Long May She Reign(65)

“It still doesn’t sound very diplomatic,” Fitzroy said. “But it’s much better than before.”

I tugged my fingers through my hair, pulling it half loose from its braid. At least I was making progress. I could do this.

“Did the experiment work?” Fitzroy asked.

“Will that help my defense?”

“I don’t know. I was just wondering. Did it work?”

“No,” I said softly. “No, it didn’t work.” I shook my head and stood, stretching out my shoulders. The pile of papers at the far side of the room caught my eye. Fitzroy had gone to the palace this morning and brought back as many letters as he could carry. The disorganization made my teeth clench. But there was no good way to sort them before reading them all, and I didn’t want to lose time. So the pages were just piled there, to be read in whatever random order Fitzroy had gathered them in.

I’d spent two hours on them already, with Fitzroy and Naomi. We’d found nothing. Fitzroy planned to return to the palace for more papers that night, but I didn’t have time to go through the rest now. I needed to practice, and to prepare. I would be visiting people around the city that afternoon, and trying to convince them I was not as horrible as Sten and the extremists claimed.

There was no realistic way it could go well. But if I dwelled on that, I’d never get out the door. I had practiced my words and my smiles. I could do this.

I walked across the room now, practicing my “regal but welcoming” gait. Dagny leaped from the table to follow, which didn’t really make walking any easier. Fitzroy watched me, but he did not comment, while Naomi worked in the corner, double checking the weights of all her samples.

“Your Majesty?” The brunette guard, Carina, poked her head through the door. “Madeleine Wolff is here to see you.”

“All right,” I said. “Let her in.”

“Freya,” Madeleine said, as she stepped in. “I was told I’d find you here. We need to start getting ready for your outing.” For the first time I could remember, Madeleine was the one who appeared out of place. Her skirt was huge, the silk ruffles skimming the dusty, bloodstained floor. She smiled as she looked around the room, but her posture wasn’t entirely composed. “The old torture chamber is a strange choice.”

“It was the best place for what I needed to do.”

“Not torturing people, I hope. That would be terrible etiquette for a queen.”

“It would be traditional,” Fitzroy said.

“Then I’m glad our queen is not a traditionalist.” Madeleine moved farther into the room, looking over the bottles and vials, the books, Naomi still sorting out the wires. “Naomi,” she said. “What are you doing?”

“We’re going to try placing different metals in arsenic solution,” Naomi said. “Freya thinks it might be a way to detect it—”

“I can’t be certain,” I said. “But I think it’s possible. And we have to try something.”

Madeleine nodded. “You—you’re working on finding the murderer?”

“Among other things.”

“I suppose my cousin is your main suspect now.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “He’s suspicious, but—” It didn’t fit. It didn’t feel like he was responsible. That was terrible reasoning, I knew, but it just didn’t fit. “He doesn’t have the motive. For him to kill all his friends . . .” I shook my head. “I have to find out who it was. I have to find proof.”

“So people will fight for you?”

“I’m hoping we won’t have to fight at all.”

Madeleine sat on the spare stool at the end of the table, her skirts cascading around her. “You think finding the truth will stop him from attacking you?”

“It won’t,” Fitzroy said. “Sten’s committed to this now.”

“My cousin—he’s always been a very logical person, ever since we were children. And he believes in justice, more than anything else. But I think he’s blinded himself to that now, or to the truth, at least. He’s convinced himself you are responsible, because it would be so straightforward if you were, and he so desperately wants an answer to this murder. He wants something he can do, to fight against it. Now he’s on this path . . . it will be hard to change his mind.”

“But you said yourself, he’s not a murderer,” Naomi said. “If Freya could prove she was innocent, or find who was responsible, and bring the evidence to him . . . if he really wants justice, he’d have to stop fighting her. Wouldn’t he?”

Madeleine sighed. “I wouldn’t place all your hopes on it,” she said. “He might well assume you’re trying to trick him, and finding evidence will be hard. It would be best if—”

“If we fight him?” I said. “That can’t be the best thing to do.” I raked my fingers through my hair. “It’s worth a try, to convince him.”

It was worth more than that, though. I couldn’t imagine that I would fail, not when success was so important. I could picture it already. I’d go to him, with Madeleine—he trusted Madeleine, so she would be a good person to use. She’d tell him the truth, offer him a pardon. He’d refuse to accept it at first, but when he saw the evidence, when Madeleine implored him to see reason, he would surrender. We’d catch the murderer, and everything would return to normal.