Demetria gestured. “Sit, please.”
They sat, Poppy and her mother on one sofa, Lord Montrose on the love seat across from them.
“I’m afraid we weren’t expecting you.” Her mother pressed her lips together. “If you would like, I can ring for tea.” Her terse tone insinuated thatshewouldn’t like tea at all.
“That’s quite all right,” Lord Montrose said, picking up on the hint. “I understand that this is an inconvenient time to meet. However, the subject is time sensitive. So far, we have been able to keep Richard’s involvement in the viceroy’s death out of the press?—”
“Involvement?” Poppy interrupted, decorum be damned. “He shot Father. He wasn’tinvolved; he was the cause.”
The marquess gave her a sympathetic look, artful in how artificial it was. “We wish to keep the matter private. However, if this goes to the court, it will inevitably make its way into the papers. Richard has been very remorseful over the way events played out that day, and he’s been extremely cooperative under house arrest. I want to propose?—”
“House arrest?” Poppy demanded, her voice rising. “The police justlet him go home? He tried to kill me. What stops him from sneaking out and trying again?”
“Not now, Poppy,” her mother said under her breath. “We’ll talk about this later.”
“Rest assured, he’s no longer in Marnapur. He’s being watched very closely at one of our properties on the northern side of the island.” Lord Montrose waved a hand dismissively. “I understand he’s committed a serious crime, one that has deeply harmed many people, most of all yourselves. I have decided that the best thing to do is send him back to Welkland, where he will live with our extended family and never return.”
Poppy’s blood had come to a rolling boil. “You’ve decided what’s best? Your son has murdered my father?—he’s not even in the ground?—and you want to send him off to Welkland, where he’ll live a quaint life buying thoroughbreds on some country estate?”
“Poppy,” her mother warned, but Poppy waved her off.
“Let me tell you whatIthink is best,” she said, her tone sweet and scalding at once. “I think it would be best if we tried Richard in court, found him guilty, and then let him rot in a cell for the rest of his life.”
“Are you so merciless?” Lord Montrose asked. “He has a long life ahead of him. Is it fair to force him to live it in a cell, just because he misfired his weapon?”
“He didn’t misfire! He meant to shootme. And if it’s mercy you want, then we can sentence him to swing from a rope. I can be merciful.”
“That’s quite enough!” Two spots of color bloomed high on her mother’s cheeks. “Lord Montrose, do you mind if I have a minute with my daughter?”
“Of course, Your Grace.” He tilted his head. He was too mature to give Poppy a smug grin, but the impersonal smile he wore as he left the room was grating enough.
Poppy stared at her mother as though she were a stranger. “What are you doing? He wants to send Richard back to Welkland, without any repercussions. Even the house arrest?—he should be in a high-security cell. How did you not know about that?”
“I knew about the house arrest,” her mother said. “I chose not to say anything then. Just as you ought to keep your silence now.”
The admission struck Poppy like a slap. “I don’t understand,” she whispered. “He’s your husband. Don’t you want justice for him?”
“We won’t get justice, Poppy,” her mother said. “You’re a fool if you think we will. The officers who assessed the scene have been Richard’s brothers-in-arms for years. The judges who will hear the case have dined, drunk, and hunted with Lord Montrose for decades. The best-case scenario is that he’ll be pardoned on the grounds of an accidental misfire. The worst-case scenario is that they’ll pin it on the only other person who was there?—you. Your father died for your future. Do you think you’re honoring his memory, throwing it away to pursue a case that’s been decided before it’s even been tried?”
“But I didn’t do it,” she said. “And it wasn’t a misfire. I was there.”
“It doesn’t matter,” her mother said. “It is your word against his. And you should know by now that your word doesn’t weigh the same as his.”
Poppy laughed. “Of course it doesn’t,” she sneered. “My word doesn’t even mean anything to my own mother.”
Demetria flinched at the reference to Poppy’s wedding morning. “I should have listened,” she said. “But it doesn’t change the facts: No one else will believe you. The most important thing is that your father still saw fit to name you his successor. He knew what he was doing when he signed that document, and he knew what he was doing when he died to protect you. To me, fulfilling his dying wish?—making you vicereine?—is more important than justice.” Her voice gentled at the tears brimming in Poppy’s eyes. “Justice won’t bring him back.”
“He still deserves more than this.” Poppy wiped her tears fiercely. Her father might have been a tyrant, one who had allowed the vulnerable citizens in his care to suffer, but Poppy meant it when she added, “He deserves more than Richard Montrose’s living as a free man in Welkland.”
“We don’t get what we deserve. You of all people should know that.” Her mother laid one hand on her back. “Listen to me: If you go against the Montrose family, you will fail. The marquess has more power than you?—power youneed. Don’t start this era by making enemies. Make allies.”
Poppy sat silently, rage and frustration and grief burning in her chest. She knotted her hands together, but the sheen of sweat on her palms reminded her of when they’d been slick with blood. She wiped her hands on her dress, gripping the fabric tightly. She wanted to see Richard behind bars. She wanted to see him swing. She wanted to see him on the ground, life bleeding from him slowly.
She closed her eyes, trying to dispel the image. Her thoughts were violent in a way she had never been, but she couldn’t make herself feel remorse.He deserves it,she thought. He deserved to be destroyed, and she wanted to be the one who did it. Even if it meant destroying herself in the process. But she couldn’t destroy the last thing her father had given her, the one good thing he had done for this colony: a chance to lead, to fix the mistakes he’d made.
Poppy exhaled, her rib cage so tight it was almost painful. Her mother had been silent the whole time, but she must have sensed the shift, because she reached out and laid her hand over Poppy’s, easing her fingers free from where they’d been clutching the skirt of her mourning dress.
“Call him back,” Poppy relented. When Lord Montrose was sitting in front of her again, she said, “I will not pursue a legal case against Richard, nor will I publicize his involvement to the press.”
