“They are divine, Your Majesty. They are not constrained by the laws of this world, as we are. Yes, they are gone physically, but their influence remains.”
“I thought they chose to leave. Why would they keep influencing things here if they wanted to be gone?”
“They left because we failed them. We did not deserve their presence. But they want us to be worthy. We have been climbing toward worthiness for hundreds of years, away from ambition, away from war, from all the brutal darkness of our past. But we were still extravagant, selfish, and wasteful, and they cannot abide that. So perhaps . . . perhaps, Your Majesty, they chose you as a different type of queen. One they could support. One who could make Epria into a land they could return to again.”
If the Forgotten were really all-seeing divine beings, they would have chosen someone better than me. Even Holt had to see that. Did he really believe all he was saying, or was it a comforting lie he was telling himself, to reason away so many deaths? To make my cluelessness seem like a gift and not the result of a senseless tragedy?
If he believed it . . . it probably meant I could trust him. And if he didn’t . . .
“I hope you’re right,” I said. “I hope this all goes somewhere good.”
“It will, Your Majesty. As long as you remember that the Forgotten chose you. You, not King Jorgen, not his brother, not even the delightful Madeleine Wolff. They value your strengths. And so should you.”
My strengths had nothing to do with being queen. But I nodded. He had faith in me, at least. That was more than most people had. It was more than I could honestly say for myself.
“Then . . .” I let out a breath, steeling myself. “I need you to help me. Please. I need a list of everyone at the banquet, everyone who died, everyone who survived. I should know all I can about the remaining court. Shouldn’t I?”
He nodded. “Of course, Your Majesty. Your concern does you credit. I will see that it is done.”
“And then could you get me a copy of Gustav’s book? My strength is with research, and if I can understand—”
He held up a hand. “That, Your Majesty, I cannot do. I certainly do not have a copy, and I do not believe it would help. These people now calling themselves Gustavites . . . their beliefs are a corruption of a corruption, far detached from the man’s original views. They use the memory of his words to serve their own ends, and hope people will not see the flaws in their logic. Here, let me see . . .” He pulled one of his desk drawers open and shuffled through the contents. “Yes.” He pulled out a weather-battered pamphlet and handed it to me. I took one glance at it, and my fingers tightened around the paper, bile rising to the back of my throat. It was cheaply printed, the lines thick and blurry, but the imagery was unmistakable. The king lay on the ground, gold piled around him, a spilled goblet rolling from his hand. The queen lay next to him, with a line across her throat that must have been blood. And I stood on top of them, pressing them into the ground, dripping with jewels, sipping from a goblet of my own.
“Kill the Corruption,” it said at the top. Below the picture, more words had been hastily printed, calling the court and my rule an affront to the Forgotten, rallying against the wickedness it claimed we spread through the kingdom.
“Where did you get this?”
“They’ve been scattered around the city. We don’t know who actually distributed them. But you see, Freya. Their views aren’t based on reason. They aren’t based on anything.”
“These are all over the city?”
“Some parts of it, yes. We have destroyed any we’ve found. And we are increasing security, of course, adding more patrols and searching the printing presses. We will stop them.”
But sending guards after these people wouldn’t stop what they believed. They hated me. Hated all of us. Even if we found their presses, found them, their ideas would hold. I tightened my grip on the paper, bending it.
“Don’t worry, Your Majesty,” Holt said. “We will find them.”
We spent another hour going over etiquette and rules, but Holt’s enthusiasm waned as he discussed every showy ritual, like he did not really believe in it. Eventually, he called the session complete, and I stood.
“Thank you,” I said. “For all your help.” He nodded, and I began to walk toward the door.
“Your Majesty, if I may offer you another piece of advice?” He sounded tentative. I paused, turned back. “Be wary of William Fitzroy.”
“Fitzroy? I’ve barely ever spoken to him.” The last words we’d exchanged had been outside the banquet hall on the day of my coronation. He was hardly eager to befriend me.
“Perhaps not,” Holt said. “But it would be wise to keep it that way. Fitzroy has always been popular, and he is a dangerous element here.”
“You think he’s dangerous?”
“He is the old king’s son. Closer to him in blood than you, regardless of the law. If he decides that he wishes to take the throne, he could be quite a powerful enemy.”
I remembered Fitzroy’s words that night at the funeral and shivered. You don’t belong here. But he had seemed to be grieving, even in his aggression. They hadn’t been the words of a murderer.
“Thank you,” I said softly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
ELEVEN
THE SOUND OF NAOMI’S SINGING ECHOED THROUGH my chambers. Her voice was softer than usual, sadder, but determined. Some people sang when they were happy, but Naomi sang when she didn’t want to think, letting the lyrics block any words of her own. I peeked through her bedroom doorway to find her hanging dresses in the wardrobe, hair tucked behind her ears. There were three open trunks in the middle of the room—her other possessions must finally have arrived from her house in the city.
“Hi, Naomi,” I said, as I slipped through the door.
She smiled. “Hello, Your Majesty.”
“That had better be a joke,” I said, as I walked to the nearest trunk. “Because if you start calling me that seriously, I’m going to have to reconsider our friendship.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Your Majesty. I didn’t know I wasn’t allowed to address you properly.”
“I’m not above killing you, if necessary. I get enough of that from everyone else.”
Naomi paused, smile frozen on her face, and I suddenly realized what I’d said. “I mean—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s all right,” she said, but her voice was fainter than before. “I know what you meant.”
I opened my mouth to reply, but I had no idea what to say. I was saved by a rather demanding meow from the doorway. Dagny strutted in, her tail held high. She spared a second to rub against my legs, before hopping into Naomi’s open trunk of dresses.
“Dagny!” I hurried to sweep her up. “She’s so rude.”
“As long as she’s comfy in there,” Naomi said.