The Queen of Lies (13 page)

“Thank you for your fashion advice,” Jessa said. “As it so happens, the untimely death of my fiancé has provided the perfect occasion for my attire.”

“Poisoned wine, I hear.” Satryn nodded sagely. “But I’m pleased to hear of how you handled yourself. Striking down your enemy in righteous anger is like feeling the hand of the divine caressing Creation.” She brushed her fingers across the ugly green duvet. “Although…if you hadn’t killed the assassin, they could have forced a confession from her and spared us this confusion. But one learns from her mistakes.”

“You could also clear your name,” Jessa said, gritting her teeth.

“Do they have any idea who was responsible?”

Jessa shook her fists. “They’re saying it could be you! Why don’t you just answer the questions in front of the Veritas Seal?”

“Because I’m a queen, and it’s an insult to even be called to answer for this,” Satryn said acidly. “And because they’ll ask their questions in such a way that I might reveal something that isn’t for them to know. The Invocari will simply have to complete their investigation with evidence and reasoned deduction. I’m content to wait here while they work to exonerate me.”

“If you wanted Torin to call off the engagement, you could have simply introduced yourself. There likely isn’t a man in the Free Cities who would agree to a match after meeting you.”

“I’m growing weary of this discussion, dear.”

“Did you kill Torin?” Jessa demanded.

“What do you think?” Satryn stroked her narrow chin and peered at Jessa with her silver eyes.

“I think you’re capable of it, Mother,” Jessa fumed. “But I cannot fathom your reasons. Your silence has killed the treaty and any chance of a peaceful resolution to our troubles at home. The Assembly doesn’t trust that you even represent the empress.”

Satryn’s heart broke for the girl, although she didn’t let it show. Jessa had grown up on land, with no connection to the sea. She believed life was about rules and righteousness rather than a vicious struggle for survival. She found comfort in having her life planned out and had no appreciation for the thrill of opportunity that chaos brought.
I have failed to raise you
, Satryn thought,
but we all have our role to play.

“You must write to your aunt Nasara.” Satryn flicked her wrist. “Let her know diplomacy has failed, and the Assembly won’t support us…if they ever intended to. You did your part admirably, so there’s no shame in admitting defeat.”

“And what”—Jessa bristled at her insinuation—“shall I write to her?”

“Simply that while I’m indisposed with this legal matter, you need her aid to oversee the removal of Duke Rothburn. She should have a sizable force of Patrean marines in Amhaven within the month.”

“If I were do that”—Jessa went on to finish the rest of the utterly predictable line of reasoning—“we’ll be admitting Amhaven can’t sustain its independence.”

“But it can’t, Jessa.” Satryn exhaled loudly. “Duke Rothburn had only minimal support from his benefactors in the Assembly, and you were outmatched. You lack the Patreans to protect your supply lines, and your militia is untrained. It was a house of cards, built on your grandfather’s legacy, but now the winds have shifted, and it can no longer stand.

“Better the crown return to the Dominance, where you’ll at least get to sit on the throne as vassal without needing some Genatrovan noble to mount you for the approval of the Dukes.”

Satryn hopped off the bed and began to pace. She threw her arms out to her sides, motioning to an invisible scene around her. “There is room to expand in an empire, my small-minded princess. There’s even the slimmest of possibilities that you might one day sit atop the Coral Throne yourself if you put those wits of yours to good end. And then you can make the laws whatever you wish.”

“I don’t want the Coral Throne. Unlike you, I actually
want
to be a wife and mother.”

“The Silverbrooks will ply you with kindness and pay lip service to your father’s memory, but they aren’t your kin.” She played with a strand of Jessa’s straw-blond hair.
So much like her father
. “They’re admirably duplicitous, but they’re cowards who hide behind their shame and call it honor.”

“I have no interest in your games or the machinations of our twisted family.” Jessa threw her hands in the air and marched out the door. “Rot in here for all I care.”

Satryn called after her, “You may be a lowly pawn in this game, but you do get to choose whose pawn you are.”

M
Y PULCHRITUDINOUS SIBLING
Sireen,

I have been well and am pleased to hear that your crabs remain a continued subject of discussion at court. And congratulations as well for getting Glasyr and Boromond to fight for your honor. It’s quite the coup to make men fight for a prize…and even more impressive you managed to convince them such a prize exists.

And might I also say that I admire the persistence you’ve shown in regard to your swordsmanship. To claim that you could best Boromond bespeaks that you have come very far indeed. I look forward to seeing how much you’ve improved for myself.

Tell my dearest and eldest sibling Nasara that everything is well in hand, but there’s another player in the game who seeks to crush this alliance. They may be useful toward our other ends, but their identity is concealed.

I grow fonder of you each moment we are apart,

Satryn

T
ORIN’S FUNERAL SERVICE
was held at the Lyceum, along with that of the former dean, Tertius, who’d been the latest victim of the harrowings. The room where the services were held had twelve alcoves with statues of old wizards. An inlaid metal circle dominated the center of the chamber. Two urns of ashes floated side by side.

I think Mother might actually be insane. She’s always been erratic; she has no sense of proper boundaries at all. Perhaps she concocted this whole thing; there probably never was a treaty to begin with. Maybe her aunts sent her to Amhaven so her mental infirmity wouldn’t reflect poorly on the imperial line back at court.

Jessa nodded and smiled—but not too much—as she spoke with Assemblyman Cameron and a floating golden sphere that called itself Magus Aurius. The assemblyman was poorly dressed, and the sphere was, well…intricate. She’d read about artifact mages, but actually speaking to one was disconcerting. She didn’t know where to look when it—or rather
he
—spoke.

His voice was metallic, and Jessa suddenly realized she was being addressed directly. “…and of course Scholar Torin’s death happening so close to the other deaths has been a devastating tragedy for the school. Three of our best and brightest gone in the span of a couple days.”

“So much tragedy,” Cameron agreed, stroking his grizzly beard. “Torin’s betrothal would have offered real hope to the refugees. I’m holding a benefit gala for all three of them later this week. We would of course be honored if you could attend, Your Majesty. Your presence would make quite the statement of support.”

Jessa quickly agreed. “Anything I can do to help the less fortunate. Where are the refugees from?”

Cameron paused. “Why…Amhaven, Your Majesty. They flee the civil unrest.”

Another detail Mother didn’t bother to mention.
Jessa laughed nervously. “Of course. My apologies. This has been a trying day. How are my people?”

Cameron sighed. “They’re getting by, Your Majesty, but just barely. We have temporary shelters in some unused warehouses, but they’re filling up quickly. Most people came here with very little when they lost their homes, and there’s sickness from the close quarters.”

“I would like to visit them,” Jessa said, “and I’ll absolutely be in attendance for your gala in whatever capacity you need. You have our gratitude for the kindness you’ve shown our people in these troubled times.”

“I’m sure that would bring them great happiness, Your Majesty,” Cameron said with a smile, “but you should be aware that the Backwash isn’t the…safest or most affluent district in Rivern. It’s nothing increased patrols and new construction couldn’t remedy, but my recommendations fall on deaf ears in the Assembly. You would be excused if you didn’t make the journey down the falls and instead focused your relief efforts up here.”

“Nonsense,” Jessa said. “I’m the proxy for the queen regent, who’s holding my eventual title, and I won’t cower while my people suffer.”

“Well said, Your Majesty. And if I might say…” Cameron flushed just a bit around the cheeks. “No, I’ve taken too much of your time. We’ll have more opportunity to discuss the gala preparations.”

“Thank you for speaking with me. You have my leave,” Jessa said.

The sphere mage Aurius inclined himself slightly in imitation of a bow and also silently withdrew into the crowd.

Jessa sighed. The idea of her subjects stuffed into a warehouse haunted her. They were hardworking people who hadn’t asked for any of this. She knew Duke Rothburn was to blame, but still her feelings toward Satryn burned the most of her vitriol.
How could she not inform me? I doubt she made any effort to aid them or even cared at all. No wonder the people hate her so much.

“You look like you could use a drink.” Countess Muriel came upon her, frantic and agitated. The old woman shoved a flute of wine into Jessa’s hand and buzzed off to console another woman.

Muriel’s eyes were so wide that Jessa feared they might pop out of her head. The Assembly had temporary legalized a foul-tasting elixir called dragonfire that kept one awake for all hours of the day and night as a way of eliding the rash of harrowings. As far as Jessa could tell, half the nobles in attendance were high.

She smelled the glass, and while the fragrance was pleasing, she couldn’t stomach the thought of tasting it. Pictures of Torin gasping for breath in his fearful final moments rushed back to her. She delicately cast about for somewhere to put the glass down.

“I can take that.” A meaty hand reached for it and pulled it from her fingers. She watched a Patrean in a black leather jerkin with tattooed arms slug the contents of the glass. He carried a broadsword across his back. He let out a belch.

“Excuse me, but that’s very rude,” Jessa said, appraising the well-used condition of his leather jacket and scuffed boots. “And this is a private event, soldier.”

“Oh, how dreadfully contumelious of me,” he said, mockingly placing his hand to his collarbone. “I’m the Sword of Saint Jeffrey, last templar of the Order of Penitent Martyrs, and I’m here conducting the holy business of the Hierophant herself. And who may I ask are you?”

Jessa cocked her head. “I’m not sure I’ve ever had to introduce myself before.”

“Aw, fuck!” His face lit up. “You’re that storm princess everyone’s talking about, aren’t you? Yeah, you’re the one who took out Kiria with a bolt of thunder to the face.” He tossed the glass aside and clapped his hands together.

Miraculously the glass didn’t hit the ground but rather floated off. Jessa noticed a short bald man in white robes casting a peevish sideways glare.

She laughed nervously. People were definitely staring now, if they weren’t already before. “Kiria? Is that the name of my assassin?” She whispered, “Tell me what you know right now, or I swear you’ll meet her fate and worse.”

“I’m not here on any business of that sort, love.” He casually put his arm around her shoulder and flexed his bicep.

Jessa was speechless. Never would a Patrean so much as address her without permission, much less touch her. And was he…hitting on her?

He leaned in close to her ear. “Kiria was one of Cordovis’s people. A real nasty piece of work, that one. I once saw her dig out a man’s eye and turn it back on him so he could watch her cut up his face. Then she popped the fucker back in.”

Jessa shrugged the Fodder’s arm off her shoulder. She shook her head with disbelief. “You have to give this information to the authorities.”

He waved his hand. “Everyone knows that, love. I’m frankly a bit surprised they haven’t dismissed your mum’s charges during evidentiary proceedings. But law’s a funny business. While we’re chatting, you didn’t happen to see an old blind man about yay high in a moth-eaten robe, possibly carrying a shepherd’s crook, have you?”

“Um…no, I haven’t. Who is Cordovis? Why would he kill Torin?”

“I don’t know his business, but the short answer is money. Either someone paid him to do it, or there’s a payoff. Cordovis wouldn’t shit in a glove unless those fingers could grab a ducat, you get me?”

“I get the gist of it, yes. Do you know anything else about him?”

“Look,” he whispered, “I wouldn’t worry your pretty noble head about it. I used to be a Stormlord myself a while back, and he’s nothing you can’t handle.”

“I didn’t think Fodders were capable of…being so imaginative. Please excuse me.” Jessa turned and walked to the first person she could find, a portly bald man wearing five gold medallions.

“Lady Jessa,” he spoke with a soft, effeminate voice, “I’m so sorry for your loss. Torin was my favorite pupil. I’m Dean Archibald Turnbull, and yes, I’m required by Rivern law to tell you I bear the Veritas Seal. So you’ll accept my sincere apologies if, for the sake of your privacy, I don’t ask any questions about how you’re doing.” He offered a smile.