The Queen's Secret (The Queen's Secret #2) - Melissa de la Cruz Page 0,71

The Small Council must meet without delay. This time, I’m not waiting to be invited. I’m demanding that we assemble and establish a plan.

“One other thing, ma’am.” Lady Marguerite sounds meek now, scuttling about with my mother’s cloak folded over one arm. “I observed an unexpected arrival in the castle when I was on my way here.”

“Who arrived?” I’m still sharp with her. I hope she’s not going to mention the potato cart. I’m getting tired of her eagle eyes.

“Ivanis, the ambassador of Stavin, I believe. In a grand carriage, ma’am, followed by twenty guards on horseback. The livery was red and silver.”

“Stavin’s colors,” I say.

She nods. “Was his visit expected?”

Not by me, I think, and not by Hansen. Ivanis is no doubt coming with bossy instructions from his king and more complaints about our borders. Really, his timing could not be worse. The last thing we need in the castle now is interference.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Caledon

Cal’s in the worst possible mood. Another person has died mysteriously in the castle, and this time it’s under his watch. A physician has been sent for from the town, to examine Martyn’s body. And now, to complicate everything, the Stavinish ambassador has arrived, traveling from his great manor house outside the city for an unscheduled visit. When he descends from the carriage, the ambassador sniffs the air as though Castle Mont is an unsavory place and recoils from the crows that swoop too close, their mocking caws echoing around the courtyard.

With Jander and Rhema, Cal looks over the dozen apprentice assassins who report for training in the courtyard. Three of them show a little promise, he thinks, but the rest are just soldiers, eager to fight but without the cunning and swiftness he seeks in an assassin.

One of the most promising candidates smirks at Jander and calls him “stable boy” in a muttered aside. Cal has to resist hurling him across the flagstones and breaking his neck. Instead he assigns him to stable duty for a week, mucking out the horses’ stalls.

Three practice hand-to-hand combat with Rhema: She can fight them all off without any assistance, relying on nothing but a snapped branch for a weapon.

“Will the new physician be here soon?” Jander asks Cal. His face is drawn. He’s taking Martyn’s death very hard. “I would like to be present for the examination of the body, if he permits it.”

But before the physician arrives, Cal is summoned to an urgent and impromptu meeting of the Small Council. The meeting is already in session when Cal walks in. The king and queen are both there, at opposite ends of the table, with the ambassador from Stavin positioned between them. Lord Burley looks pained, his usual expression, and the Duke of Auvigne seems ready to erupt into a rage. Daffran is a glum presence, his chair pushed back from the table, his face puffy as though he’s been weeping.

They glance at Cal but say nothing, and he takes a stool several feet from the table, in the shadows near the window.

“I cannot emphasize enough,” the ambassador is saying, “that this is the message from His Majesty the King of Stavin, and it is of the utmost seriousness.”

“Of course, of course,” says Lord Burley, and the duke makes a low growling sound like a dog poised to attack.

Cal is listening, but he’s also observing Lilac and Hansen. Lilac looks upset. No wonder, since her mother had to sneak out of the castle. Hansen looks more sulky than upset, perhaps because his day of indolence has been interrupted. From time to time he glances toward Cal, and Cal averts his gaze. Perhaps, he thinks, Hansen is just checking on his dogs, who are sprawled in front of one of the fires, the only content beings in the room.

The ambassador from Stavin is complaining that refugees from Montrice are flooding into his country, creating a crisis at a time of year when supplies are short.

“I’m afraid they simply don’t believe that Your Majesties can protect them,” he says, in his whiny voice. “They feel that nothing has been done since that northern village was attacked. And, of course, the stories from the capital have reached them. Stories of the very unfortunate race in which the queen’s horse turned into a cloud of knives and savaged another beast.”

“An exaggeration,” barks the duke, but the ambassador shakes his head.

“Eyewitness accounts attest otherwise.”

“Really,” says King Hansen, shifting in his chair. “I’m getting quite tired of all these threats from Stavin. Rather than