Alight with anticipation, Elodie opened the top letter to reveal words penned in her own mother’s hand.
I have been a fool, Tera Warnou wrote, with no recipient indicated at the top of the letter, waiting so long to write you. Without you, I have nowhere to turn. Without you, I have no one to trust. I pretend as though I am in control, but such delusions will not save me. I am constantly looking over my shoulder. Come back, her mother wrote, for a Warnou woman cannot rule alone.
Elodie frowned. Although her mother had spent significant time raising Elodie to be a Queen’s Regent, Tera Warnou’s advisers had been discarded almost as frequently as her lovers. She had never trusted anyone the way she had Elodie. Strange, then, that she had committed her insecurities to writing, that she would detail the frustration that came from trying to balance life as a mother, a ruler, and a human being.
Even after scouring the entire stack of letters, Elodie was unable to identify their recipient. Still, Tera’s words offered her eldest daughter comfort. Not once in her life had she found a crack in Tera Warnou’s polished veneer. Thus, Elodie had held her rule to unmeetable standards, certain she was not strong enough to maintain her mother’s legacy.
These letters told a different story, offering a record of a woman unmoored. Tera, too, had buckled beneath the weight of Velle’s crown. Perhaps the two of them were not so different after all.
7
The bishop was not pleased by her promotion.
It was a perfect morning to deliver good news—brisk air carried the fresh scent of dew; crisp golden foliage crunched beneath their feet—but when Sabine presented Silas with the aubergine sash, the woman’s face fell. The position of Royal Chaplain had only been vacant for two days, and already Sabine was losing control of her clergy.
“Sabine,” Silas said carefully, peering past the New Maiden into the depths of the royal chapel, “what did you do?”
“I thought you would welcome this new responsibility.” Sabine brushed imaginary dirt from her shoulder. “It’s rather an important one, I’m told.”
“There are many holy folk far more tenured than I,” Silas said, sinking heavily into a pew. “Maiden, I have not earned the honor.”
It did not seem so complicated. Where the New Maiden had Her Favoreds, so, too, should Sabine surround herself with those she trusted to ensure Her work was done. “Silas, you’re the only one I am certain of. I need you by my side.”
Silas frowned. “And what has become of René?”
“René holds other loyalties,” Sabine said darkly.
The older woman stilled at the implication. “He is the moth?” It was the first time Silas had mentioned the posters.
“I cannot prove it,” Sabine said. “But I have my suspicions.”
Silas sighed wearily. “I suppose you had no choice. Still, you should have consulted me.”
“Next time I find a wolf within my flock, Silas,” Sabine said, offering the woman a hand, “you will be the first one I warn.” She helped the new Royal Chaplain to her feet and led her toward the castle.
“Where are we going?” Silas’s voice was tense as they ambled through the royal garden.
“To your quarters.” Sabine plucked a pink camellia from a nearby shrub. “I know you are used to scarcity, so I hope you are not corrupted by Castle Warnou’s opulence.”
The Chaplain stopped walking. “Maiden, no,” she said firmly. “I cannot accept.”
“Nonsense.” Sabine used the flower to wave away her protests. “Now do try and keep up. It’s far too easy to get lost within these walls.”
She led Silas through the innards of the castle, accustomed enough with her surroundings that she no longer questioned her instincts. The Chaplain’s thin lips were pinched as she observed a smudged suit of armor, her wrinkles deepening as she frowned at the portraits hung in gilded frames. Finery, it seemed, made the holy woman uncomfortable.
Sabine hurried them up the stairs. She did not wish to offend Silas any further than she already had. In her haste, Sabine nearly collided headfirst with the queen.
“Oh, hello,” Elodie said brightly as she steadied herself. She gave Sabine’s hand a careful squeeze. The queen was dressed in an elaborate maroon gown accented with gold stitching. It boasted a train that required the oversight of two stewards.
“Majesty,” piped up Marguerite, her lady-in-waiting, “if it pleases you, the ambassador was expecting us ten minutes ago.”
“You’re being far too polite, Marguerite,” Cleo said from Elodie’s other side. “El, you’d do well not to incite a political crisis over being tardy for tea.”
“It’s this dress,” Elodie protested. “It is both oversized and too tight—tripping and suffocating me in equal measure.”
“It’s the only gown we have in Vathi colors,” Cleo said, for what must have been the tenth time that morning based on the tension in her jaw.
“Well, it’s flattering.” Sabine’s eyes followed the length of the dress’s plunging neckline and the pale expanse of skin it exposed. A slither of wanting coiled in her belly. Elodie met her gaze with a similar hunger. Sabine’s cheeks burned as bright as the queen’s gown.
“Oh, now we’re being terribly rude.” Elodie had just noticed Silas, who, despite her towering height, had done her best to shrink back behind Sabine. “Who is your guest?”
“This is Silas,” Sabine said, stepping aside. “Previously the bishop of Harborside’s chapel.”
“I was dismayed to hear about the fire,” Elodie said. “Where are you stationed now?”
Sabine’s heart skipped a beat. Although she had used Marguerite to secure Silas a room in the south wing, she had not actually informed Elodie of the change to the Church’s leadership. It was not clear if their roles were intertwined enough to warrant an intimate level of consultation. But then, as she was the New Maiden, the Church was Sabine’s purview. She had every right to make personnel changes the same way Elodie did with Velle’s public servants.
“Silas has graciously accepted the role of Royal Chaplain,” Sabine answered, relishing the flicker of pride that flashed across the queen’s face. “Effective immediately.”
“Welcome, Chaplain Silas,” Elodie said, offering the woman an impressive curtsy. “I hope you’ll be kinder to the Warnou family than your predecessor.”
“It would be my honor,” Silas returned Elodie’s curtsy with surprising ease. Her eyes lingered on the queen.
“This has been lovely,” Cleo said, looking perilously close to tears, “but we absolutely must go.” She began to pull her sister down the corridor. Elodie turned over her shoulder to wave.
When they reached the Chaplain’s quarters, Sabine addressed the woman plainly. “I know this is much to take in,” she said, barreling past the Chaplain’s protests, “but I would not ask if I did not have the need. You are good, and I require guidance. Please”—Sabine exhaled sharply—“have faith.”
