“I didn’t think so.” Gilbert’s gift was for visions in smoke, along with the uncanny ability to find things he sought, that manifested in a near-trance state and caused him to sway strangely back and forth. His sight gift did not extend to hearing the thoughts of others or sensing their emotions. Her gift did not extend to that either, and she was glad of it.
Forcing herself to ignore William, Elsabet leaned back to look up at the grandness of the castle. Or rather, the grandness that was to come. The great fortress of the Volroy had been under construction for a hundred years, and still the heights of the towers were not complete. For a hundred years, black stone had made its way across the island, over land and down river and around the sea to Bardon Harbor. A hundred years and countless changes of master builders and craftsmen and laborers. But under Elsabet, it would be finished. She knew it, because she had seen it. In the same vision that showed her she would best her sisters and become the Queen Crowned. She saw herself in a vision wandering the rooms of the completed West Tower, with a crown upon her head.
“There will be black spires atop them soon,” she said, and Bess followed her gaze upward. “Did you know, Bess, that it was the war queen, Aethiel, who began construction of the Volroy?”
“I know it,” Gilbert answered before Bess could reply. “Aethiel began it, and elemental Elo, the fire breather, continued it, and so did our last queen, the warrior Emmeline.”
“Of course you know that.” Elsabet shoved him playfully to knock the smugness out of his expression. “You are a historian. But make sure the commonfolk know it, too, will you? I think they are beginning to resent the expense.”
“Your reign is bound to be less expensive than those of the war queens,” Gilbert said, “with their constant raids and battles.”
At the mention of war, Rosamund spoke quickly, surprising them all that she had been bothering to listen. “The people understand war. They understand its costs. Its glory.” She shrugged. “And the spoils don’t hurt either.”
“Would you have me be a war queen, then, Rosamund?”
Rosamund turned her head and regarded the queen with steady green eyes. She smiled. “I would not have you be anything but what you are.”
“Good.” Elsabet smiled back, her gaze flitting past William, who was returning with his found musicians. “Because the time of the war queens is over. Now we shall have peace. The island has earned it.”
THE BLACK GREEN
In the summer months, it was not uncommon for the queen to hold court or entertain guests outdoors. She favored the garden known as the Black Green, a rectangular space bordered by hedges and a stone wall on the north, with soft, cropped green grass and few trees. Wide, gravel paths cut through from every corner and converged at a dark stone fountain. Inevitably, one of the foreigners would quip that the Black Green was not very black, and the queen would reply that they could not very well call it “the Green Green.” Everyone would laugh, and Francesca Arron would ball her hands into fists. Most people, even most of the Black Council, found the outdoor courts rather pleasant. But to Francesca Arron, it was yet another way that Elsabet bucked tradition.
Francesca stood apart from the others, watching as the queen entertained the ambassador from Valostra and his four companions. The queen having chosen a king-consort from the rival nation of Centra, there was not much for the Valostrans to do there. The bulk of Fennbirn’s trade and resources were reserved for the country of the king-consort. But the Valostrans had no shortage of coin and continued to send representatives regardless, in the hopes of maintaining good relations until the next Ascension began.
“Well done, Queen Elsabet!” The ambassador clapped when the queen’s ball struck the painted pole they had stuck into the ground. It was a game played with the feet, and to do it well, Elsabet had drawn her skirts up nearly to the knee.
“Careful,” Sonia Beaulin said as she approached to offer Francesca a bundle of poison berries. She held up a small dish of honey to dip them in. “Your scowl is beginning to show through your artfully constructed expression.”
“Humph.” Francesca stuffed a sweetened berry into her mouth. “Look at her. Just look at her. Playing their games with her dress hiked up to her head.”
“It’s nowhere near her head. And her legs are not bare. Nothing that could be considered inappropriate.”
“Not inappropriate here. But in their country? They will return to Valostra and say the queen is indecent. A harlot.”
“Then let them return,” Sonia said, her war gift bristling, “with their tongues cut out.”
“Once again, you miss the point. I care not for their opinion and have no respect for their ridiculous standards of conduct. But reports like that are what bring the soldiers to our shores. War, to root out our indecency and corruption. To save our souls.” Francesca spat a berry seed upon the ground. “There is nothing I hate more than an attack and slaughter meant to save us from ourselves.”
At the mention of battle, Sonia’s eyes glittered. “Surely Queen Elsabet’s sight gift would give us plenty of warning should that come to pass.”
“The sight gift is unreliable. And hers is waning.”
“How do you know?”
Francesca raised her eyes to Sonia’s. “I just do.”
A collective gasp rose as the queen, attempting to make another kick, tripped when her skirt came loose and fell to her knees. An embarrassment to be sure, but Elsabet only laughed. She brayed, really, her mouth too wide and her teeth too large. And the Valostrans were quick to help her to her feet, crowding around her in their garish striped tunics and feathered hats. It was a good thing she was a queen. Any other girl that plain they would have left in the dirt.
“Look,” Francesca said. “Even the king-consort knows she is allowing too many liberties.” William was smiling, but as the game went on, his smile became more and more doubtful. “He knows they will talk.”
“Well, what are we to do?” asked Sonia. “We are her advisers, but she takes very little advice. Catherine says to let her settle into the crown more. Then she’ll stop striving always to do things her own way. Then she’ll tire of trying to make her mark.”
“Catherine Howe has been smitten with the queen since before the crowning. Just like your rival.” She nodded toward the Commander of Queensguard, standing ever at the ready, monitoring her soldiers placed at each entrance.
Pleasure bloomed in Francesca’s chest as Sonia bared her teeth. Such a strong hatred. Francesca liked strong emotions. Strong emotions she could use.
THE QUEEN’S CHAMBER
Queen Elsabet stared into her crystal mirror. After a long day of entertaining the Valostrans, she found herself alone again, with only Bess, her favorite maid, who made the queen ready for bed. Alone, the queen’s mood often became depressed, and the reflection staring back from the mirror did nothing to raise her spirits. Bess had already removed Elsabet’s carefully applied makeup, and the face the queen saw was clean, unadorned.
She straightened her back and took a breath. Handsome, they called her. She was a queen of presence, they said. She hoped it was true. With such a homely face, it was all she could aspire to.
“Do you think pretty queens have an easier time of it?” Elsabet asked as Bess brushed out the queen’s long, black hair. “Or must we all prance about like prized horses to impress?”
“Easier. Who wants easier? The Elsabet I know chases challenges. She relishes them.”
Elsabet sighed. So she did. When she had her first vision of the Ascension and in it saw that her youngest sister would kill their eldest sister for her, she was slightly disappointed. One less task between her and the crown. She felt like she should have done it all.
“Sweet Bess.” Elsabet reached back and touched the girl’s hand. She and Bess were practically the same age, but beautiful girls always seemed infinitely younger, and Bess was one of the most beautiful girls on the island, all red-gold curls and deep pink lips. “Will you stay on with me here even after you wed?”
“I am in no hurry to wed, my queen.”