“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.
“You need better spies than me,” Bess said quietly. “It is too well known I am of your household. No one speaks when I’m nearby.”
“But who else could I trust? Only you and Rosamund.” Perhaps Jonathan Denton, one day. But she did not say so out loud.
“Catherine Howe is loyal. And I am sure her household has very good spies.” Bess clipped a rose and teased the petals back and forth beneath Elsabet’s nose. “There was one rumor that was too loud to be hidden.”
“What?”
“That Jonathan Denton is the queen’s new lover.”
Elsabet laughed. “New? As if there have been others.” She had known that was what people would think. What she did not foresee was how much the idea would please her. “Poor Jonathan. He will have no peace.”
“Poor Jonathan?” Bess smiled. “Is he coming back to the Volroy soon?”
“I think so.” She prodded Bess in the hip when she laughed. “To show me my painting.”
They walked together around the castle, and two servants stepped up and bowed.
“What’s this?” she asked, and they held out a long, formal cape, soft and shining black. Threads of silver had been sewn into the collar.
“A gift for you, from the king-consort,” one of the boys said.
Bess ran her fingers along the collar, thumb rubbing the silver. “It is very fine.”
“He sends me gifts instead of returning to my bed. He sends me gifts with one hand while the other is inside some other woman’s bodice.” Her anger returned quickly. Her words took shape inside her head until she could see them, hear them, and she clenched her fists together and tore the cape along the seam.
“Take it! Get it away from me!”
The servants bowed their heads and ran, mumbling apologies.
“Elsabet.” Bess put her hand on the queen’s arm.