Elodie rubbed her temples. “You make it sound easy.”
“Because it is. You’ll shake the Duke of Minvin’s hand, offer a few compassionate frowns, and then we’ll be on our way.”
Elodie wrinkled her nose. “That feels a bit soulless.”
The queen had witnessed Sabine’s interactions with the New Maiden’s followers. Each time she had made the moments significant and sincere. A few minutes with a duke in the Highlands could not compensate for an entire harvest’s lost crops. Still, there was a vital reason why Elodie had ordered for a carriage, had even agreed to the grueling journey: to prove to her constituents that she cared for them more than the Republics could ever hurt them. These were the moments that defined a queen. The choices that cemented a legacy. When Elodie had accepted Velle’s crown, she had committed to showing up, no matter how empty the gesture might seem.
“It’s no more soulless than anything else the monarchy does,” Rob brooded.
Elodie scoffed. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“I only mean that one cannot rule righteously,” Rob continued. “Our system was set in place centuries ago as a way to oppress and subjugate. The House of Warnou is not inherently superior to any other family in Velle.”
Cleo shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Rob,” she said gently, catching sight of Elodie’s expression, but their brother continued, oblivious to his older sister’s scrutiny.
“What gives a Warnou the right to rule over someone else?” Rob turned his inquisition toward Elodie. “Is the New Maiden’s word even relevant in our current age? Just because Velle has always done things a certain way doesn’t mean it must continue.”
“What would you suggest the country do instead?” Elodie asked, clutching the carriage bench with white knuckles. She currently did not have the headspace to help her brother dismantle the monarchy.
“Oh, I do not presume to have the answers,” Rob said with infuriating calm. “I have merely taken an interest in the theological. Naturally, it leads me to question everything.”
“I thought the point of theology was faith,” Elodie said dryly.
“On the contrary.” Rob tapped his finger against his knee in a syncopated rhythm. “The point of theology is truth.”
None of the Warnous had ever found much use for religion. They had been their mother’s children, prioritizing crown before Church, and sometimes in spite of it. Yet it appeared that Rob had changed his tune.
Elodie examined her brother. The longer she spent ostracized from Rob, the more he began to feel like a stranger. The brother she had once known would never have gotten tangled up in such darkness. But this new Rob was changed enough that he might be unduly influenced. His desire to embrace a new order hinted at the threat of the Second Son.
After the tense carriage ride, it was almost a relief to slap on a smile and converse with the Duke of Minvin, a thin man with sun-soaked skin and kind eyes. The duke and his family were delighted to have the queen for tea, their smiles so wide it was difficult to believe that the entirety of their land had been destroyed.
“Apologies for the smell, Your Majesty,” the duke said, his voice pinched. Elodie’s eyes had begun to water. She buried her nose in her teacup, but the bitter herbs had not steeped long enough to suppress the stench.
“We won’t have much to send to the storerooms,” the duchess said apologetically. “Usually, we ship off ten tons of wheat and a thousand barrels of fruit, but those won’t be available this year. Some of the root vegetables may have survived, and if we’re lucky, the moisture will keep the soil strong. We’ll know more in spring. Until then”—she grimaced—“I’m afraid there is little we can deliver from this harvest.”
“Next year’s lost, too,” the duke added. “The seeds will take another season to sprout.”
“I see.” Elodie set her teacup down gently so they would not notice her hands shake. Without hard numbers and a review of their food stores, she could not say for certain how massive a loss this was, but the stitch in her side implied it was devastating. “Do you have a central square, or a gathering hall, perhaps? I’d like to say a few words to the township, if that’s all right?”
The duchess’s eyes widened. “It would be our honor. Richard!” She called forth a tiny boy of no more than six. “Go on and ring the bells!”
It took very little time to assemble the residents, as most were already in the fields sifting through the damage. Elodie stood atop a barrel, careful to breathe only through her mouth. Cleo looked worriedly up at her as though at any moment she might fall.
“Harvesters of Minvin,” Elodie called, surveying the beleaguered expressions of the township’s inhabitants. Many had scarves tied around their noses and mouths to suppress the smell. “I hope my presence here today offers comfort in response to this devastating tragedy. I urge you, do not fret, for with the support of the crown and prayers from the New Maiden, the Highlands and Velle will grow stronger than ever before. Your focus now should be on rebuilding, on helping the land recover. Come spring, the earth will be renewed. Velle will rise victorious,” she shouted, fueled by the nods and applause from the crowd, “and our enemies will fall, poisoned at the root!”
Cleo dug her fingernails into the soft skin of Elodie’s ankle. Too late, the queen realized her mistake. To the people of Minvin, this had been an accident, faulty dams that had all sprung leaks. Yet their queen had informed her people of a threat—an enemy that, until now, they had known nothing about.
“Did she say enemies?”
“Are we at war?”
“Should we be afraid?”
“You are not in danger,” Elodie added, in hopes of tempering their reactions. She felt a tug on the hem of her dress.
“Time to go,” Cleo said sharply while Rob chuckled softly beside her. “Wave goodbye, Elodie.”
Elodie cursed her loose lips as she extracted herself from the clamoring crowd. This venture had been meant to curtail emotions, not exacerbate them. As the Warnou siblings returned to the carriage, to venture along the same roads they had traveled mere hours before, Elodie could not help but concede that in this round of their battle, Edgar had emerged victorious.
9
The pews of the royal chapel were empty save for Sabine. It had only been little more than a week since she had removed Chaplain René from his post, but already she could feel the punishing aftereffects. Mass attendance had dwindled by half. Even the altar children had abandoned their posts.
News from beyond the castle was not much better. The slew of resignations had left district churches without clergy. Sabine could only imagine the havoc the Second Son’s prophet could wreak with all those empty pulpits. Especially if, as she suspected, His prophet had previously been a man of Her cloth.
The words of warning that Brianne brought back from her ghostly dream state echoed in Sabine’s head as she lay prostrate on the unforgiving wooden bench: He will hold the faithful in His iron grip.
A profound pause, as she waited for the darkness to snipe at her, to tell her that fire could melt metal, if only she could locate a spark. When it did not come, Sabine felt a flutter of disappointment. Every time she waited with bated breath, praying she might hear that serpentine voice—her constant witness and companion—she was disappointed. Its absence left so much room for self-doubt.
She was the one who had retired René from his post and compelled the clergy to resign. Her embodiment of the New Maiden was not enough to help the devoted maintain their conviction. Instead, her presence seemed to repel them away from Her word, as though their faith had nothing to do with the New Maiden at all.
Worse, a flock in search of a new shepherd was primed to look upon a poster and find the Second Son. With a rebel congregation in want of a worship hall, what was stopping the prophet from claiming one of the New Maiden’s sanctuaries for Himself?
Sabine sat up, knocking a hymnal to the floor with a dull thump. The swishing of bristles stilled.
“What is it?” Brianne leaned the broom against a pew and turned to the New Maiden, concern swimming in her blue eyes. In the absence of a clergy, the youngest Warnou had taken to lighting the chapel’s prayer candles and sweeping the floors, dutifully maintaining the space in her work boots and trousers. The labor was hardly fit for a princess, but she didn’t seem to mind.
