Elodie scowled at Edgar’s words. The boy behaved as though he were playing a parlor game, moving pieces about the board with no regard for the very real lives he was affecting. What he saw as a strategy to gain Elodie’s attention, she saw as a crisis with devastating implications.
First the drowned harvest had ruined most of Velle’s own stores. Now an embargo had been enacted when they needed access to the Republics’ bounty most. Elodie had been planning to spend ample coin in order to import enough grain, cheese, and smoked meats to last the country through winter. This change to the agreements meant her people were going to starve.
“What about the Jvin Channel?” Cleo asked, after she’d reviewed Edgar’s harbinger of doom. Despite the abject horror of their circumstances, Elodie was proud that her middle sister was thinking tactically. She had jumped to the same potential solution as the queen. “Merchant ships could circumvent the mainland and head for the harbor.”
But Elodie shook her head. “It’s nearing winter. The water has already started to freeze. Ships won’t be able to clear the pass until spring.”
Cleo looked crestfallen. “What are we going to do?”
“We need to get ahead of it as best we can.” Winter was coming, yes, but Velle had some reserves. Elodie needed to start by getting an accurate understanding of their existing food supply.
She called for Marguerite to ready a coach to the Commerce District.
“Will you summon Rob, too?” Cleo asked Elodie’s handmaid, ignoring her sister’s furious glare. “This is far greater than your silly feud,” her middle sister insisted. “You need help.”
“I’m fine,” Elodie protested, but her assertion came out sounding pained.
Cleo extracted a pile of parchment from her pocket and dropped it on the table. “Not according to these.”
They were the letters Elodie had found in the War Room.
“Cleo,” Elodie spluttered. “You can’t just go snooping around in my things. As head of state, I am privy to very sensitive information now.”
“Then you should find better hiding places.” Cleo shrugged. “So? Are these for Tal or for Sabine?” When Elodie did not speak, Cleo sighed and sat back on the sofa. “It’s all right. You can trust me, you know.”
“I didn’t pen those letters.”
Cleo frowned. “No? Who else would be this desperate for help?”
Elodie pursed her lips. “Ouch,” she said dryly. “But why do you even care who wrote them or what they’re for?”
Cleo picked at a loose thread on her skirt. “I’m worried about you. All this nonsense from Edgar and the Republics is taking its toll. I can see it is. You deserve more experienced advisers than your younger siblings.”
Elodie sighed, wishing again she could speak directly to their late mother. If Queen Tera had found trusted allies and confidants, perhaps, with the right consultant, there was yet hope for Elodie to worm her way out of this predicament.
But she would never hear her mother’s voice again. All that was left of Tera Warnou were memories—and these letters made it clear there was much about her mother that Elodie had not known. Those truths about Tera remained only in the minds of those who had loved her most.
Elodie could have kicked herself. There was a resource she had yet to exhaust. Someone who had known her mother intimately, but whose loyalty belonged staunchly to Elodie.
I am not only your queen, Elodie wrote hastily, to Duke Antony Wilde of Upper Dale, but also your daughter. And so, when I beg you to join me for tea, it is not a simple request, but a royal decree. I am eager to see you soon. She signed her name with a flourish and sealed the note with the family’s fleur-de-lis seal.
She felt lighter as she handed Marguerite the letter to send. Silly, too, that she had not reached out sooner. It wasn’t as though Elodie forgot she had a father; it was simply that he had never been relevant to her royal ambitions. He was content up in the hills with his farm and his animals. Elodie could not imagine a duller fate. Still, he always brought her comfort, and perhaps more urgently, he could bring her information. Her father had known Tera before she was queen—had loved her not because of her power and ambition, but in spite of it. If anyone was still keeping Tera Warnou’s secrets, it would be him.
Elodie spent the ride to the Commerce District grim-faced yet determined. She maintained that resolve all the way to the treasury, up the steps to the accountant’s office, even as she sat between Cleo and Rob on hard-backed wooden chairs, listening to a sharp-jawed man rattle off figures.
“Your stores are lower than usual for this time of year,” the accountant said, leaning back in his upholstered seat, pointing to a large deduction a few weeks prior, “due to your recent pricing adjustments. A most”—he coughed pointedly—“interesting initiative that allowed for discounted access to wares.”
Elodie resented his efforts to shame her for a policy that had allowed her constituents affordable food. Still, the numbers illustrated an inescapable truth. Yesterday’s feasting had ensured tomorrow’s famine. She would need to enforce strict rationing if her people were to make it through the winter.
It was not until the Warnou siblings arrived at the granaries, where a kind older man unlocked several padlocks and rolled open the door, that Elodie wholly shattered. Less than half the gigantic storeroom had been utilized.
The man gestured to the empty space. “That’s where we will store the harvest from Minvin.”
Guilt shuddered in the queen’s stomach. She had not yet made public the unusable state of the Highlands’ harvest.
“But only this storeroom,” she insisted, quickly. “Surely there isn’t so much empty space to be filled in the others?”
“There is, milady,” the man said, looking apologetic. “We diversify our stores in case of pests or spoils. That way, if something goes awry, the country won’t have to subsist on nothing but rutabaga for an entire season.” He chuckled softly, which only stood to further sour Elodie’s mood.
“Thank you, sir.” She offered the man a sweeping curtsy. “This tour has been most informative.”
The queen managed to maintain her composure until she was safely inside the coach. Then Elodie burst into tears. Without access to imported goods, the country faced impossible odds. If she did not act drastically, Velle would starve.
“Maybe I should accept Edgar’s proposal,” Elodie said, once her tears had dried. At least that way she’d have control over the trade routes.
Cleo looked horrified. “Ellie, you can’t.”
“I see no other way out of this.” It pained her greatly to admit defeat.
“You are appealing to the wrong person, Elodie,” Rob said softly, eyes fixed on the passing scenery. “If you were willing to pledge fealty to the Republics, you could eliminate the threat of Edgar once and for all.”
Elodie frowned. Although her brother’s voice was casual, it was clear this was a proposal he had put quite a lot of thought into. “And how would I do that?”
“The best way to get the Republics on your side,” Rob said, gesturing out the carriage window to a piece of parchment stuck to a lamppost, “is to align yourself with their greater power.”
Elodie pressed her face to the glass and scrutinized the poster, which boasted an unsightly moth and ink-splattered words: Faith belongs in stronger hands, to those who will not break. Elodie had not noticed them on the ride into the city for they had blurred into the background of her fears. But now that Rob had directed her attention, she saw them everywhere.
