“That order failed.”
I smile sweetly. “Forgive me. I know little about Honorate meetings, but I was under the impression that today’s vote was a draw. Which—Ithink—means the Honored Praeceptor can call a revote whenever he so chooses.” I channel all the innocence I can muster into widening my eyes. “He chooses tomorrow.”
Kaidren’s face is pinched, as though he just smelled something foul. “If that’s so, I’ll be there. And, once again, I’ll cast my vote in opposition.” He turns to Luc, looking more irked than before. “Again, a pleasure to meet you, sir. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”
My insides are on fire as he gives a parting lie and leaves without so much as glancing in my direction.
He’ll pay for that later. He’ll pay forallof it. Kaidren thinks he’s playing a game and that he’s winning. He thinks he’ll win again tomorrow. And he thinks his opponent is Luc.
Kaidren is wrong. About all of it.
His true opponent is me. And I don’t play games.
I win.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE FALSE QUEEN
Servants talk. They see and hear all the tawdry things their employers whisper to each other when they don’t think anyone is watching. It’s part of why Sef and I make such a great pair. She hunts for rumors while I parse out the lies from the truth.
“What did you find?” I call out to Sef (she’s sitting on the edge of my bed) from my place on the floor of my vault, rooting through my notes on the Honorate. My vault is the size of a small closet, walls lined end to end with chest-high shelves stacked with leather-bound volumes full of information. They range from the commonplace, like family history, to the arcane, like an Honorate’s darkest secrets.
“Not much. At least, not yet.” I’ve known Sefina Ceraway since I first moved to Widow’s Hall when Luc became Praeceptor. Everyone resented that he brought me, Opheran street scum, to live with him. I was supposed to be assigned a team of aikkari selectmen for protection, same as Luc (and every other live-in family member of the Praeceptor in the history of the Republic). Instead, they assigned me Sef, a maid with no defense training at all.
I never complained. Both because I refused to give anyone the satisfaction, and because, within days of meeting her, I knew they had drastically underestimated her. Sure, Sef is young, has no magic, and would sooner sprout wings than fend offan attacker. But she’s also crafty, loyal, and quick to laugh—an invaluable combination I wouldn’t trade for a slew of selectmen. Widow’s Hall is dreary and lonely. Her friendship is the only bright spot that makes it bearable.
I wedge a book under my arm and emerge from the vault, locking it after me. It’s tucked behind a hidden door in the back of my closet. There’s no visible handle; it’s just a crack in the wall that, when peeled back, reveals the tshira-lined door. A necessary precaution. I safeguard too many secrets to remember them all, and I know better than to keep my arsenal lying around for anyone to find.
My room is so tiny, I take two steps outside my closet and I’m standing in front of Sef, a half pace from my bed. Another thing I never complain about.
I quirk an expectant brow at Sef. “Well?”
“Kaidren’s mother is dead. And you’ll never believe this—” She drops her voice and chin. “She wasOpheran.”
The book under my arm tumbles to the floor. “Kaidren’s Opheran?” Impossible. He doesn’t have a tattoo. I’d have noticed.Everyonewould’ve noticed. Opheran children undergo a ceremony on our fifth birthday. We’re marked in golden ink with a symbol of our birth season. The majority of the year, we suffer the dark season, so most Opherans have tattoos of crescent moons. I was born in the brief glimmer of the light season, so mine is of a sun.
It’s beautiful. I used to love it. I used to admire the way the golden ink looked against my brown skin. Then I came here, and they looked at it—atme—like I was less than trash. I struggle to see the beauty now.
“He doesn’t look Opheran,” is all I say. “He didn’t sound Opheran either.” Virdeians and Opherans have similar accents, but Opherans linger on their vowels, and their sentences tendto drop at the end. I’ve lived here for seven years, and I still sound Opheran when I’m not careful.
“I know it’s not much to go on,” Sef says, “but I’ll keep digging.”
This is much less than what she usually finds, but it’s still early in the investigation process. “Thank you. I’ll see what I can find on my end as well, and we can compare notes.” I move to my desk that doubles as a vanity with the leather book from my vault. It’s full of everything I’ve collected about Honorate Rishelvu over the years. I snag a pen and a sheet of parchment.
Honorate Rishelvu,
There exists such a special bond between father and son. Almost as special as the bond between a firstborn and his inheritance.
On my honor, I will not direct anyone to search for what you so carelessly gambled away. Provided, of course, that you change your vote in favor of the proposed order on the agenda tomorrow.
Fondly,
Shadow Queen
I sheathe the letter in an envelope and press the Shadow Queen’s seal to it with a smirk.
There’s nothing the Honorate fear more than a scandal. A position in the Honorate is for life and inheritable by their oldest son—so long as they stay godlike. Any Honorate who fails to uphold the veil of perfection is in danger. People have the right to challenge an Honorate if he breaches decorum, and an ousted Honorate can’t transfer his position to a son.
