Long May She Reign(20)

“I can’t give a speech.” Just the word made me feel on the verge of throwing up. I couldn’t stand up and speak to a hundred people.

“Don’t worry, Your Majesty,” Holt said. “We will guide you.”

He was watching me closely. He must have noticed my sudden panic, because he nodded once and said, “Perhaps we should adjourn this meeting until tomorrow. We already have much to do, to prepare for the funerals and our guests, and anything else may overwhelm us. And I must admit, Your Majesty, I am an old man. The past few days have been rather draining.”

I felt a rush of relief at his kindness. I smiled at him and stood. Everyone around the table stood as well, and bowed. Was this what it was like to have power? To be able to make everyone fall in line with a single movement of your own?

But they bowed because they were expected to, not because they respected me. Who knew what they were thinking behind those blank expressions?

“I will walk my daughter out.” My father stepped away from his chair. “Freya?” He offered me his arm.

We walked from the room together. The guards trailed behind us, their footsteps loud on the stone floor.

“Be careful, Freya,” my father said in my ear, as we turned down the corridor. “People will turn on you if you fail. You can’t fail.”

“I know that.”

“Do you?”

“Yes,” I said. “I do.”

“Then don’t speak so carelessly. You must make yourself allies. You must learn how to be queen. And keep your head down, if you want to keep it attached to your neck.”

“Keep my head down?” I pulled my arm away. “I’m the queen. How can I keep my head down?” A queen had to stand out, by definition. I couldn’t hide away.

“Agree with your council. Change nothing. Don’t make a fuss. And hope the Forgotten are kind to you, wherever they may be.” He paused, reaching for my arm again. “Stay alive, Freya. Make your mother proud, make all of this worthwhile. Stay alive.”





SEVEN


THE LIBRARY WAS A DARK, DUSTY PLACE HIGH UP IN the Fort, filled with rotting pages and crumbling spines. It must have been a great collection, once, packed with rare and important books from all over the world, but that had been centuries ago, when kings still lived here. All the valuable books had long since been moved to the palace, and the rest had been abandoned, falling page by page into disrepair. Since then, the library seemed to have been used as a dumping ground for any books the royal family did not want. Most of the newer books were in foreign languages, clearly gifts from the occasional visiting ambassador or king.

But there might be something useful here. I didn’t exactly expect to find a book called How to Be Queen, but there might be etiquette books, discussions of court rituals, treatises on various approaches to ruling.

My council would try to teach me, as well as they could. But ignorance was weakness now. I needed to go to my lessons with knowledge already, so I could remain calm, so I wouldn’t look completely hopeless. I had to win over the council first, and then I could worry about the others in court.

So I needed all the information laid out in a book, a step-by-step guide to ruling and the court, or as close to it as I could find. If I could just find the rules, written plainly and clearly, I’d at least have somewhere to start.

But half the books here proved unreadable, or so delicate that they crumbled when I tried to open them. The rest . . . well, the rest had been stored here for a reason. Records of the court’s income and outgoings a hundred years ago. Studies on obscure subjects, so dull that their dedication to the king felt like more of an insult than an honor.

I did find one etiquette guide, intended to help naive young girls when they first arrived at the court, when it had been centered in the Fort. They needed to arm themselves against the “monstrous tricks” of male courtiers, or so the author claimed, and I had to wonder how many of these tricks he had performed himself, to be an expert on the subject. The book seemed unlikely to provide much insight, but it was the best I was going to find.

I tried to drag myself through the pages, but I couldn’t concentrate. Etiquette rules were important, I knew that, but it still all seemed so . . . pointless. What did it matter how shallow someone curtsied, when so many people were dead? I needed to know—who had killed everyone, how had they done it, why?

Why was the strongest question, nagging at me every time I tried to turn my thoughts away. The killer had been willing to kill hundreds of people, indiscriminately. The only thing that could explain it was fervent, blinding belief—in the justice of their cause, in their need for power, in something.

As long as I didn’t know, I was in danger, too. If I crossed the person responsible, if I stood in the way of their goals without realizing it . . . I needed to fit in at court, but ignorance now was far more dangerous than a social faux pas.

If this were an experiment, a challenge in my laboratory, I’d start by making lists. Gathering every fact and every possible idea together on paper, letting those words guide me to my next step.

I turned to the back of the etiquette book and grabbed a pen.

Sofia Thorn suspected the Gustavites. I scribbled it down, but the thought didn’t fit, whatever my advisers believed. Groups didn’t jump from doing nothing to successfully murdering hundreds of people, with no steps in between. There would have been warning signs, whispers, more minor attacks. But no one had heard a word from them. No pamphlets had been distributed, as far as I knew. No one had made any passionate speeches or tried to convince people of the justice of their cause. And no one in the group had claimed the attack. What would be the point of making a statement with violence, if you didn’t tell people you’d made it?