The Queen's Secret (The Queen's Secret #2) - Melissa de la Cruz Page 0,39

poultices from her garden to the physician, and he summoned her after the death of Father Juniper to consult with her about the nature of the black powder and the possible sources of the poison.

“She is on her way to see me now,” Martyn told me. “I feel she may have a greater sense of what caused the priest’s death. Her knowledge is more ancient, shall we say.”

That’s when I realized this Varya must be a member of the Guild.

Lady Marguerite is instructed to do my bidding. After Lord Burley leaves, she scampers away to the physician’s chambers to intercept Varya before she finishes her business there and departs the castle.

I would prefer it if Varya could climb the secret staircase to the Queen’s Secret and tap on the door. This way the guards wouldn’t see her, and no spies lurking in the gallery could report on a stranger’s visit. But I’m mindful of Cal’s instruction to trust no one, not even Lady Marguerite. She cannot know about the secret passage and staircase. Not yet, anyway.

Instead, Varya is to disguise herself by putting on the lilac cloak my ladies of the bedchamber wear on cold days. Anyone watching will assume she is a colleague of Lady Marguerite’s, and that they are both on their way at my request. All Lady Marguerite knows is that Varya has come from town to help the physician.

“She is a skilled nurse and midwife,” I say. “I wish her to consult with me as I prepare to begin the royal family.”

The more people who think I’m planning to have Hansen’s child, the better.

The time I spend waiting in that chair feels endless. I worry that Varya has already left the castle, or that they’ve been intercepted by the Duke of Auvigne and his spies as she follows Lady Marguerite up the stairs and along the gloomy gallery lined with paintings of dull old Montrician nobles.

At last the doors creak open and Lady Marguerite appears, another woman behind her. Both push back their hoods and stand before me. Varya is old but not elderly, I see. The physician exaggerated her age. She is slight with erect posture, her gray hair in a long braid, her gown the color of spring mud.

“Thank you, Lady Marguerite,” I say. “You may go.”

Lady Marguerite looks disappointed. Did she really imagine that I would have a medical conversation in front of her? Perhaps I should be concerned that she grows too bold in her intimacy with me and fancies herself more deeply in my confidence than she can ever be.

Varya stands quite still, saying nothing until Lady Marguerite has left the room. Then she takes a step closer to me.

“You look just like your mother,” she says. No “Your Majesty,” no curtsy. It’s almost a relief after all the false fawning I usually have to endure in this place.

“You know my mother?”

“I’ve seen her rather than known her. I’ll never forget the sight of her on her wedding day, when we all danced outside the palace of Violla Ruza, lavender ribbons in our hair. Everyone waving lilacs. I’ve never seen such a sight. She was so beautiful. She and your father were very much in love, you know.”

“So I understand,” I say. I don’t remember my father at all. He died in battle, fighting the Aphrasians, when I was a baby.

“And of course I know your aunts,” Varya says, her voice matter-of-fact, and I lean forward, surprised.

“Really?”

“Yes. I grew up in Renovia. Moriah and I turned thirteen around the same time, and she lived nearby. The stones were cast, and we knew what lay in store for us.”

The Seeing Stones. I have so many questions for her.

“Please, take a seat,” I say, and I draw up a small table between us for her stones.

“The stones were cast for me the night of my own thirteenth birthday,” I tell her. “But my aunts wouldn’t tell me what they said.”

Varya smiles and raises one bushy eyebrow. “The stones may see, but that doesn’t mean that we must tell. Each reader of the Seeing Stones must judge for herself.”

“It disappointed me at the time,” I say. I’m still disappointed, really. Aunt Moriah had drawn a circle with a chunk of coal, and thrown the smooth disks of translucent rose quartz onto the floor. I didn’t understand their symbols, picked out in gold leaf. And I didn’t have time to try to decipher them, because my aunt gathered them back into a pouch and refused