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“Regardless of bloodlines or inheritance, we spend our lives learning how to be monarchs. But you’ve shown more determination during these past weeks than I’ve ever seen. That’s why I’m not fretting about the queen you’ll become.” She swept a lock of hair from my cheek. “And I’ve suspected for a while about Poet.”
“What will they do to him?” I implored.
“They haven’t decided yet. They’ll summon you both before the court again and offer to be lenient if you tell them where Nicu is. If you refuse, you’ll be banned from Spring until your coronation.”
That could take ages. Decades in which I would not see Eliot, in which Mother would have to come here alone. We’d never set foot in Spring together, because when I was crowned, she would be dead, if not incapacitated.
My chest constricted. Mother could fight me over this, but she must understand being torn between the heart and one’s duty. It couldn’t be helped. I would not give them Nicu.
“Briar.” Mother cupped my face. “I hate to see this happen to you.”
“What about Poet?” I persisted.
She hesitated. “Spring won’t execute him. But the jester’s recrimination will be physical, if anything.”
They would string him in thorn vines and leave him in the square for hours. Or they’d gag him with fire pepper until his throat boiled and his tongue felt as if it were melting off. Whatever the torture or mutilation, Poet would heal, but he wouldn’t forget. And he would never be the same.
To please the public, they wouldn’t do permanent damage. Even though he had lied to the Crown, they would preserve his ability to talk and jest.
Or maybe theywoulddeform him, turn him into someone unrecognizable.
Nausea roiled through me. Hysteria gripped my throat.
They could continue to search for Nicu without our help. They might eventually find him if Spring and Summer were militant about it.
Short of panicking, I buried my face in the pillow and struggled to breathe. Mother rubbed the back of my neck, murmuring things that escaped me. Not that it mattered. At the moment, I needed her touch more than her words.
Words. Written ones.
The Fools Decree. Unbidden, the document popped into my head. Intuition sent my mind racing.
I shook myself, recalling each line and searching for something. Just one thing.
“Fools, and all that they are, shall be bound to their new Season,”I recited aloud.“Fools, and all that they are … bound to their new Season.”
Once more, I repeated,“Fools, and all that they are …”
And all that they are.
All that they are.
I lurched upright. Blessed air returned to my lungs. Mother and Father were sympathetic to born souls, but it hadn’t been their era to challenge that. I wouldn’t convince our continent, much less the Royals, overnight. However, great feats began with tentative steps. This mightn’t be Mother’s legacy, but perhaps it was destined to be mine.
“Mother.” I scooted closer. “I need to discuss something with you.”
Two hours later, we strode into the great hall, where the Royals were breaking their fast. The guards flanked us, of course. Spring no longer wanted me out of its sight.
My satin gown had short sleeves, a skirt that swished around my legs, and a chain belt. I’d chosen silver, the color of sober Winter. Also, the color of armor.
But rather than a sword, I had words. I had a revelation.
The princess had a trick up her sleeve.
Basil and Rhys shot to their feet when we entered. The queens set aside their cutlery and gawked in surprise. Mother had been expected, but I had been banned from eating with them. That I’d disregarded this blazed across their faces.
Each of them appeared larger than usual, like monuments that would outlast time and eras of change. Poet’s sly artifice worked for him, whereas my tactics had a disruptive effect. I prayed that unnerving the Royals would give me an edge. They weren’t prepared for negotiation.
“Queen Avalea, this is anarchy,” King Basil galled, slapping down his linen napkin. “Your daughter belongs in her suite. Can you not leash her for one damned day? For Season’s sake—guards!”
