Long May She Reign(17)

“Do you think you can?”

“I have to.” I’d figure out who was threatening me, I’d learn how to be queen. It was a vague, almost laughable plan, but it was a plan nonetheless, and that was what I needed. A goal to frame things with, a way to approach all of this confusion.

“I’m sorry,” Naomi said quietly. “I know you wanted to leave.”

I’d never do my research on the continent now, I realized. I’d be tied to this court for as long as I remained alive. The knowledge was a crushing weight, lurking in the back of my mind, demanding to be mourned. But I couldn’t admit it, not when Naomi had actually lost a brother, not when everyone had lost so much. “I’ll figure things out here,” I said. “I could never have left you, anyway.”

Naomi’s shoulders shook. I turned to look at her to see tears rolling down her cheeks, her lips pressed tightly together.

“I’m sorry!” I said quickly. Why did I always say the wrong thing?

“No, no,” she said, through her tears. “It’s just—it’s stupid, Freya.”

“It’s not stupid.”

“I thought—I thought we wouldn’t be friends anymore. Now that you’re queen. And I thought—well, I’ve lost my brother and my best friend, all at once. I didn’t—I’m just so glad you’re here, Freya.”

I hugged her again. She pressed her face into my shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere. Come on, Naomi. Come and stay with me in my rooms. I don’t want to leave you here.”

“I don’t know if it’s allowed.”

“I make the rules now, don’t I? And that’ll be my first decree.”

“It’s not much of a decree.”

“Well, everyone has to start somewhere.” She laughed softly, and I smiled. “Please, Naomi. I can’t do this without you.”

“I guess that’s good, then,” she said. “Because I can’t do this without you.”





SIX


“PERHAPS WE SHOULD BEGIN. IF IT PLEASE YOUR Majesty.”

Rasmus Holt was a rather stern-looking man in his sixties, with a white beard that grew into a point, and a sharp nose to match. He had been in King Jorgen’s council for the past twenty years, or so my father told me, and was now the leader of my own council.

I’d hoped to arrive early to the meeting, to settle in and greet my councillors one by one, but when I entered the new council room, everyone had already been waiting inside. Holt and my father were there, along with a narrow-faced woman called Sofia Thorn—the master of intelligence, I was informed—and a woman with a severe braid down her neck, called Joanna Norling, who was the master of justice. Torsten Wolff completed the group. He was so tense that the muscles in his neck looked close to snapping. He sat at the other end of the table from me; the perfect place to glower at me without turning his head.

He, Holt had told me, would be responsible for issues of security.

“Security?” I said. “As in the army?” Epria was a peaceful island kingdom. Guards protected the cities, of course, and the countryside had peacekeepers who answered to local nobles, but we hadn’t had anything resembling an army for over a hundred years.

“No, no,” Holt said. “Nothing as dire as that. But Sten is an expert in military history, and he served on the last king’s council, as a general adviser. He’s the best mind we have in case of any . . . disturbance.”

Disturbance. The word made me shiver. Was he really expecting something that dramatic? Not just poison at dinner, but soldiers, military strategy?

“Not that we need to worry about such things,” Holt said, as though he had read my thoughts. “But the past few days have shown us it is prudent to be prepared.”

I was pretty sure that the old council had included more than five people. But I supposed this small group was all that was left now. All survivors of the banquet, all suspects, all people I needed to rely on.

Now we were seated around the lone table in the room, trying to ignore the many empty chairs. The entire remaining court could have fit around it easily. Someone must have cleaned the room overnight, but the memory of dust lingered in the air, scratching my throat. The stone walls were bare, with arrow-slit windows protecting us from sunlight as well as invasion. Oil lamps hung around the room, but they only seemed to emphasize the darkness.

Holt watched me, waiting for my permission to continue. I nodded. “Very good, very good,” he said. “Well, then. I know that tragedy has brought us here today, but we must look forward. This is the first council meeting of Queen Freya the First, long may she reign.”

“Long may she reign,” my councillors murmured. I stayed quiet. It seemed too strange to say that about myself.

“Thorn,” Holt said. “What do you have to report about the attack?”

“Not enough,” Thorn said. She had a rasping voice, like the words were passing over sandpaper. “It seems the poison was hidden in the cake served as the final course. None of those who survived seem to have eaten any. One girl had a few bites and was unwell, but she recovered. Everyone else—well, we cannot interview the dead, but it seems likely that they all had a piece.”

“And the poison?” Holt said.

“The symptoms suggest arsenic. Nausea, stomach pains, racing heart, and enough of a delay that the tasters did not fall ill until after it was served. We have no way to prove that, of course, unless someone confesses, but the evidence is fairly clear.”