Her eyes widened, and so did his smile. “If only that were how it worked. Alas, I cannot even see whose bed my king-consort is falling into at night.”
“He is a fool.”
Elsabet cocked her head, and Jonathan lowered his eyes.
“Begging your pardon. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“What’s said is said. Is that what all the people say? Do they think him a fool? Or me the fool for being wooed by his pretty face?”
“I’m afraid I don’t hear much court gossip, with my nose inches from a canvas. The painting is coming along splendidly, by the way. I hope to be able to present it to you within a matter of weeks.”
“Perhaps you could show me its progress.”
“I would like that.” His eyes took on a curious slant. “So you really don’t hear all the gossip, then? I had heard that some oracles were able to hear the thoughts of others.”
“Some can. The sight gift is varied and not well understood. We are so rare. Even with me on the throne, the sight-gifted will never be as prolific as the naturalists or the elementals. What good would we be? The Goddess knows how best to balance her gifts.” She motioned for him to take a seat and joined him, pouring some watered wine for them both to get the taste of Gilbert’s tonic out of their mouths. “Sometimes the sight gift comes as nothing more than seeing cold spots. Violence and places of bloodshed.”
“I know of that. I have read of it. ‘Death leaves an impression as a cold stain upon the ground.’” His brow furrowed. “Is it like that for you?”
“Not only that, but yes. I can tell you the near-precise location where every queen before me died, for what feels like four generations. The places where my sisters died may as well be splashed with blood.” She looked out her window. “How is your history? Do you know of Queen Elo, the fire breather, who burned a fleet of Selkan ships in Bardon Harbor?”
“I do. They say she put an end to foreign invasion, and in impressive fashion.”
Elsabet smiled. Invasions would come again as new kings sought to leave their marks through conquest. But she had seen none coming during her time.
“I can hardly bear to look out into the harbor some days, depending on the wind,” she said softly. “The churning ghosts are still so thick.”
Jonathan swallowed and followed her gaze as if he might catch a glimpse of them himself.
“I don’t tell that to many people,” Elsabet said. “Bess knows. And sometimes I think Rosamund and Sonia—the war-gifted—can sense it. But I have never told them outright.”
“Why not?” he asked, but then shook his head. “Forgive me. That was a foolish question. Seeing ghosts and scenting graves are shunned even in a fortune-teller. Of course they would be shunned in a queen.”
“A queen is expected to yield grand prophecies. Not grow faint passing unmarked graveyards.”
“Well. I find it a useful skill and would welcome you as a fellow traveler along unfamiliar roads.”
He raised his cup to her, and Elsabet laughed.
“Every time we meet, I mean to find out more about you and instead give away more of myself. Do you inspire such candid conversation in everyone you meet, Jonathan Denton?”
“I’m sorry, my queen.”
“Do not be sorry. Just do not become my enemy.”
THE VOLROY
Queen Elsabet and Bess walked along the rows of roses on the west side of the Volroy. To anyone watching, it would have looked like an idle errand: the queen accompanying her friend as she pruned. But those who knew her best knew that Bess was often the queen’s eyes and ears, when she could not be seen to be looking or listening herself.
“You need better spies than me,” Bess said quietly. “It is too well known I am of your household. No one speaks when I’m nearby.”
“But who else could I trust? Only you and Rosamund.” Perhaps Jonathan Denton, one day. But she did not say so out loud.
“Catherine Howe is loyal. And I am sure her household has very good spies.” Bess clipped a rose and teased the petals back and forth beneath Elsabet’s nose. “There was one rumor that was too loud to be hidden.”
“What?”
“That Jonathan Denton is the queen’s new lover.”
Elsabet laughed. “New? As if there have been others.” She had known that was what people would think. What she did not foresee was how much the idea would please her. “Poor Jonathan. He will have no peace.”
“Poor Jonathan?” Bess smiled. “Is he coming back to the Volroy soon?”
“I think so.” She prodded Bess in the hip when she laughed. “To show me my painting.”
They walked together around the castle, and two servants stepped up and bowed.
“What’s this?” she asked, and they held out a long, formal cape, soft and shining black. Threads of silver had been sewn into the collar.
“A gift for you, from the king-consort,” one of the boys said.
Bess ran her fingers along the collar, thumb rubbing the silver. “It is very fine.”
“He sends me gifts instead of returning to my bed. He sends me gifts with one hand while the other is inside some other woman’s bodice.” Her anger returned quickly. Her words took shape inside her head until she could see them, hear them, and she clenched her fists together and tore the cape along the seam.
“Take it! Get it away from me!”
The servants bowed their heads and ran, mumbling apologies.
“Elsabet.” Bess put her hand on the queen’s arm.
“Forgive me, Bess. I need no spies to know what the people are saying about me. And what new things they will say about me now, following this outburst.” She took a breath. “But I would know where my king-consort is spending so much of his time. Would you and Rosamund be kind enough to find out for me?”
Jonathan met Elsabet on the top floor of the West Tower as she spoke with her master builders about the progress of the construction. It was a hive of careful, deliberate activity as always, the air full of moving ropes and brick and stone. The clumsy poisoner boy nearly tripped twice and almost had his head taken off by a swinging board. Elsabet could barely contain her laughter as she watched him from the corner of her eye.
“This is coming along nicely,” he said when he reached her, and bowed. He ran his hand along one of the interior walls, up the arch of the doorway to squeeze the keystone with his fingertips. The door led to a large chamber with several windows. “Will this be yours?”
“You could say the West Tower will be all mine. All of the queen’s apartments contained within.” She peered with him into the new space, still dusty from construction. “But no. My personal chambers are a floor below. Already complete. Perhaps I’ll give these to my king-consort. Or perhaps not. I’d rather not hear him creeping past my floor on his way to . . . somewhere or other.”
“In any case, the king-consort’s rooms should be beneath the queen’s.”
Elsabet smiled. “What have you brought me?”
At the question, Jonathan ran back into the hall and returned with the covered canvas. He studied the light quickly before placing the easel to catch the soft afternoon sun. Then he uncovered the portrait.