Queens of Fennbirn (Three Dark Crowns 0.5)(32)

Bess twisted her neck back to get a better look at the naturalist. She was always curious about the strongly gifted, as she had no gift herself. To their right, a woman called out to them with a cup of cool wine for the queen, and Rosamund nearly knocked it out of her hand. Bess paid the woman and thanked her, giving Rosamund a look.

“You war-gifted,” she muttered. “To you everything is a threat. Everything is a challenge.”

“Would you have me be less vigilant with the safety of our queen?”

Bess placed her hand on Elsabet’s arm. “Who would think to harm the queen? But of course not. I would simply have you overreact less. Stop seeking a battle. We have had two queens of war out of the last three, and now there is no king anywhere who would move against us. If one did, he knows what he would find: strong-gifted warriors whose arrows never miss. And who embrace death.” She touched her fingers to the bottom of Rosamund’s jaw, and Rosamund swatted her away with a grin.

“We do not embrace death. We only know we’re unlikely to meet it.”

They wandered down the row where two men haggled over the price of pretty colored fabrics, and Elsabet ran her hand down the hanging cloth.

“I also wish you sought less of a battle, Rosamund,” she said. “At least with members of my Black Council.” She looked at her commander sternly so her meaning would not be lost. Too often Rosamund and Sonia Beaulin nearly came to blows. At the palace, Gilbert had said they were like dogs. But they were more like wolves. Two packs of them: the Beaulins and the Anteres, and if anything were to truly start between them, it would end in blood. When Elsabet became queen, she thought to appease both families by appointing Sonia to the Black Council and Rosamund head of the queensguard, but now it seemed that she had made a mistake and each would have preferred the other position. But then who could say? Perhaps it was their fate to be always at odds, and there could never have been any peace between them.

“I will try, Queen Elsabet.”

“Good.” She linked her arms in each of her friends’. “We must all try to set examples for the people. And your reputation is fearsome enough. They still say that you dye your hair red with madder root just so it will look like blood.”

“Ha!” Bess barked, and covered her mouth.

“But we do not always have to set good examples.” Rosamund lowered her voice and nudged Elsabet with her shoulder. “Not with those we hold most dear. We can see that you’ve been troubled.”

“And I thought I was so good at disguising it.” Elsabet sighed. Bess and Rosamund were her closest friends. She was closer to them even than she was to Gilbert, whom she viewed as a brother. Bess had been with her since they were both young girls and Bess’s mother had been in service to the Lermont family in Sunpool. Elsabet and Rosamund had been much thrown together over the course of the Ascension Year, and Elsabet had taken to the gruff soldier immediately. If she could not trust them, she could not trust anyone.

“You know they say I am unwell,” she said quietly.

“The people fear you are unwell,” Bess corrected, though to Elsabet there did not seem to be much of a difference. “That’s why they talk. They worry.”

“I think they are right.”

“Right?” Rosamund turned to the queen sharply and looked up and down her body. “What’s the matter? What is the ailment?”

Elsabet smiled. “Nothing you can see from the outside.”

“Is this about your rake of a king-consort? Give me leave to beat him. I won’t leave any marks.”

“Rosamund!” Bess exclaimed, and the commander quieted. “Tell us, Elsabet.”

“I think my gift is failing,” Elsabet said flatly. And there it was. Her secret fear, harbored for nearly a year. A year of gradually lessening visions, and increasing coughs and headaches. “I have not had a vision or felt any touch of the sight for a very long time.”

Rosamund and Bess looked at each other gravely, their steps slowing in the midst of the bustling marketplace. Elsabet shook them gently by the elbows. She should not have told them there. They will stand out in their sadness.

“How long?” Bess asked.

“Months. Many, many months.” She did not mention the strange dream she had after speaking to the moon outside her chamber window. The dream of the boy with paint-smudged fingers. That was only a dream. Nothing at all. “And what is an oracle queen without a gift?”

“She is the Queen Crowned,” Rosamund said. “And besides, how do you know your gift has weakened? It was strong when you needed it to Ascend. You must not have need of it now. The people should be glad that you have no visions. It means they are safe.”

“But surely”—Elsabet blushed—“surely it would have warned me about William’s . . . wandering.”

“Why would it?” Bess blurted. “The Goddess need not send a vision for something that is so glaringly obvious.” She gasped and clapped her hand over her mouth again. Elsabet’s mouth hung open, but then she laughed. Loudly and genuinely, her head thrown back to show her large teeth.

“Thank you, Bess. That actually does make me feel better.”





THE QUEEN’S CHAMBER

When William slunk into Elsabet’s chamber, she had already determined to be angry. Cold. Perhaps even aloof. It had been three days since she had caught him flirting with that girl in front of her entire court. At first, it seemed that he stayed away out of fear or perhaps courtesy. But as days went by, it began to feel more like a punishment. As if she should be the one to seek him out to beg forgiveness.