coming. I always see them coming, these noble young women tripping bravely across the courtyard with tales of being one of my long-lost granddaughters. You’re the first man to think of this angle, of claiming to be Rainger. What made you think it would work?”
She sounded so weary he pitied her. He knew better; by sheer ruthlessness, Queen Claudia had survived the revolutions that wracked their two countries. But on his desperate journey through the countryside, he’d heard the gossip. Her son, the king, had died. The weight of ruling rested on her skinny shoulders. And no one talked about the girls. About the princesses. “Let me light you a cigarillo,” he urged.
“How nice of you—and how convenient for you. You would have to come close to give it to me, and what would you do then? Snap my neck?”
He would have said her experiences had made her bitter and suspicious, but she’d always been that way. “I don’t want to snap your neck, or at least not for the reasons you imagine. You’re my only hope. I want my kingdom back. I want revenge on the rebels who killed my family and put me in prison for eight long years. And I can’t do it without your help.”
Her heavy gray eyebrows rose in regal astonishment. “Even if you were Rainger, what makes you think I would help you?”
Again, faintness came over him in a wave. Backing up to the table, he propped himself against it.
“One does not sit in the presence of a queen without invitation,” she said.
“I’m leaning.” He folded his arms. “I know you, Grandmamma. The first time I met you, you dragged me in from my perch atop the highest banner pole and whacked my legs with your cane. You said I was the only heir to Richarte, and I would take care or answer to you, for God had given me the kingdom next to yours and you wouldn’t allow me to ruin God’s plan with sheer male stupidity. Then you made me write out the whole Book of Kings from the Bible. I was six.”
She looked thoughtful, although whether that meant she remembered or not, he couldn’t begin to guess. Mildly, she asked, “Do you think I’ve changed?”
“Not particularly. You look as ancient as you did the first time I saw you.”
She gave a dry cackle. “You always were a snot-nosed little brat.” The pistol drooped, and she propped up her wrist with her other hand. “All right, here’s what you’ll do. You’ll wash, shave, and dress, and if I think you pass muster—”
She wasn’t going to have him killed.
“—then I’ll allow you to perform a quest to prove yourself.”
“A quest?” The room was spinning—or was it his head?
“You do remember my granddaughters?”
“Very well.” Three little princesses, one of them full of mischief, one forthright and determined... and one who was destined to be his queen. Sorcha.
Sorcha.
“Ten years ago, as the troubles grew too great, I sent my granddaughters to England for safety from those bastards, those marauding rebels, those ungrateful peasants who imagined they could be royal by owning a crown.” Little drops of spittle flew from her mouth as she spoke of the rebels, and her eyes glowed evilly.
“They’re gone? The girls are gone?” He hadn’t known that, for his country had been swept by rebellion at the same time, and he hadn’t retained the throne. He hadn’t gone into exile. He’d been condemned to a living death.
“They’re gone. England was safe, so I sent them to separate places around the country, to people I paid to care for them, but it was five years before I regained control and could send for them.” Her lips curled in disgust. “They’ve disappeared.”
“The people you paid—”
“Were not trustworthy. When the money stopped coming, they sent them away, put them adrift, let them go. One couple even died to avoid their responsibilities. I’ve lost my granddaughters. I haven’t been able to find them.” Queen Claudia’s voice dropped an octave. “That’s where you take
She sounded so weary he pitied her. He knew better; by sheer ruthlessness, Queen Claudia had survived the revolutions that wracked their two countries. But on his desperate journey through the countryside, he’d heard the gossip. Her son, the king, had died. The weight of ruling rested on her skinny shoulders. And no one talked about the girls. About the princesses. “Let me light you a cigarillo,” he urged.
“How nice of you—and how convenient for you. You would have to come close to give it to me, and what would you do then? Snap my neck?”
He would have said her experiences had made her bitter and suspicious, but she’d always been that way. “I don’t want to snap your neck, or at least not for the reasons you imagine. You’re my only hope. I want my kingdom back. I want revenge on the rebels who killed my family and put me in prison for eight long years. And I can’t do it without your help.”
Her heavy gray eyebrows rose in regal astonishment. “Even if you were Rainger, what makes you think I would help you?”
Again, faintness came over him in a wave. Backing up to the table, he propped himself against it.
“One does not sit in the presence of a queen without invitation,” she said.
“I’m leaning.” He folded his arms. “I know you, Grandmamma. The first time I met you, you dragged me in from my perch atop the highest banner pole and whacked my legs with your cane. You said I was the only heir to Richarte, and I would take care or answer to you, for God had given me the kingdom next to yours and you wouldn’t allow me to ruin God’s plan with sheer male stupidity. Then you made me write out the whole Book of Kings from the Bible. I was six.”
She looked thoughtful, although whether that meant she remembered or not, he couldn’t begin to guess. Mildly, she asked, “Do you think I’ve changed?”
“Not particularly. You look as ancient as you did the first time I saw you.”
She gave a dry cackle. “You always were a snot-nosed little brat.” The pistol drooped, and she propped up her wrist with her other hand. “All right, here’s what you’ll do. You’ll wash, shave, and dress, and if I think you pass muster—”
She wasn’t going to have him killed.
“—then I’ll allow you to perform a quest to prove yourself.”
“A quest?” The room was spinning—or was it his head?
“You do remember my granddaughters?”
“Very well.” Three little princesses, one of them full of mischief, one forthright and determined... and one who was destined to be his queen. Sorcha.
Sorcha.
“Ten years ago, as the troubles grew too great, I sent my granddaughters to England for safety from those bastards, those marauding rebels, those ungrateful peasants who imagined they could be royal by owning a crown.” Little drops of spittle flew from her mouth as she spoke of the rebels, and her eyes glowed evilly.
“They’re gone? The girls are gone?” He hadn’t known that, for his country had been swept by rebellion at the same time, and he hadn’t retained the throne. He hadn’t gone into exile. He’d been condemned to a living death.
“They’re gone. England was safe, so I sent them to separate places around the country, to people I paid to care for them, but it was five years before I regained control and could send for them.” Her lips curled in disgust. “They’ve disappeared.”
“The people you paid—”
“Were not trustworthy. When the money stopped coming, they sent them away, put them adrift, let them go. One couple even died to avoid their responsibilities. I’ve lost my granddaughters. I haven’t been able to find them.” Queen Claudia’s voice dropped an octave. “That’s where you take
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