“Of course,” Merecot said. To one of the guards, she said, “Fetch the children. We will be conducting our discussion in my audience chamber.”
Hanna swallowed back myriad other questions—were the children well, how soon could they be returned, and what had Merecot been thinking by doing something so idiotic. Instead, she schooled her expression into polite interest and, pushed by her guards, followed Queen Merecot of Semo into the castle.
Daleina has a vicious sense of humor, Merecot thought. That’s a surprise. She plastered a welcoming smile on her face—which felt as fake as the smile on a mask—as she ushered Headmistress Hanna into the castle.
Ambassador Hanna, she corrected herself.
Honestly, she didn’t think Daleina could have picked anyone who would have irritated Merecot more, or set her more on edge. She felt the flesh between her shoulder blades itch as if it were being prodded by the tip of a knife, but it was only the ambassador’s gaze. Full of disapproval, undoubtedly. Merecot half expected to be confronted by a stack of exams and report cards and then lectured about all her academic failings.
I would have passed if I’d tried, she thought. She simply hadn’t deemed it worth her time to bother. Clever of Daleina not to tell me whom she was sending. The missive had stated only that an ambassador would be arriving within the week. So when the headmistress of her old academy had been lifted out of the chariot, looking about one hundred and fifty years old with her startlingly white hair and thousand wrinkles, Merecot was . . . surprised. Even shocked. Perhaps displeased. Pissed off, Merecot thought.
And guilty.
It was hard not to feel that as she walked alongside the headmistress’s wheeled contraption. She didn’t let it show, of course—she was determined to be the perfect hostess and the consummate queen—but it needled her nevertheless as she regally escorted her guests through the jewel-encrusted mirrored halls to the audience chamber, a beautifully ornate room filled with red velvet couches, black basalt statues, and crystal chandeliers. She instructed her servants to bring an assortment of their finest wines and Semoian delicacies, and then she called for several musicians to play a few of the less grating mountain tunes.
“The children will arrive soon,” she told her guest. “Until they do, I’d be honored if you’d agree to begin our discussion. I know you’ve had a long journey, but the situation in Semo is urgent. If you could delay your rest until after I’ve presented the problem to you, I would appreciate it.” See, I can be as delightful and gracious as Daleina.
Hanna gave her a narrow, condescending look—the same one Merecot had seen so many times at the academy. “You aren’t happy to see me.”
Merecot kept her smile. “Of course I am thrilled and honored. I asked for an ambassador, and the queens of Aratay sent one of their favorite pets.”
Ambassador Hanna’s eyebrows shot up, and Merecot again felt fifteen years old, standing in the headmistress’s office after the entrance exam and listening while this woman berated her for her so-called-selfish ambition and questioned her commitment.
“Poor word choice?” Merecot offered.
Two servants wheeled a tray of pastries, including a cake with steam rising from its center, as well as crystal glasses, each with a different wine in shades from pearl to blood-red. They parked it in front of the headmistress’s chair. Hanna selected one of the smaller pastries, stuffed with lamb and herbs, but didn’t eat it. “I’m sure it was exactly the word you wanted to use. But to be clear: I volunteered for this. If we are being honest with each other, I thought diplomacy would be best served by an ambassador who could see you as the child you once were, rather than the murderer you’ve become. How’s that for word choice?”
Around them, the servants and guards, despite their training, let out shocked gasps. Merecot folded her hands and tried to decide if she was offended or impressed. “Beautifully phrased.”
“It’s a gift,” Hanna said modestly.
It’s something.
But if Hanna was willing to be that blunt . . . then perhaps this wouldn’t be a disaster after all. Merecot narrowed her eyes as she studied her old headmistress. Perhaps Daleina hadn’t sent her as an insult. Hanna had ruled the Northeast Academy for twice as many years as Merecot had been alive. She’d seen queens rise and fall, survived events that should have killed her off many times over. Perhaps, just perhaps, there was still a chance this would work. . . .
“Leave us,” Merecot barked at the servants and guards.
Of course, Hanna’s guards didn’t leave, and Merecot’s own guards objected to leaving their queen alone with a foreign national and her soldiers, but Merecot overruled them.
Hanna placed her uneaten pastry on a plate and crossed her hands, waiting politely.
Silence fell over the audience chamber. Merecot felt the twisted metal crown scratch against her scalp and was aware she’d picked a gown of too-heavy material. She was sweating beneath it and hoped that wasn’t noticeable. “Come with me,” Merecot said. “Alone. You must see if you are to understand. We won’t be gone long, and the children will be here by the time we return, so no time will be wasted.”
She saw Hanna hesitate and shoot looks at her guards. Her guards would not like this, but Merecot did not care. It was essential for the ambassador to see what she faced, and that couldn’t happen in the ornate safety of the castle.
This better work, Merecot thought, or I’ll be humiliating myself for nothing. In order to prove that all she claimed was true, she’d have to show weakness to her former headmistress. She has to see that Semo can’t continue like this, that I can’t continue.
“You ask too much—”
“You know I have killed before for what I want, so trust me when I say I would kill to protect you,” Merecot said. “Not because I like you. But because I need you.”
Strangely, it was Merecot’s blunt admission of guilt that made Hanna want to trust her. At least, within reason. Addressing her guards, Hanna ordered, “Test the food for poisons. I’d like to eat when I return.”
“There’s no poison in the food,” Merecot said dismissively.
“Of course there isn’t,” Hanna said with a smile. “Merely a precaution. You’ll have to pardon an old lady for her paranoia. After all, it’s not as if you’ve poisoned anyone before.” Before Hanna had left Mittriel, the Queen’s Poisoner had given her and her guards packets of powders to use to test for poisons—they couldn’t identify all poisons, but Merecot wouldn’t know that. They could at least weed out any obvious ones and hopefully serve as a deterrent for any more imaginative concoctions.
“Aren’t ambassadors supposed to be more diplomatic?” Merecot asked.
“How would you know? As I recall, you cheated on those exams.” For a brief moment, Hanna wondered if she was taking the wrong tack, baiting a queen. Ultimately, though, she found it wasn’t as important as not conceding anything at this point. It’s crucial for Merecot to know she doesn’t frighten me, even with her crown and all her queenly power. Especially since I have something she needs: Daleina’s trust.
“You came here determined to see the worst in me,” Merecot said. “I hope you’ll feel differently after our venture.”
Behind her, Hanna heard her guards mutter to one another. Stepping forward, into Hanna’s line of sight, Evenna spoke for all of them. “Madam Ambassador, I must object. It’s our duty to accompany you.” She was glaring at Merecot as if she did see the worst in her and had no intention of stopping. Her fingertips were drumming on her sword hilt, and she looked as tense as a jackrabbit. If I said “attack,” she’d be mid-leap before I finished the word.
“Peace can only thrive in an atmosphere of trust, which is what we are trying to build here.” Hanna leveled her most stern, no-nonsense headmistress look at Merecot. “Am I correct in assuming your motives are honorable?”