Just in time to hear Margaretta exclaim, “But how is this possible?”
Sophie’s view was blocked by the crowd of people. She stepped forward, wriggling her way into place between Honoria and Aria, who both gave her annoyed looks but moved apart so she could see. The queen-to-be wasn’t in bed. She was, instead, sitting in a chair, having her hair dressed. Fully clothed. No bandages. No bruising on her face. Margaretta’s face wasn’t the only one showing astonishment.
Eloisa smiled and extended her hand to her sister.
Margaretta clasped it and dropped a kiss on it. “You’re well again. But how?”
The queen-to-be’s gaze skimmed over the assembled ladies, lingering for a moment on Sophie before moving on. “We owe thanks to the skills of Domina Skey, who has worked a miracle for me. For Anglion. So that we can answer this insult done to our country and avenge our beloved father.”
There was clear, cold anger in the words. Sophie was familiar with Eloisa’s temper, but she didn’t think she’d seen her this way before. Not even after the worst of the clashes with her father after she had first returned to court following her husband’s death.
Well, she had a right to her anger. Her father had been killed. Her palace was half in ruins. Anger might serve her well. And, as wary as she was of the Domina, Sophie was perfectly happy for the credit for Eloisa’s recovery to be laid at the Domina’s feet rather than her own. Half the ladies would suspect that Sophie had been involved. They knew that she had been alone with Eloisa and the Domina. However, if the queen-to-be publicly proclaimed it was the Domina’s achievement, then it seemed unlikely any would contradict her.
There might be whispers and rumors. This was, after all, a court, and courts, in Sophie’s limited experience of them, ran on intrigue and gossip and the trading of information. But they would remain whispers and rumors unless Sophie did something foolish and exposed her secret. She had no intention of doing so. All she wanted was to be safely married to Cameron and out of the queen-to-be’s sights.
Margaretta’s eyes, brown rather than the brilliant green of her sister’s, had filled with tears at the mention of King Stefan. She smiled down at Eloisa, though. “Are you sure you are well?”
“Yes. There’s no need to worry,” Eloisa said. “No time to worry, in fact. We have much to do. And most of it requires an audience hall. I am told the Salt Hall is unusable?”
This brought nods of affirmation from everyone assembled. King Stefan’s grand hall—which he had refurbished lavishly during his reign until it was a testament to the art of woodcarvers and tilers and the metalsmiths who worked with inlay and half the other artisans of the capital—was in ruins.
Eloisa frowned. “Then we need an alternative.” She looked at Naiomi. “I need to speak to the commander. He should have an accounting of how many people remain at court. That will tell us how many we need to accommodate.”
Sophie hadn’t heard any final casualty numbers. She made a note to ask Cameron when she got the chance. If she didn’t find out today.
“There’s always the ballroom, milady,” ventured Naiomi. “That would do.”
Eloisa looked thoughtful. “The ballroom will be required for other things.”
Naiomi shrugged one of her elegant shoulders. “I’m sure the servants can handle any necessary changes to make it fit whatever purposes you desire, Your Highness.”
That would be true if there were still a full complement of servants in the palace. But Sophie wondered if Naiomi was overestimating what could be achieved with everything in its current disarray. There were plenty of servants amongst the dead and injured as well.
But if that were true, it didn’t seem to be a concern to Eloisa, who smiled at Naiomi. “I will consider it,” she said. “Meanwhile, I need a list of other options. Perhaps Master Egan can attend me as well. With whoever is assisting him in assessing the damage.” The queen-to-be paused a moment as the maid slid a long pin tipped with pearls into the coil of braids she’d fashioned at the back of Eloisa’s head.
Master Egan was one of the senior Illusioners. He, along with others, tended the wards and the glamours that manipulated the interiors as needed. He always reminded Sophie of Captain Turner. Kind but determined. And unfailingly thorough. Not at all the typical image of a gadfly Illusioner. If he had been put in charge of the repairs of the palace, then things would be done properly.
“Yes, Your Highness,” Naiomi said.
The queen-to-be nodded. “Good. Send word to all the members of my father’s council. I will meet with them later today. We will hold the late king’s funeral on first day, I will hold audience on third day, and the coronation will be sixth day.”
There was a round of hastily stifled gasps at this last pronouncement. No doubt all the ladies were thinking of how much work it was going to be to procure a suitable dress for Eloisa in less than one week. Not to mention outfits for the rest of her retinue.
“And last,” Eloisa continued, “we will then turn our attention to Lady Sophia. Whose Ais-Seann celebrations were so rudely interrupted. We need to do something special to mark the arrival of our latest royal witch.”
Sophie held her breath, wondering if Eloisa were going to say anything more. Like announce her betrothal. Instead, she nodded at the maid to dismiss her and then stood, which sent the ladies all fluttering toward the ground in a wave of curtsies.
Maybe she didn’t trust the ladies-in-waiting not to spread the word before the first audience was held. That was where such announcements would usually be made.