“Ignore it,” said Bess. “Pretend you don’t see. Or don’t care.”
But it was too late for that. Already the whispers spread outward, until nearly every pair of eyes in the courtyard was darting between the king-consort and the queen. And what would they see? A weak queen who accepts her husband’s infidelity, right under her nose?
Elsabet stood up suddenly. So suddenly that the girls in William’s arms shuddered and tried to get away. But they were not her targets. The queen waited as the festival grew quiet. The musicians halted and servers froze half-leaned across banquet tables.
“William. My king-consort.” She stopped. Waited for him to bow, as he should. As he must. “I tire of these festivities. Will you come now and preside over Midsummer, as is your sacred duty?”
“I will,” he said, and began to make his way up to her. But when he leaned close for a kiss, she brushed him aside and stalked through the already muttering crowd. When she came face-to-face with the girls William had abandoned, she lost control of her temper and roared for them to get out of her way, unable to stand one more moment of their quivering, remorseful lips.
“Queen Elsabet,” said Rosamund. “Where may we escort you?”
Elsabet grasped her arm. Already the anger and jealousy were leaving her, and without them, she could not quite remember where she had meant to go.
And then she spotted him. Alone with a piece of bread in his forever paint-stained fingers, in the same clothes he had worn when she sat for her portrait. “There,” she said, and went to him at once.
“Jonathan Denton,” she said when he bowed. “Will you come with me to my chamber? I would have your update on the progress of my Midsummer portrait.”
“I should not have done that.”
Elsabet paced across the floor of her chamber. Her private chamber, where she and Jonathan were very alone.
“Did you see their eyes? Hear their whispers? They fear me. They think me volatile.”
“They revere you. Fear and reverence can appear much the same.”
Elsabet shook her head and did not pause her long, upset strides. “You are good to say that. But this is not the first time they have seen me lash out at that—that—!” She growled and threw up her hands. “And I shouted at those girls. As if it was their fault.
“And now, what will they say of you, Jonathan? Here, alone in the queen’s chamber?”
He raised his eyebrows. “Let them say what they like. I am happy to be of whatever use to my queen as I can.”
“No. I shouldn’t have put you in this position. I will make sure they know. That we were here discussing the portrait and nothing more!” She gestured vaguely toward his body. “I am not the kind of queen who takes revenge for infidelity by compelling some poor young man to . . . to . . .”
He chuckled. “It is all right, my queen.”
She sighed and walked to her dressing table for a goblet of Gilbert’s tonic, left over from that morning. The sight of William with his hands all over someone else had given her a headache.
“Is the wine no good?” Jonathan asked when she grimaced at the tonic’s bitterness.
“It is not wine at all but a healing draught. I am well,” she said before he could inquire, “but I sometimes get headaches.”
Jonathan stepped toward her, sniffing the air. “May I?” he asked, and held out his hand. “I am a poisoner, as you know, and have a natural curiosity about the healing arts.”
“Oh! Of course.”
He stuck his nose in the cup and inhaled deeply, then took a sip, swirling before swallowing. He was silent for a long moment, staring into the last of the liquid. Then he frowned. “Where did you say you got this?”
“My foster brother, Gilbert Lermont. He has brought it to me for months. Why? Do you detect some interesting ingredient?”
“No.”
“Or, with your interest in healing, would you recommend a different treatment?”
Jonathan looked at her. His eyes were troubled. “I would recommend that you stop taking this,” he said.
Elsabet snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. Gilbert assures me—”
“At least let me take a sample.”
He seemed so insistent, and she saw no harm, so she nodded. “Take whatever is left. I suppose, as a poisoner, you would know better than I.”
“But with your gift of sight, surely you would know everything.”
Her eyes widened, and so did his smile. “If only that were how it worked. Alas, I cannot even see whose bed my king-consort is falling into at night.”
“He is a fool.”
Elsabet cocked her head, and Jonathan lowered his eyes.
“Begging your pardon. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“What’s said is said. Is that what all the people say? Do they think him a fool? Or me the fool for being wooed by his pretty face?”
“I’m afraid I don’t hear much court gossip, with my nose inches from a canvas. The painting is coming along splendidly, by the way. I hope to be able to present it to you within a matter of weeks.”
“Perhaps you could show me its progress.”
“I would like that.” His eyes took on a curious slant. “So you really don’t hear all the gossip, then? I had heard that some oracles were able to hear the thoughts of others.”
“Some can. The sight gift is varied and not well understood. We are so rare. Even with me on the throne, the sight-gifted will never be as prolific as the naturalists or the elementals. What good would we be? The Goddess knows how best to balance her gifts.” She motioned for him to take a seat and joined him, pouring some watered wine for them both to get the taste of Gilbert’s tonic out of their mouths. “Sometimes the sight gift comes as nothing more than seeing cold spots. Violence and places of bloodshed.”
“I know of that. I have read of it. ‘Death leaves an impression as a cold stain upon the ground.’” His brow furrowed. “Is it like that for you?”
“Not only that, but yes. I can tell you the near-precise location where every queen before me died, for what feels like four generations. The places where my sisters died may as well be splashed with blood.” She looked out her window. “How is your history? Do you know of Queen Elo, the fire breather, who burned a fleet of Selkan ships in Bardon Harbor?”
“I do. They say she put an end to foreign invasion, and in impressive fashion.”
Elsabet smiled. Invasions would come again as new kings sought to leave their marks through conquest. But she had seen none coming during her time.
“I can hardly bear to look out into the harbor some days, depending on the wind,” she said softly. “The churning ghosts are still so thick.”
Jonathan swallowed and followed her gaze as if he might catch a glimpse of them himself.
“I don’t tell that to many people,” Elsabet said. “Bess knows. And sometimes I think Rosamund and Sonia—the war-gifted—can sense it. But I have never told them outright.”
“Why not?” he asked, but then shook his head. “Forgive me. That was a foolish question. Seeing ghosts and scenting graves are shunned even in a fortune-teller. Of course they would be shunned in a queen.”
“A queen is expected to yield grand prophecies. Not grow faint passing unmarked graveyards.”
“Well. I find it a useful skill and would welcome you as a fellow traveler along unfamiliar roads.”
He raised his cup to her, and Elsabet laughed.
“Every time we meet, I mean to find out more about you and instead give away more of myself. Do you inspire such candid conversation in everyone you meet, Jonathan Denton?”
“I’m sorry, my queen.”
“Do not be sorry. Just do not become my enemy.”
THE VOLROY
Queen Elsabet and Bess walked along the rows of roses on the west side of the Volroy. To anyone watching, it would have looked like an idle errand: the queen accompanying her friend as she pruned. But those who knew her best knew that Bess was often the queen’s eyes and ears, when she could not be seen to be looking or listening herself.