Rune never thought he’d mourn an Embrian, but as he gazed into the glowing dome of the distant Malstop, he truly wished Princess Johanne were alive.
19.
HANNE
In the small, guarded room she’d been given for the night, Hanne slept poorly, her dreams full of malice and rancor. So when the queen herself arrived (after morning verses, which Hanne quickly learned were shouted from the streets so that everyone had to participate), Hanne was waiting, long since dressed in the beige uniform they’d provided.
With a small troop of personal guards before and after them—different guards from those who’d been in the throne room yesterday—Hanne and Abagail left the royal estate and stepped into the city, taking back streets. A queen and a future queen. Enemies. Although only Hanne knew it.
“The university isn’t far,” Abagail said as they walked. “That is where the work on this project is conducted. I’ve arranged a room for you on campus, and you’ll be guarded at all hours.”
Hanne had expected nothing less.
The queen went on: “I’ve spoken with the malicists and informed them that you will be joining their efforts.”
That was surprising—or perhaps not, considering this was Ivasland. But the queen was speaking with these people directly? Face-to-face? Granted, the circle of people who knew about the mal-device was probably very small, but even so, Abagail apparently didn’t realize that she was a queen not a messenger. Such things should be beneath her. There should be an intermediary. A master of malicists.
“I’ve told them nothing about you,” Abagail said, “except that your name is Hildy Boone and that we have brought you in to help them finish the device. They may ask for more details regarding your education and how you came into this knowledge. Do not tell them anything. You’re here to work, not to make friends.”
Hanne was never here to make friends.
“I’ve written a dossier for you, with a believable backstory. Stick to it. Do not elaborate.” Abagail pulled a folded sheet of paper from her pocket and gave it to Hanne.
The handwriting was small and neat, as though Abagail was used to conserving paper. It had names and towns, as well as a short list of educational interests and accomplishments. All of it implied she was from Ivasland.
“None of the people or places here have any relationship to any of the malicists. Your new workmates will not be able to challenge your history, unless you say something very stupid.”
“What’s a malicist?”
“Oh dear Vesa.” Vesa was the Erudite, the patron Numen of Ivasland. Abagail looked as though she barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes. “A malicist is a scientist specializing in malice.”
“I see.” Hanne read the dossier again, then put it in her pocket. “Well, I had to make sure. Remember, I’m on your side.”
Since she hadn’t been sleeping much last night, she’d put a good deal of thought into how she might be able to use Ivasland’s invention against them, or perhaps even have a similar machine constructed in Embria or Caberwill. She didn’t want to break the Winterfast Accords, but she hadn’t been the one to start this particular fire.
Abagail was nodding absently. “Yes, victory over our enemies.”
Hanne followed the woman’s gaze, at first finding nothing odd—until she noticed the stars in a few of the city’s windows. They were made of angled lightrods, just the glass tubes without the metal casings. The sight truly seemed to shake Abagail.
Interesting.
First Athelney University was far more impressive than the royal estate, with tall brick buildings, plenty of light posts, and a cobbled path winding its way to a large fountain in a central courtyard. Not that the school was in good shape: dirt smothered every surface, doors hung crookedly, and the fountain held no water.
Yet, there had been efforts to repair it, and through classroom windows, Hanne caught sight of eager students and passionate instructors. This, Hanne understood, was also Vesa’s grand temple. One of these buildings—Hanne couldn’t tell which, not while they were walking so quickly—likely held the altars and other items of Numinous worship.
“The First Athelney University has seen better days,” Queen Abagail admitted as they passed a plaque with lines from one of the verses, “but we give the school everything we can. Educating our youth is our best hope for the future.”
“I find it fascinating that everyone in Ivasland is guaranteed an education, regardless of station. It’s quite different where I’m from.” In Embria, everyone knew that educating peasants was a waste of resources. (And possibly dangerous, should they learn words like revolution or advocacy.)
Of course, if the kingdom was educating at every level, then the students were learning exactly what the rulers wanted them to learn. Ivasland was good; everyone else was bad.
Hanne tucked that idea away for later.
“It is different.” Abagail said it proudly, like she didn’t realize her kingdom needed more farmers and fishers, not more archaeologists and architects. She motioned to a plaque as they walked past:
THE STRONGER AND MORE FOCUSED OUR MINDS, THE BETTER IVASLAND WILL THRIVE.
And then another:
IVASLAND‘S FUTURE IS MY FUTURE.
These phrases were among those Hanne had heard shouted from the streets this morning. It was all part of Ivasland’s centuries-long effort to mold perfectly loyal citizens. Even Abagail, Hanne supposed, was a victim of this conditioning.
The knowledge didn’t make Hanne hate her any less, however.
“Through hard work and necessity,” Abagail said, “our students have developed technologies our ancestors only dreamed of.”
“And do you think the kingdom is faring better than it was when you took the throne?” Hanne lifted an eyebrow. “Are the people better fed than they were ten years ago? Twenty years ago?”
Queen Abagail frowned. “In many ways, we are doing better. Our schools are well funded, and research has led to hardier crops. We’ve made infrastructural improvements to help our roads and buildings last longer, and our mines are safer than ever.”
Having traveled through Ivasland, Hanne rather doubted any of these things were true—but she needed the queen to cooperate, so she bit her lip against further antagonizing.
The queen told her more about the university as they took the stairs to one of the tower laboratories, and that was where Hanne smelled it:
Rancor.
The scent was faint, but her eyes watered with desperate tears, and the back of her throat itched, and even her hands began to shake—