The Queen's Assassin (The Queen's Secret #1)(54)

He reaches up to shake Cal’s hand. I notice he wears amber rings on almost every finger. The largest one, on his left thumb, has a petrified wasp suspended in it.

I hate wasps. Once a swarm of them invaded our beehives and wiped out most of the colonies. They are predators masquerading as something they’re not—something friendly.

Cal nods his head and presents himself. “Grand Vizier,” he says. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Lord Holton,” says the vizier, shaking Cal’s hand. “The pleasure is all mine.”

He offers his hand out to me—“This must be the lovely Lady Lila!”—and I offer mine in return, but he doesn’t shake it, he pulls me toward him and kisses me on each cheek—with sloppy, wet lips. He smells like mothballs and rose water. I try not to gag. His entire persona is overwhelming. Something about him puts all my senses on alert—and rather than just experiencing the underlying sounds and feelings around me, I get the sensation of something being drawn out of me. As if he’s inspecting me. Sizing me up. When he backs away, I have to force myself not to wipe my face. The last thing I want to do is offend him. But I don’t have to be his friend; I don’t even have to see him again. I just need to stomach him long enough to get access to the king’s courtiers.

“Imagine my surprise. We have so few visitors in Montrice,” he says. “And even fewer who’ve journeyed all the way from Argonia.” His voice is friendly, but I sense the challenge behind it. He wants to know what we’re doing here; if we’re even who we say we are.

“We’re only passing through,” I explain. “On our way to see to our grandfather’s estate in Stavin.”

“Yes. So I’ve heard. An inheritance, is it?” He gestures for us to sit. We take the chairs offered to us previously; he sits on a larger one across from us. He uses a little step to climb onto it. Once settled, he’s sitting higher than we are. He places his hands on the armrests as if trying to look regal. He stretches out his stubby fingers and begins tapping them against the wood. I get the feeling he’s trying to draw attention to his rings.

“Our grandfather’s estate.” I keep my answers short. I don’t want to encourage too much prying, or draw the conversation out any longer than it needs to be.

“Backley Hold,” Cal adds. “Have you heard of it?”

“Hmm . . . yes, yes, of course I have. In fact, I believe I attended a hunting party there in my youth. Lovely place. So sorry to hear about the elder Lord . . .” He waves his hand around in circles, as if he’s trying to conjure up the name.

“Holton,” Cal and I say at the same time.

“Lord Holton, yes. Fine fellow. It’s been quite a while since I’ve seen him, so he wouldn’t have remembered me anyway, you know. Tell me, what favor do you require?”

Both of us are taken aback by his sudden bluntness. “Favor?” I say. The footman opens the door. A maid walks in carrying a silver tray. She sets it down on the table next to the vizier, curtsies, and leaves. The footman closes the door and returns to his position.

“Yes, of course. I assume you’re here for that reason. Tea?”

We don’t respond, but he places a porcelain teacup and saucer in front of each of us anyway. Neither of us moves to pick it up. The vizier takes a sip of his, places the cup back on the saucer—it spills a little—then turns his attention back to us. He folds his hands in his lap and waits.

“No favor,” says Cal. “But perhaps an introduction.”

“To court?” asks the vizier, looking skeptical.

Cal nods.

I lean forward. “It’s just that we’ve brought a gift for King Hansen, if he’ll do us the honor of an audience.” I reach into the hidden pocket of my skirt and pull out the diamond ring with the large Argonian emerald in its center that I have been carrying for so long. I thought it might be useful on my journey.

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Cal looking at the ring, then at me, and then at the ring. I hadn’t mentioned it and I’m not looking forward to the questions I know are coming. I didn’t tell him about it because I hadn’t intended to use it until right at this moment. I can tell that expensive, shiny gifts are the type of thing that impresses the vizier and earns his favor.

The vizier’s eyes widen. He sits up and leans forward to get a close look at the ring. “Well, well. How wonderful. A beautiful piece.”

“I’ve brought a little something for you as well, if you’ll accept,” I say. I pull the smaller, slightly less valuable diamond-and-emerald ring out of the pouch and hand it to him. “Argonian mined and set, of course.”

“Of course, of course,” he says, putting it on his pinkie finger. It only fits halfway. He holds up his squat little hand to admire it in the late-afternoon light shining from the bay window. “It’d be my honor to speak with King Hansen on your behalf.”

There’s another knock on the door. The footman opens it, and another steps inside. He approaches the vizier, bends down, and whispers something in his ear.

He nods at the footman before turning back to us. “Will you please excuse me?” he asks. He scoots off the chair and hops to the ground, then leaves the room, followed by the footman. The door shuts behind them, leaving Cal and me alone in the creepy room.