As soon as my carriage stopped in front of the Fort, I leaped out and marched through the front gates. I had to find my father. I had to speak to him.
I didn’t have to search for long. He was waiting for me in the corridor. “Freya!” he said. “What happened?”
“I need to speak to you. Right now.”
“About the tomatoes? Freya, what—”
“Right now.” I strode over to a side room and yanked open the door. I was almost shaking with anger. I was failing, and my father was letting that happen. He was treasurer, wasn’t he? And he hadn’t told me. He hadn’t told me.
“What’s the funeral fee?” I said, leaving the door to hang ajar behind us.
My father frowned, like he still couldn’t understand what this was about. “It’s a fee, Freya. To pay for the funerals.”
“I never agreed to a funeral fee.”
“We needed to fund the funerals somehow. Freya, why are you asking me about this?”
“A woman grabbed me in the street.” My voice was shaking. My whole body was shaking. “She said she couldn’t afford to pay the funeral fee, so her husband was arrested.”
My father nodded. “We have to be fair to everyone, Freya. Everyone must contribute. There must be consequences if they refuse.”
“They’re not refusing if they can’t afford to pay! Are you actually saying that you’re arresting people for being unable to help fund a funeral where we burned silks and threw hundreds of jewels into the river?”
“May I remind you, Freya,” my father said, his voice sharp now, “that you are the one who wanted us to involve all of the dead in the funeral? That was not cheap. If all the city’s dead were included, all the city must pay for it.”
“But it wasn’t all the city! These were nobles who died because they ate a cake that was literally made of gold. And then we say we can’t afford their funerals, so people in the city have to go hungry to pay for it?”
My father rested a hand on my shoulder. He looked annoyed now, as though I were the one being unreasonable. “Freya, calm down. You don’t know what you are talking about.”
“If I don’t, it’s because you kept this a secret from me. I am the queen. Me. You are not to impose any more fees—any more laws—without my explicit agreement. Do you understand?”
“Freya—”
“Do you understand?” My anger was spilling out, washing all shyness away. My father had betrayed me in this. He’d done an awful thing, and claimed it was in my name, and I couldn’t let it happen again, not ever.
“I am your father, Freya.”
“And I am the queen. Either you agree that all my laws will pass by me, or I will find a new treasurer.”
My father stared at me.
“This woman was taken by the guards. I want her and her husband freed. And the fee will be returned to every commoner who paid it.”
“Freya—”
“All of them.”
My father’s eyes glinted with fury. “We will discuss it at the next council meeting, Your Majesty.”
“Yes, we will discuss the progress you’ve made tomorrow. And bring me a copy of Gustav’s book then, too. I need it.” I wouldn’t let my councillors keep me ignorant any longer.
I spun back to the door, and jumped. Madeleine Wolff stood there, hand raised ready to knock. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Your Majesty,” she said, “but they’re waiting for you in the hall, and I heard you needed to change. I came to help, but if it is a bad time—”
“No,” I said. I took a deep breath, forcing the anger down, away. “No, we’re finished here. Thank you.”
Madeleine followed me up to my rooms in silence. When we reached my bedchamber, she stepped back, looking over my dress. “This will have to go,” she said. “But if we dab at your hair, and rearrange it slightly, I think we can get away without washing it. Otherwise you’ll be hours before dinner.”
She searched through my wardrobe for something else I could wear. The choice couldn’t have been particularly inspiring for a girl like her. A few of my old dresses, a few of the queen’s dresses that we didn’t know what to do with, and the four or five new dresses that had already been completed by the sleep-deprived seamstresses. “I was going to ask you if you wanted blue or yellow, but it seems we won’t have that choice.” She leaned back, head tilted in thought. “Red,” she said finally. “Like sunrise. You’ll blend in with all the yellow, but still stand out. And this neckline will look perfect on you if we add a single chain.”
She pulled the dress out of the wardrobe and nearly stumbled over Dagny. The cat had appeared out of nowhere, and was now sniffing around her feet. “Oh,” Madeleine said. “Hello, beautiful.”
“That’s Dagny,” I said.
“Dagny,” she murmured, bending down to stroke her. She was slightly tentative, as though unsure what Dagny would do. Probably a normal reaction for someone not used to cats, but a strange one to see from the ever-poised Madeleine Wolff. Dagny arched her back and twisted her head, demanding more attention, and Madeleine smiled. “Oh, aren’t you wonderful!”
“Why are you helping me?” I asked. “I mean—is Naomi all right?”
“Naomi is still by the river.” Madeleine stood. “Her brother died at the banquet, didn’t he? This morning must have been difficult for her. I thought I could help, in her place.”
“You noticed she didn’t come back?”
“I notice a lot of things. And, I admit, I’ve been wanting the chance to talk to you again. Maybe even talk about fashion?” She draped the red dress on the back of a chair and moved to stand behind me. “You have a different kind of beauty from Queen Martha, I think. I’d love to see what we could do with it.” She began to unfasten the back of my dress while I frowned. What could I even say to that? It was obviously flattery—“different kind of beauty” was code for “not pretty,” I knew—but even so . . .
“Why did you warn me about your cousin? At the banquet last night.”
Madeleine walked over to the side table, where a bowl of water still waited from this morning. She dipped a sponge in. “I thought you needed to know. I don’t have anything to tell you specifically, but . . . I am wary of him. He’s been so angry since the king died. Not entirely like himself. He is looking for enemies in every shadow, and since you are now the queen . . . he has been assessing you. But not accurately, or I don’t believe so. I don’t think he will do anything foolish, but I thought you should know. So that you can be wary, too.”
“So that I can appease him, you mean?” How could I appease someone who suspected me of mass murder?
“No. I think, were he in his usual mind, he would appreciate you. But he is not in his usual mind. Just . . . be patient with him. He is an intelligent ally, once he is willing to listen. I hope he can see you, as I have.”