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Two days passed in utter isolation. Elma had lost the will to be angry; the rage deep within her could no longer be stoked, weighed down by her despair. She couldn’t look her guards in the eye. Their whispers were sharp, their gazes hateful. And when she asked after Godwin, or the rest of the advisors, she was given blank stares.
Not knowing was the worst of it.
So when the knock came on the third day, late in the morning, Elma assumed it would be her summons to the execution. Death, now, came as a welcome relief.
But it was only Cora in the doorway, pale and wide-eyed. Her fingers twisted together, and she swallowed as if words caught unsaid in her throat.
Elma stared. “You,” she said. Her rage flickered weakly, a distant light in the dark.
Cora paled further. “Please, Your Majesty. I see in your eyes that you know what I’ve done. But… I need to speak with you.”
A great exhaustion fell over Elma. What could Cora possibly have to say that hadn’t been said already by Godwin,by the guards at Elma’s door? But… Elma hesitated. The maid had addressed her as Your Majesty. Perhaps a habit not easily shed, or perhaps she was still, incomprehensibly, loyal despite everything.
“I would speak with my maid alone,” Elma said, addressing the guard just outside her door.
He frowned, his expression stony.
“If I’m going to die,” Elma added, “you may as well let me bid farewell to the one person who still deigns to speak with me.”
The guard sighed. “Five minutes.”
He searched Cora for weapons before she was allowed inside, which struck Elma as vaguely funny. She doubted Cora had ever carried a knife on her in her life, let alone spirited one to her queen. And if she did have a weapon, it would be destined for Elma’s heart, not her hand.
When Cora was at last declared clean and allowed to enter Elma’s rooms, she closed the door behind her carefully, still fidgeting as if she didn’t know where to put her hands, where to look.
Elma settled herself in a chair by the fire, not caring what Cora did or said. If she had something to convey, she could do it in the next five minutes, or not. More likely than not, her attendant had come under the weight of her own conscience and desired to shed what remaining guilt she carried after betraying her queen. If it would ease the girl’s life, then so be it. Elma would listen.
After a moment of strained silence, though, Cora came around to stand before Elma. And before Elma could stop her, the attendant knelt before her once-queen, bowed her head, and pressed her forehead to Elma’s knees.
“Forgive me,” she said, her voice low and muffled.
Was she crying? Elma couldn’tunderstand.
“Forgive me,” Cora said again, and again. Her words came as a chant, a prayer of absolution. “I didn’t mean to.”
Elma gently laid a hand on Cora’s head. “It’s no use begging for forgiveness from me now,” she said. “I’m already dead, just as you wanted.”
Cora sat up, her eyes wet with tears, her face stricken. “Lord Godwin promised to reinstate my father’s title if I… helped him. I was afraid. There’s hardly any food, even with my brother’s work. Trade has dried up. We needed—”
“I understand,” Elma interrupted. “A queen in exchange for your family’s survival.”
A tear ran down Cora’s cheek.
“It’s my own fault,” Elma said, looking away. “I saw you as a friend. An equal. I was naive, and you were desperate.”
“You’ve always been so generous…”
Elma scoffed. “Generous? I gave you a few trinkets here and there, thinking a necklace would keep you fed. Keep you thriving in this rotten kingdom. I was more concerned for my own safety than the needs of my people. I would have tried to kill me, too.”
Cora wiped her face with her hands, sniffling. “You couldn’t have known.”
“Get up,” Elma said, “stop kneeling. It’s awkward for both of us.”
Wordlessly, Cora got to her feet and went to the other chair, settling herself on the very edge of it as if she couldn’t risk the comfort.
“I did know,” Elma said, gazing into the fire. “I knew your family struggled. I knew, factually, distantly, that many families in Rothen were struggling. I was aware of the state of our trade with Navenie and Mekya. But it was all numbers to me, you see. Words from the mouths of my advisors. I didn’t trulyunderstand the situation until the parade before my coronation, and by then, anything in my power was too little too late.” She sighed, speaking as much to herself as to Cora. “I never made the effort in those seven years, never set myself up to be a good queen. I cared only for myself, how lonely I was, how much I yearned for a life that had never truly been mine.”
“You mean Mekya.”
