I sigh dramatically and look forlornly at Glenquartz. “I don’t think Esther wants to be my friend.”
He chuckles. “I think you’re probably right about that.”
* * *
In the hours until lunch, I do my best to create the illusion of dress shoes instead of my boots. Glenquartz commends me on them, but I can barely make it thirty minutes at a time before the illusion falters. Esther was right—sustaining an illusion requires constant focus, but it also requires mental energy. By the time we adjourn to the dining hall for dinner, my mind is weary. I pause outside the door to gather my thoughts, and I find a corkboard hanging beside it. On it there are four pieces of paper pinned up. They’re filled with different-sized scribbles and lines.
“What’s this?” I ask.
“Ah, it’s the list of people who’ve signed up so far to duel you at the Assassins’ Festival,” Glenquartz says. “It’s more ceremonial than anything else. If you cede to Esther or Belrosa, you won’t have to worry about the remaining duels. Take a look, if you like. I see Belrosa’s name on it already—no surprise there. Doesn’t look like Esther has signed up yet, though.”
I regard the list of names. There are at least twenty of them. I retreat to the table across the corridor to untie and retie my boots.
“What, not interested?” he says, teasing, but he stops when he sees my annoyance. He puts an apologetic hand on my shoulder.
Burned, I step away from his touch. “I can’t read.”
“Oh.” His hand hovers for a moment before falling to his side.
In his Royal world, I’m sure learning to read is as natural as studying which silverware to use and how to dance.
“The Nameless aren’t taught to read,” Glenquartz says.
My shoulders tense. “Thanks for reminding me.”
“No,” Glenquartz says, wincing. “What I meant is that it’s not your fault.”
“I could have learned if I wanted to,” I admit, my shoulders slumping. “If it really mattered to me, I could have found someone to teach me.” What I don’t say weighs more heavily: that trying to learn to read was like deciphering planets from flickering stars. I gave up long ago.
“You’re still so young,” Glenquartz consoles me. “You have time to learn if you want to. You’re only…” He trails off when he realizes he doesn’t remember how old I am.
“Seventeen, if it’s up to me,” I say. “But in truth…I don’t know.” I cross my arms. It’s never really bothered me before that I don’t know these few and vital things about myself. I created truths as I needed them. But now these things matter, and I have to look at the facts and realize I’m a stranger in my own life.
I approach the dining-hall door again and place a hand on it, running a finger along the polished grain.
“You know,” I say softly, “before now it didn’t bother me that I can’t read, that I don’t have good posture, or that I don’t know how to make a good first impression.”
Glenquartz stands beside me, letting me speak.
“I don’t have proper clothing, I’ve spent my life stealing, and I don’t know how to be around cruel people without punching them. I mean, I don’t know if those things bother me, but I’ve never had to worry about them before.” On the other side of the door, there is an entire room filled with people bustling, feasting, and socializing.
“If I could walk through these doors and, I don’t know…just be one of them…” I curl my fingers into a fist, the smooth wood leaving traces of oily polish on my skin. I let my fist fall to my side. I relax.
Glenquartz is staring at the door as pensively as I am.
“I served King Fallow for nearly my entire life,” Glenquartz says, “and my family has served the sovereigns of Seriden for generations. I’m not going to say that learning how to interact with the Royals isn’t important, because I know it is. But King Fallow wouldn’t have named you queen without a reason. You’re concerned about being different from all of the people in that room. Don’t be. You’re not meant to be their friend or their equal. You’re meant to lead them.”
I scoff. “I’m meant to keep my head down and not cause trouble for the next five and a half weeks. What do I know about leading people?”
“From what I’ve seen so far,” Glenquartz says, “you’re pretty good at telling people what to do.”
I pout playfully. “Are you calling me bossy, Glen-beard?”
He puts a hand to his chest, feigning offense. “Me? Would I say that, my lady?”
Still, I hesitate, staring at the door as if I can see through it.
“Of all the people in this city,” Glenquartz says, “I think there is at least one person who doesn’t care how tall you stand or how bad your manners are. Or how bossy you are. I’m guessing that’s the person you care about most?”
Hat. My chin turns up with pride.
“I’ll make sure the request for her release is sent as soon as possible,” he says.
“Shall we?” I say, but even I can hear the reluctance—the fear—in my voice.
Glenquartz opens the door for me, then stands to the side to let me go first.
With fear and bravery in equal balance, I square my shoulders, and I enter.
* * *
No one tries to assassinate me during dinner, but that doesn’t mean they’re not thinking about it. On my path through the dining hall, several people touch me before I can sidestep them. If they hold on for more than a second or two, I feel a tidal surge of memories and images. From some people I see the last time they saw the king or the first time they saw me in a corridor. I see hands wrapped around my throat, poison-dipped food slipped onto my tray, and—most creative of all—a spring-loaded blade propped under my pillow. None of the images, though, are as hate-filled or horrible as the thoughts Belrosa pushed on me yesterday during the meeting with the council.
Needless to say, when I take my seat at the high table, everyone’s watching me. It doesn’t help that the table has eight empty cushioned chairs and that the entire setup is on an elevated platform—quite literally a stage. After seeing several imaginings of my death, all I want to do is lock myself in a quiet room. I miss the dungeon. As the Legal servants bring out trays of food, all I can think about is what might be poisoned. Glenquartz takes a seat beside me as the food is brought out, and it doesn’t smell poisoned. It smells fantastic. Even though fresh fish is common in a coastal city, I’ve only had it a couple of times, and the breading and spices make my mouth water.