Esther is annoyed, her arms tight at her side as she sits with perfect posture.
Beside me, Glenquartz radiates calm energy. While I’m patient from the waist upward, my legs jitter, and I pick at my cuticles beneath the table. This could be the place—the very moment—where they decide I’m unfit to be queen.
A woman stands up, collecting everyone’s attention. She’s on edge, her aura as sharp as the decorative sword beneath her Royal Guard uniform, which bears crisp white-and-black decorations on the sleeves and lapel. She clearly outranks Glenquartz. She’s the general of the entire Royal Guard. What did Glenquartz say the general’s name was? Demure. She seems anything but.
“Good afternoon,” General Demure begins. “Today we gather to discuss our impossible heir, who I am pleased to see has joined us.”
Saying that I’ve joined them is a bit of a stretch. There may not be handcuffs on my wrists, but that doesn’t mean I’m not a prisoner. And it doesn’t escape my notice that she says “our heir” instead of “the heir,” as if she’s claiming me as property, which, since I’m Nameless, might be how she truly thinks of me.
In my head I hear what Hat would say: They aren’t claiming you; they’re including you.
The Royal who is wearing a silver-plated pocket watch and sitting on the other side of Glenquartz speaks up. “Come now, I refuse to accept she is Nameless.”
Right to business, then. I figured they’d spend a few minutes being official and introducing themselves. But as a woman speaks up next, I realize that these people are all about getting to the heart of the matter.
“She must not be Nameless if the late King Fallow named her the heir,” the woman says. She wears a purple-and-gold bow in her hair that is encrusted with small amethysts. The bow matches her amethyst and quartz jewelry. Overall, she’s mostly purple.
The Silver Watch Royal scoffs. “If she doesn’t know her own name, she is as good as Nameless.”
The Amethyst Royal counters, “Being Nameless and not knowing one’s name are two different things.”
“Is it?” General Demure says.
“She could be an impostor,” Silver Watch says.
Amethyst Woman shakes her head firmly. “The test performed by Esther was conclusive. The only question is whether her loyalties belong with Seriden or with the Nameless.”
An older woman decked in pearls speaks for the first time. Her voice is quiet and smooth but with an edge, like a glass feather. “My family hasn’t seen the throne in seventy years, and I will not tolerate some worthless street sleeper taking power. The crown should go to someone who knows how to bear its weight. To the Vesania family.” Pearl folds her hands together, and Silver Watch agrees with a slap to the table. Obviously, they are both from the Vesania family.
“Then why not the Demure family, or the Rident family, or the Otiose?” says Amethyst Woman.
I realize that I’m categorizing and remembering people based on their possessions, on what I could steal from them. Amethyst Woman, Pearl, Silver Watch.
Old habits.
It goes on like this for a while, and this is obviously the argument they’ve been having for the past days. But one thing they all have in common is that they never meet my eye. They’re talking about me as if I’m not even here. I’m the same as I was on the streets: a shadow on the wall. I gather that this council is made up of the heads of their areas: the head commerce keeper, the general of the Royal Guard, the senior judge, and others.
The only people in the room who haven’t spoken are Glenquartz and me. His facial expressions give him away. He sides with Amethyst Woman and the general, who are on the opposite side from Pearl, Silver Watch, and Esther. The rest of the room, based on their auras, is divided.
“She is a child among adults,” Silver Watch says at length. “She is obviously outside her class here.” He gestures snidely at my ratty, stained clothes.
“She was in the dungeon for three days, where we put her,” Glenquartz clarifies, shaking a finger.
Glenquartz is a good man, I think. Maybe he even believes I can be a successful queen, or perhaps he pities me enough to defend me.
“Her loyalties are what is in question,” Amethyst Woman says. “The security of Seriden is what’s at stake. The Nameless have been growing more and more restless over these past years. This could be the start of a revolt. We must address the protests.”
Protests. That must be what Glenquartz meant when he talked about what was happening in the city.
Silver Watch’s aura sparks with interest. “You talk about her loyalties as if we don’t have another option.”
A swell of confusion rises through me. “What other option?” I finally break my silence. I’m not going to be invited to talk. Being patient won’t win me anything.
I run my finger against the flat side of the blade pressed against my arm, keeping a smooth expression on my face even though I can feel the whole room trying to read my features for any reaction. Glenquartz places a cautioning hand on my arm. I feel a ripple of concern and kindness, like cool ocean breeze mixing with warm wind. He wants me to restrain myself. Calm down. Act like a lady.
“This”—Silver Watch looks me up and down—“anomaly is not the breaking of a pattern or the beginning of a new pattern. Nothing extraordinary will be tolerated, and there is a time-tried tradition for resolving this sort of inconvenience.”
My nerve endings fray as he continues talking about me instead of to me.
“You think I’m extraordinary,” I say, pretending to be flattered. “That’s so sweet.”
“That is not a compliment,” Silver Watch stresses, pointing at me.
“Isn’t it?” I say casually.
“Belrosa,” Silver Watch says to the general, “will you please explain to this impossible girl that her best chance at surviving the next five and a half weeks includes that she sit quietly, keep her head down, and listen to the plan?”
I open my mouth to make a scathing retort, and Belrosa Demure holds up a white-gloved hand. “There is an event called the Assassins’ Festival. Are you familiar with it?”
I grip the knife under the table and tell myself that cutting out Silver Watch’s tongue wouldn’t actually improve my situation. Instead I give a half-hearted shrug. I don’t know much about the Assassins’ Festival, only that it happens each time a new sovereign takes the throne, and there hasn’t been one in my lifetime.
“The Assassins’ Festival is a traditional event,” Belrosa says. “In the six weeks after you acquire that tattoo, your magical abilities and the connection with your subjects will grow stronger. At the end of those six weeks, you’ll be at your strongest, and you will have the ability for a single day to peacefully pass the tattoo to someone else. This is the only day you’ll be able to give the tattoo away without dying. You will duel your challengers throughout the day, and if a challenger succeeds, you’ll transfer the crown tattoo to them. Are we correct in assuming you have little desire to retain the tattoo?”