Long May She Reign(77)

“Madeleine,” Fitzroy said. “Have you ever heard of a color called King’s Yellow before?”

She shook her head. “Never. The dye didn’t look familiar to me—I’ve never seen that exact shade before.”

“But if my father discovered something new, of course he’d name it after himself.”

“There’s more,” I said, flicking back to the letter again. “‘We are told the mineral forms in the hot springs in the mountains, which explains the extreme expense, and why, as Your Majesty believed, it is only available in Rejka. We send another sample to Your Majesty with this letter. If the quality is satisfactory and the price good, we will acquire more.’ The king’s written something else at the bottom.” I peered at the scribbled handwriting. “‘Spare no expense.’” The letter was dated a few months ago. “Madeleine. You said the king was unwell, didn’t you? He had some stomach complaint. So, what if someone gave him this dye as a potential cure for his illness?”

“The golden wine,” Fitzroy said slowly. I looked at him in confusion. “My father’s wine looked gold. I noticed it a couple of months ago. I assumed it was just his goblets changing the color, but what if he dyed it instead? If he was taking King’s Yellow as a medicine, he could have mixed it with the wine. It would have suited his arrogance.”

“And then he was so impressed by the medicine that he decided to make a show of it in the banquet?”

Madeleine shook her head. “If he found a magical cure for his illness, he wouldn’t share it like that. He’d hoard it all for himself.”

“Perhaps he wanted to show it off,” I said. “If it’s a rare and expensive medicine, what better way to show how rich and powerful he is than to throw all of that away at a banquet? On his birthday? Like a—like a declaration that he’s well again, and he can do whatever he likes.”

“I don’t know, Freya,” Fitzroy said. “If it was rare enough to shout about, why didn’t he shout about it?”

True. But there had to be something in here. We had a name—King’s Yellow—and a source. We knew it was rare and expensive. But they were scientific answers, not explanations. Who had introduced the king to it in the first place, if even Madeleine had never heard of this dye? Had it been an accident, or had someone prompted him to do it? And was the poison in the dye he’d ordered, or had someone changed them along the way?

I placed the paper to one side and continued to read.





TWENTY-FIVE


I WATCHED HOLT CLOSELY AT THE COUNCIL MEETING the next morning. He looked tired, but he didn’t look guilty, and he didn’t seem to know that I’d been in the palace, too. I wanted to ask him what he’d been doing there, accuse him of some connection to the murders, but I swallowed the words, down down down, until I nearly choked on their bitterness.

I didn’t know that he was involved. Not yet. And if he was involved, and I revealed what I knew too early . . . I could lose the chance to prove it.

“We are running out of time,” Norling said. “Sten has swept east, and is marching back to the capital. The Darkwoods have joined him, as have the Solbergs, with all of their own resources at his disposal. The kingdom is against you, Your Majesty, and Sten will not hold back when he arrives.”

“How many men does he have?” I was almost afraid to hear the answer.

“Ten thousand.”

“And how many men do we have?”

“Trained guards and soldiers?” Norling said. “Perhaps thirty. I would estimate around twenty thousand people remain in the city, but most will not fight for you. You have gained some supporters, Your Majesty, but most people want to survive, and if staying quiet and allowing Sten into the walls is the best way to do that, that is what they will do. I suggest that you run now. Before it becomes impossible to leave.”

“No,” Holt said. “She cannot run. If she leaves, she will forfeit the crown.”

“At least this way, she will live.”

“She’ll live,” Holt said. “But for how long? Sten will hunt her down, and without the crown to protect her, how will she hide from him? Where could she go? She couldn’t possibly hope to evade him forever. And then what will happen to the kingdom? It will be stuck with a blasphemous usurper rather than their rightful queen. We cannot allow it. We must stay and fight.”

“Fight?” Norling laughed. “Fight how? This isn’t going to be a civil war, Rasmus. This will be a massacre.”

Her words rang in the silence. I’d known, of course, that my chances against Sten were slim. But to hear my closest adviser insisting that I was going to die . . . my first instinct was to run to the library, pull out books on military strategy, history books about battles where impossibly small forces defeated their larger enemies, but what would be the point? I couldn’t become a better strategist than Sten or my advisers in a few days. I could only win through invention. It had taken me years of study to be able to think inventively in the lab. And now I had to pretend I could learn how to think inventively in battle by the end of the week.

“Norling,” I said quietly. “You’ve always advised me to appear strong before. To return to the palace, to punish people, to fight. But now you want me to run. Isn’t that weak, too?”