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“Tea?” she offers.
I resist the urge to ask what’s in it, considering last time she was using it to test me for Wendigo Psychosis. I shake my head as she pours herself a cup.
“Now, the two of us are overdue for a chat, don’t you think?”
I sit up straighter. “I’m not sure I know what you’re referring to.”
“Oh, Valerie.” She sighs as she plops a sugar cube in her tea. “I’m on your side. Your mother leaving so abruptly, and after you just returned, I can’t even imagine.”
The fake sympathy on her face brings a sour taste to the back of my mouth. We both know she couldn’t care less about how I’m doing, or motherly duties, for that matter, given her own children. She’s not even trying to be subtle about her phishing.
“Rosemarie was so good to me for decades,” she continues. “The best Marionette I’ve had, I’d say. It’s a true loss.”
“I don’t know where she is, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
The queen leans back, blinking rapidly for a moment, but I’m too exhausted to play whatever game she’s looking for here.
“She must have said something to you before she left.”
I shake my head. “Truly. I was as shocked as anyone.”
I refrain from asking howshedoesn’t know more, seeing as she’s the one bonded to my mother. Do they still have that connection? Did my mother break it before leaving?
Does she know more about what happened than she’s saying?
“Well, as you saw, Princess Anya Vasilieva just arrived. I’ll admit, we weren’t expecting her, but she’ll now be one of the representatives for the Russian estate as we navigate through all of this…unpleasantness.”
The queen must see the confusion on my face because she adds, “Anya has always been more…free-spiritedthan the rest of the Vasiliev family. Her stowing away on a plane isn’t unusual for her, trust me. I do feel a need to apologize for her escorts though. The Russians have always been so…primitive.”
My eyes flick to the teeth in her crown that she apparently considers civilized.
Stowed away?So the brothers hadn’t known she was there? Or is that her story now to save face? That’s an awfully long flight to stay hidden.
But if that’s not true, and she was somehow in on the plans those brothers had for me, does that mean she knows the truth about my necromancy?
She ripped Mikhail’s spine straight out of his body, for fuck’s sake. If she’d been in on their plan, why would she save me?
“You’ll have to forgive their manners,” continues the queen, and my eyes refocus on the displeased scrunch of her nose. “Though I am curious as to why they took such an interest in you.”
I stifle a hiss as I pick the skin around my nails hard enough to draw blood. The queen’s attention shoots to my hand, her pupils dilating.
“I believe they were trying to get back at Reid. They had a…history.”
“And why would they think targeting you would be the best way to do that?”
The knowing lilt of her voice grates on my nerves, but all I say is “You know how loyal he is to his partners.”
She gives me a small smile like she’s humoring me. “Well, as I’m sure you know, Anya Vasilieva is betrothed to my son.” Her smile grows like she is fully aware that I didn’t know. “And what Reginald does behind closed doors is his own business. But make no mistake.” She leans forward, slashing the distance between us in half, all pleasantries and fake smiles gone. “This betrothal will go through. Strong alliances between the estates are more important now than ever until we deal with this Westcott situation, and the union of Reginald and Anya will help mend the rocky relationship Vasiliev has had with the other estates for the past several years. Not to mention, my son will one day take the Carrington crown, and the woman at his side will be one fitting for his station.” She looks me up and down. “His judgment is unsurprising, given his father, but a witch, Marionette or not, will never be anything more than his whore.” She smiles and leans back in her seat. “Just so we’re clear.”
I don’t even have time to dissect what she means about Reid’s dad—he died before Reid left the estate as a child, before I could eventalk—my brain getting caught on how casually the wordwhorerolls off her tongue.
I know what she expects. For me to sit here quietly, chagrined. As if I’m a child cowering beneath her authority as she looks down at me from her throne.
But this isn’t her throne room, and I’m not that child anymore.
If anyone needs a reality check here, it’s her. She’s acting like nothing’s changed, as if she hasn’t taken up residence in another region, one where she has virtually no authority. As if she isn’t under the protection of a different estate because she failed to hold her own. As if her estate isn’t the first to have fallen.
The thought makes me sit up a little straighter, as if another following suit is a certainty.
