Long May She Reign(71)

“But I don’t have any powers. I couldn’t say I didn’t then, but—I don’t have any powers like that.”

It felt so dishonest, to let people imagine that my touch, my words, could do that good. That I was somehow innately blessed.

“These things can work in strange ways, Your Majesty. I think anyone expecting to wake up with a pile of money at the foot of their bed because of the kindness of the Forgotten will be very disappointed. But they find their ways to help us, when they wish to. They have their agents in this kingdom, their believers, their chosen. Putting a mind like yours on the throne . . . that could still be their blessing.”

“But—how can people think the Forgotten care about us, and also think that they wanted the entire old court to die?”

Holt considered me in silence for a long moment. “The old court was choking this kingdom, Your Majesty. You have to weed the garden before you can plant flowers, must you not?”

I stared at him. “People aren’t weeds.”

“You are right, of course, Your Majesty. I only meant—we cannot always understand why the divine act as they do. But we must have faith that it will all work out for the best in the end.”

But cold had settled inside me, too deep for his apology to dislodge. The Forgotten had agents in this world, he said. What if he believed he was one of them?





TWENTY-THREE


THE NEXT MORNING, MY ADVISERS BROUGHT MORE bad news. Sten had attacked the convoy to Rickstone Castle, and captured all of the prisoners. And then he had taken control of the prison himself.

He’d left the guards unharmed—they, he claimed, had done nothing wrong—and one had returned to the capital to warn us. The rest had defected to Sten.

“He’s gathering support in the south, as we expected,” Holt said, his fingers trailing over a map on the table. “Most of the minor nobles are siding with him—hoping for the favor of a new king, no doubt—and providing men for his cause. The Darkwoods in the east have also been contacted by him. We can hope they won’t get involved, after so many deaths, but if they believe you were the killer . . .” Holt shook his head. “We have received letters from other nobles around the kingdom, telling us how loyal they are, but how difficult it is to support us. Asking for lower taxes, more land, special favors. We cannot grant them all.”

“Subtlety is a lost art,” Norling said, wrinkling her nose.

“Indeed,” Holt said. “Well, we could try to bribe these nobles to support us, but to be frank, Sten, with his vast fortunes, can offer them more.”

“A low price to pay, if Her Majesty survives.”

I sucked my bottom lip under my teeth. I didn’t know what to do. I had wanted all decisions to travel through me, but my advisers had been right. I really didn’t know what I was talking about. I didn’t know what would be best. “We can review laws,” I said slowly. “And of course we’ll change anything that’s unjust. And if land is not being used, perhaps we can find new owners for it, once all this is done. But maybe—we could suggest our disbelief that they’d only support the queen for monetary gain. It seems unworthy of the greatest nobles of Epria.”

The words sounded utterly ridiculous. But Holt was nodding. “Perhaps invoke the Forgotten there, too. Why would they demand land in order to support their chosen queen?”

I didn’t like the idea of more lies, building a legend around me. But these wouldn’t hurt anyone. We needed to do it.

“We believe Sten is staying in Newsam Manor, here,” Holt said, pointing to a spot on the map about seventy miles south of the capital, “but he will not remain there for long. No doubt he has gone there because the Manor has the greatest collection of old weapons and armor that we know of, beyond his own.”

“You cannot support an army with a mishmash of old relics,” Norling said.

“Yet he lacks the time or the skill to forge new ones. It’ll help his cause that we don’t have weapons or armor, either. The ones we do have are more ceremonial than sharp. Even without supplies or training, he will be better prepared than we are.”

“More people have been leaving the city,” Norling said. “Mostly nobles, but some merchants, too. We’ve lost the Renshaws, and Nicholas Anderson. More will follow them.”

“Do you think they’re joining him?” I asked.

“It’s unclear. They could just be trying to avoid the entire situation. I suppose we cannot blame them. And people are angry, Freya, with your actions.”

“With what, exactly?”

“Gustav’s Treatise, Your Majesty. It hardly paints the nobility in a good light. To see you distributing it . . .” She shook her head. “They think you don’t respect them, and the old ways. But I do have one piece of good news. I have information on Sofia Thorn. She is not helping Sten, it seems, or providing him information. She has returned to her own lands in the west with her husband.”

“Then why did she leave, if she’s not against me?”

“Her husband truly is sick,” Norling said. “I assume she wanted to retreat from the capital before anything else occurred, like so many of our potential allies. No one wishes to be caught in the middle of this. They will all return, I am certain, once things are settled. The cowards probably expect a pardon.”