The physician tried everything—medicine, experimental herbs. We became so desperate that he even tried leeches.” Sarah bit back a grimace, and the queen angled her chin into the air. The candles situated on the chandelier reflected off the tears glittering in her eyes. “But nothing produced results, and my husband—well, he never recovered, as well you know.”

“And it didn’t seem odd to you?” The words were out of her mouth before she could take them back. Damien let go of her hand and murmured her name at his plate, cautioning her. She was reminded of their conversation in the woods, his warning that she not tell anyone about her theory that the king had been murdered. But now she had another reason to solve the king’s murder, besides bringing Cadius to justice: She wanted the queen to have the answers to the questions Sarah saw behind her haunted brown eyes.

“How do you mean ‘odd’?” the queen asked, her gaze flickering to her son momentarily, but his glazed expression was on his advisor seated beside him. The queen leaned toward her younger guest almost involuntarily.

Heedless of Damien’s warning, Sarah said quietly, “I have heard a little of what’s gone on for the past few months, and it just seemed strange how it all happened. A mystery illness claims the life of a perfectly healthy king? It just seemed peculiar.”

The queen was shaking her head distractedly. “When the illness progressed, I was hardly allowed to see him, but nothing seemed unusual the times that I went to him. It is hardly uncommon for someone to become unexpectedly ill in this climate.”

Sarah lowered her voice an octave. “And the fact that you were kept from him didn’t strike you as suspicious?”

“The physician feared contagion,” the older woman murmured, though she sounded less sure. Sarah, noticing her chance, took advantage of the woman’s momentary suspicion, though she tried to keep the eagerness out of her voice.

“Were you able to see him at all after awhile?”

“In the latter months, I had to force my way into the room or have one of the servants smuggle me in.” Her throat worked. “But the illness ravaged his body quickly towards the end, and Josiah was nearly incoherent the times I did manage to visit.”

Sarah was about to throw another question at her when she saw the tears pricking the queen’s vision, and she felt a stab of remorse. Was she really so intent on solving this thing that she couldn’t see, or was too wrapped up to care, that her inquiries were upsetting the widow, a woman who clearly had a heart for her people? The woman’s husband had died, leaving her the kingdom to manage until her son took over—that same son who was drowning his sorrows in drink and who looked as drained and lifeless as his dead father.

Looking the queen in the eyes, Sarah whispered, “I’m sorry for prying.”

Shaking her head lightly, the queen sniffed and offered her a tiny smile. “No apologies. It’s common knowledge that I continued to make visits to my husband against the physician’s counsel and that of the king’s advisor. Since I came into this life over two decades past, I have been instructed and primped and prepared, but I still struggle with cowing to certain rules and conventions.”

Sarah cocked her head curiously and shifted a little in her seat to better face her. “I thought you would have been raised to be a queen since you were born.”

She grinned a little. “You truly are not from here. It was my elder sister, not I, who was raised to take over the throne. You see, Ridlan, the province where we lived, desired to make an alliance with Serimone, and my sister was the one coached from birth to rule.”

“She was supposed to marry the king?” Sarah asked incredulously.

Meredith nodded in the affirmative. “Alexis and the king were married on her sixteenth birthday and remained that way for many years until she died, shortly after
Adrian was born.”

Sarah stared unseeing at her full plate, processing this surprising bit of information. She shot a quick glance at the prince before turning her gaze to the lady beside her. “How did she die?”

“She caught an illness when Adrian was two months old.” Her gaze seemed far away, and her voice softened in remembrance. “There was nothing to be done, even with her determination and fiery spirit.”

The pieces clicked together in Sarah’s mind. “And then you married the king to keep the alliance intact?” She tried to keep her tone curious, but her mind was racing. 

Meredith nodded slowly. “Almost immediately.” A faint smile curved her painted lips. “We were very different at first—I, a young woman not yet twenty who wanted to experience life, and the king, a ruler only a little younger than my own father, who already had a son and was mourning the loss of my sister.”

“Sounds like a match made in heaven,” Sarah remarked in quiet humor.

The queen gave a light laugh, covering her mouth delicately with her pale hand. “It was a rocky start, yes, but we soon fell in love, and I raised Adrian as my own.”

“You must miss Alexis,” Sarah remarked softly, surprised when the queen gave a delicate laugh.

“Yes, but I like to imagine that she continues to stir up trouble like always.” Her eyes softened. “And fond remembrance of her is never far from my thoughts. I still have a box of Alexis’s old things stored in her former bedchambers, though I have never allowed myself to look inside,” she admitted.

Sarah felt eyes on them, and she glanced up to find both the prince and Cadius watching them.