She smirked. “You’re the worst best friend.”
“I know. Just make sure James moves quickly on this. Whatever Patrick has planned, it will be big. The bridge was just a warning. The real event will happen tomorrow.”
As tempting as it was to postpone the coronation and deal with the Red Militia first, that would send an undesirable message to the rest of my enemies, Prince Colin included.
“What can I do for you?” James asked when he arrived at our summons. His eyes cut to the notebooks on my desk, lifeless now.
“Do you have any proof?” he asked, after Melanie caught him up.
Melanie crossed her arms. “Isn’t the queen’s word enough?”
“No, James is right.” I leaned back in my chair. “I won’t be the sort of queen who makes arrests based on suspicion and fear. But I want her watched. I want to know where she goes, who she speaks with, and every detail about her history with the Red Militia.”
“Do you want her replaced?” Melanie asked. “If she’s a traitor and spy, you can do better for a maid.”
“She is a good maid. Aside from possibly being a traitor and spy. She keeps my rooms immaculate.” I did wonder if the frightened-maid act had been just that—an act. Or maybe she’d been afraid of being caught. “No, leave her until we know more. If she’s working with other staff around the castle, I don’t want to hire another spy.”
“We must act quickly, though,” Melanie said. “The anniversary and your coronation are tomorrow.”
“As if I could forget.” I stood and straightened my dress, breathing through the reminder of friends not here, and the king whose death meant I would be crowned queen. “There’s another thing I need to do. I’m going to invite Chrysalis to the coronation.”
Both their eyes went round. “Are you sure that’s wise?” James asked.
After the memorial, when he’d collapsed the cathedral.
After the wedding, when he’d killed Meredith.
“No, I’m not sure. But he’s had moments of usefulness. At the bridge, during the first Red Militia riot, and he’s been quiet since. I’ve kept him in his room, and he’s done nothing but obey. He isn’t safe. He isn’t to be trusted. But I can’t keep him caged forever. He needs to be given some movement, and this will allow that.”
James muttered he was going to triple security. As if tomorrow wasn’t going to be stressful enough.
After they were gone, I headed for the wraith boy’s room, a pair of silent guards trailing after me. They waited in the hall with the guards assigned to the storage room.
“I’m pleased you’ve come to see me.” Chrysalis grinned as I drifted toward his sleeping pallet where piles of folded clothes waited.
“I need you to pick something nice to wear tomorrow.”
His smile dropped. “I like this.” He pinched a corner of his tattered, dirty blue jacket between his fingers, and held it up as though for me to see. “Can’t I just wear this?”
I lifted an eyebrow. “Do you really not know?”
“Know about what?” He rubbed the dirty jacket between his fingers, still pouting.
I picked through the clothes for something both clean and acceptable, and pulled out a jacket and breeches, both white. “When you first transformed, you were completely white. Maybe these, to remind everyone how far you’ve come since then.”
He shook his head, staring at the clothes in a forlorn way. “I’m definitely going to get those dirty.”
“That would be very embarrassing for me.” I dug out a pair of white stockings to match.
“Why? No one cares what I wear, or if I get it dirty.”
“Not tomorrow.” I folded my choices and separated them from the rest. Then I turned to meet his eyes—my mirror eyes. “Tomorrow, you’ll be wearing these clothes to my coronation.”
His jaw dropped. “I can go?”
I forced a smile. “If you dress properly and promise to behave, you’re invited.”
“I will do anything you want, my queen.” Chrysalis knelt and lowered his head in genuflection. “Anything you want.”
THIRTY-EIGHT
EARLY THE NEXT morning, the seamstress, Rosanne Wallace, came to my room with a long, paper-wrapped package.
“What is that?” I glanced at the clock; it wasn’t even dawn.
“This was your mother’s coronation gown.” She turned on the light and hung the gown from the top of the wardrobe. Though there were likely several layers of paper for protection, the whole package seemed bigger than necessary. At least twice the size of any normal gown. “I thought you might wear it today. It was her mother’s before her, too.”
So it was old, out of fashion, and probably ready to fall apart. That seemed appropriate.