“Queen Naelin and Champion Ven won’t want a fuss,” Hanna said.
“Then we won’t tell them we’re making one,” Merecot said. “My people will love this!” And they’ll love me for it. “Are you against a bit of subterfuge in keeping plans from the besotted couple?” She expected Hanna to refuse, but instead Hanna nodded seriously.
“Indeed, I would recommend it. They don’t need to know the extent of the celebration until the day of.” Hanna quit rolling her chair and leaned back, folding her hands in her lap. “How soon can such an event be arranged, though? I believe they want to be wed before the transfer of spirits.”
“It can be done quickly.” Merecot then held up one hand and touched the minds of the spirits in the garden—a trio of tiny earth spirits playing with gravel, as well as a water spirit bathing in a fountain. She viewed the garden through their eyes, checking to be sure there were no stray gardeners or courtiers to overhear her and Hanna. Once she was certain, she said to Hanna, “We can use the wedding as a distraction. While the guests are consumed with merriment, Queen Naelin and I can visit the grove.”
“You don’t wish to make the transfer of spirits public?” Hanna asked. “You should at least alert your chancellors and your military.”
Merecot snorted. “Definitely not.” People would panic. Or have opinions. Either was inconvenient. She’d rather it be a done deal and then present their success to the adoring public, or else bury their failure as quickly as possible and shift the blame elsewhere.
“Won’t your people need to be prepared in the event of failure?” Hanna asked.
“Why? So they can run around in terror?” But it was a valid point. Merecot considered the matter, pacing beneath a stone sculpture of . . . Really? A sheep dressed as a courtier? The statue was an exquisite representation of a sheep standing on its hind feet with a chiffon puffed skirt and a surfeit of necklaces. Sometimes the garden sculptures made Merecot dream of more peaceful times, but sometimes they made her wonder about the priorities of her predecessors. Here I am, trying to save the world, and they were carving sheep ladies.
The statue, though, did remind her that so far, she hadn’t chosen an heir from the flock of hostile Semoian candidates. Because all of them are unworthy. None of them had been happy about an interloper from Aratay taking the crown, and so Merecot hadn’t liked any of them in return. If her failure were catastrophic, if she’d made a miscalculation and neither queen survived this attempt . . . Only she and Jastra knew how to reach the grove. And Jastra, as the former queen, would be one of the spirits’ first targets.
Merecot felt a pang of guilt. In her obsession with Aratay, had she failed one of her basic duties to Semo?
Glancing at Hanna, Merecot thought of a way to sidestep the issue. So long as Jastra and I aren’t the only ones who know how to reach the grove, I don’t have to choose a successor. If I die, it can be someone else’s problem. She smiled at the elderly ambassador. “You will accompany us when we leave the celebration. But you’d better prepare your guards to accept your absence—they aren’t invited to the after party.”
With that, Merecot pivoted and strode through the garden, fast enough that she was certain Hanna couldn’t follow her, not without assistance. She didn’t want to answer any questions. Besides, she had a wedding to plan.
Ambassador Hanna sat placidly in the center of her chambers as a courtier held up a necklace. “The Crown was given this necklace by the stonemason Herro, on behalf of the knights of Nimoc, in gratitude for the creation of their town. Queen Rakka carved their town within a mountain—it is said to have been the grandest collection of caves ever seen, until it collapsed in the Tragedy of Enneva Falls.” The necklace was an elaborate twist of gold, cradling sapphires and rubies.
“It’s beautiful,” Hanna said.
The courtier looked delighted at her assessment. “Wait until you see the Bracelet of Joy! It took three generations of jewelers to piece together, legend says, and the last jeweler was said to cry tears of blood as she finished, which is why the diamonds look as red as rubies.”
“That sounds lovely as well.”
As Hanna was dressed in even more jewels, the courtier told her a story for each, and seemed happier and happier with Hanna’s responses—Hanna had the sense she didn’t have an attentive audience often. When she finished, Hanna felt as if she were dressed in the history of Semo, which was nearly certainly the point. “You look beautiful!” the courtier gushed. Waving toward a servant, she had a mirror brought in front of Hanna.
I look elegant. Not at all like the strict headmistress of an elite academy. She looked as frivolous as any courtier. The gown was layers of blue and purple, falling over one another like petals of a just-bloomed flower. Her white hair had been twisted with so much gold that it sparkled like sunshine, and the jewels . . . It felt as if she were wearing the sky around her neck and on her arms. “Thank you.”
“You’re most welcome, Ambassador Hanna.” The lady dropped into a curtsy.
Guards opened the bedroom door to admit Champion Ven. He’d been dressed too, albeit with far fewer jewels. He still wore his green leather armor, but it had been cleaned and mended, and he wore a stiff shirt underneath it. He tugged at the collar as if it were strangling him. His beard had also been trimmed and neatened, and his hair was smoothed. Hanna repressed a smirk. “You look very handsome, Champion Ven.”
He snorted. “Let’s get this over with.”
She clucked her tongue. “That’s not the attitude for the groom on his wedding day.”
“They tried to tell me I couldn’t take my weapons.” He scowled at the nearest guard, as if it were his fault. The guard shrank back.
Hanna noted he still carried his sword. She supposed “tried” was the operative word. “Have you ever even been to a wedding?” she asked, torn between exasperated and amused.
“I thought we’d find a tree to stand under, say vows, and then kiss hard enough to embarrass everyone who’s watching.”
“You’re such a romantic.”
“She doesn’t want romance; she wants insurance.” He shook his head. “Forget I said that. Just nerves.” He moved behind her chair and pushed her forward. “I’m supposed to escort you.”
Hanna couldn’t help being amused as she looked back and up at him. This wedding was a stroke of diplomatic brilliance, but she knew that wasn’t why Naelin was doing it. “She loves you, you know.”
He tugged on his collar again. “I know that. Love her too. Hate this shirt.”
“Stop tugging on it. You’ll stretch it out.”
“That’s the idea.”
Flanked by guards in ceremonial armor, they processed through the castle. Queen Merecot had called on the spirits to decorate for the wedding in mere hours, and the results were spectacular: the castle looked like a cake, with ivory buntings instead of frosting and bouquets of jewels instead of fondant flowers. Hanna admired it, even as she thought it was all a bit ridiculous.