The Queen's Secret (The Queen's Secret #2) - Melissa de la Cruz Page 0,64

one. My mother should know that.

“I’m not talking about the cold, Lilac. I know perfectly well that you are hardy and resourceful, and that you’ve coped with weather far worse than this. But there are other dangers more pressing. Both Lord Burley and the Chief Assassin were most clear on this point.”

“The Chief Assassin?” I’m breathless with surprise.

“Yes,” my mother says, rearranging the blanket and not meeting my gaze. “I asked him to attend the meeting this morning. He was supposed to be investigating the arson at the palace. I wanted to know why he’d abandoned his duties in Serrone and returned here so quickly.”

I gulp back emotion, trying to match her calm tone. “And the reason he gave?”

“More than one reason, of course. It was a considered decision, I’m quite persuaded of that. His star apprentice was wounded in action at Baer Abbey, and he wished to bring her here to receive treatment. Nothing serious, it turns out, but he was anxious to consult with the Chief Physician.”

“I see.” So Cal is abandoning his post because Rhema Cartner has been hurt. Nothing serious. A tide of jealousy laps up and into my throat.

“And then there are his fears about the true reason Violla Ruza was burned. Holt believes that the Aphrasians are responsible, and wished to drive me into exile here. With you and me and King Hansen all present at Castle Mont, we provide a compelling target. So in seeking sanctuary here, I may simply have brought more danger.”

Just as Lady Marguerite suggested, I think, but I don’t remind my mother of this.

“But what can we do?” I ask her. “Should we all leave this place?”

“And go where? Nowhere is safe for us at present. The Aphrasians want to destroy the Dellafiores. We’ve always known that. And I have been informed of the sightings of gray monks here in the castle.”

“That’s only by one person, Daffran, the Chief Scribe,” I tell her. “He’s elderly and easily spooked. Nobody really believes him. Besides, they’ve searched every inch many times over, and found nothing.”

My mother stares into the fire, a profound sadness settling over her beautiful face.

Neither of us speaks for a while. I look out the window and down into the yard, where the last of the recruits are marching. They’re beginning to look more like an actual fighting force rather than an unruly rabble. That’s something we can be grateful for, at least.

From the stable block on the far side of the yard, Cal emerges, the thin winter sunlight full on his face. I noticed earlier at the meeting of the Small Council that he has what may be a new scar on one cheek, but of course I couldn’t ask him about it. His face is more sunken than usual, and his beard is long and untidy. But he’s still my Cal, my own dear love.

He pauses, turning back to the stable door, speaking to someone. That’s when I see her. Rhema Cartner. She walks out to join him, and while I can detect the slightest of limps, she does not seem injured or in urgent need of a physician’s attention. Her auburn hair is tied in a high bundle on her head, and she smiles at the sight of the marching guards. She and Cal lean toward each other—she’s talking, he’s listening. He raises a hand to rest on her shoulder, and I flinch. If he was doing that to Jander, I would think it a companionable pat on the shoulder, a sign of their rapport, but Rhema Cartner is not Jander. She is an attractive young woman who has traveled to Baer Abbey with Cal and fought alongside him, suffering some kind of injury so negligible she can stroll around the castle yard, but so important to him that he must dash back to Montrice, defying the queen’s orders, so his favorite may be tended to by the court physician.

Perhaps he’s moved on, I think, fighting back tears. And why shouldn’t he? Hansen said that a man like Cal would never be content to play the part of my lapdog, hanging around the castle rather than fighting and traveling, living the life he was born to live. While I live the life I was born to live, as a captive queen.

Even Hansen is right once in a while, I suppose. I may have been fooling myself all this time, imagining that I would never—could never—be replaced in Cal’s affections. I didn’t count on an extraordinary