Queens of Fennbirn (Three Dark Crowns 0.5)(42)

Catherine looked at Rosamund curiously. “You are Elsabet’s friend. Are you not afraid?”

Rosamund bared her teeth and snorted. “What is there to fear? She’s the queen. It’s not as if they can kill her.”





THE VOLROY

Francesca Arron waited in the shadows of the Volroy until the painter finally emerged from his audience with the queen. It was late, near dusk, and his serene face was lit by candles and torches. It was clear to anyone watching how besotted he was with her. How pleased he was that she was pleased with him. He was so transparent and unguarded. A poisoner ought to have a more natural ability for subterfuge.

“Young master Denton.”

The boy looked up and smiled, a dazzling smile in a mediocre face, beneath hair as dark as soiled straw. “Mistress Arron.”

“I thought that was you,” she said, and stepped out. “I was almost unsure. You have spent so much time at the castle of late that you seem practically a different person. If not for the pigment stains and oils beneath your fingernails, I might have missed you completely.”

Jonathan glanced at his fingers and hid them behind his hip. “Is there something I can do for you, mistress?”

“Perhaps you could escort me to my carriage. It is late, and we are both leaving. . . .”

“Of course.” He bowed and waited for her to walk a half step ahead.

“All this time you are spending with our queen cannot leave you much time for painting.”

“But that is why I’m here. To update the queen on my progress.”

“And what of the night spent in her chamber?” She laughed lightly at the look upon his face. “Word travels quickly.” Francesca squared her shoulders and tossed her light blond braid. Her strides were long when she walked, and he was a bit winded by the time they neared the gates and the waiting carriages. It was a wonder he could keep pace with Elsabet, whose legs and strides were even longer.

“Well then, good evening, Jonathan. I imagine I will be seeing much more of you, now that the queen has decided to keep you as a new pet.”

“A new pet?”

She watched carefully for a flash of malice in his eyes, but she could detect none. So perhaps he was more skilled at concealment than she had given him credit for.

“Of course. Ruling is such a strain upon the queen’s person. She often seeks diversion. I hope you had not thought it something more.”

Jonathan’s smile faltered. “Are you trying to say you would prefer I spent less time here?”

“Not I,” she said. “Were it up to me, Queen Elsabet could take her meals with you in her lap. But some question your suitability as a queen’s companion.”

“Mistress Arron,” he said with surprising vigor, “I am glad to know you’re not among them. No doubt you are happy that Elsabet is keeping company with another of the poisoner gift.” He drew himself up and straightened his shoulders. Francesca stifled a laugh.

“Who are you?” she asked. “A Denton? What great thing has the Denton house ever done for the island? For the poisoners? If you hope to make a place for that name within the capital, your hopes will be dashed.” She stepped close and dragged her fingernail gently along his temple and the side of his jaw. “Arrons sit upon the Black Council. Arrons hold the political favor of the queen. And do not forget it.”

Then she turned, unaffected by the shade of red he turned. Or the way his eyes bulged in impotent fury.

“You speak of it as though it is a permanent appointment,” he said. “But members of the Black Council can be replaced. Perhaps the queen will be moved to have more poisoners in her circle now that she fears the tonic she takes for her health may have been unduly tainted.”

She froze but as always was unshakable. Instead, she stared at the boy, stared and stared until he lost his nerve and turned away, cursing, and she watched him go, ascertaining just what to do with Jonathan Denton. Whether he could be bought. Whether he could be threatened.





INDRID DOWN

By the time Sonia Beaulin received her summons and met Francesca at the inn, it was the middle of the night. Which suited Francesca just fine. It meant that the inn was empty, except for the woman who ran it, and she was bought and paid for by Arron bribes. And it meant that Sonia was not likely to be seen walking through the central square, where it was always difficult not to be noticed. Warriors were like that. Brutal. Imposing. They liked to be noticed. A strange sort of people all around, in Francesca’s opinion, moving things with their minds and always intent on blood. And unlike poisoners, who all appeared to be cut of the same cloth—thin, willowy people with a stern countenance and fair hair—warriors varied in shape and feature. Some were behemoths like the Commander of the Queensguard, Rosamund Antere. Others were so small and quick they could pass for very deadly children. Sonia fell somewhere in between, a slim-hipped, even-featured young woman with large observant eyes and hair nearly as dark as a queen’s. Francesca preferred Sonia’s more average size, as it made it easier to blend in, and she valued the possibility of underestimation. But Sonia envied Rosamund her height. It was yet another source of animosity between them.

Sonia slid into the secluded table where Francesca sat near the back of the inn and signaled to the innkeeper. “Whiskey,” she ordered.