“Why am I so dizzy?”
“You hit the back of your head. Your skull is intact, but your face swelled magnificently. You may have permanent damage.”
I’m as taken aback by his emotionless delivery as the words themselves: Permanent damage. My heart squeezes at the thought. I am not beautiful. I am not a devotee of court politics. I’m not particularly queenly in bearing. What I am is well-studied and intelligent. My mind is my single advantage, the one thing I’ve allowed myself to take pride in. Any kind of damage is unacceptable.
“When will I know?” I ask in a shaky voice. “If there is . . . damage?” This conversation may be better had in private, away from the guards. Perhaps it is unwise to offer even the barest hint that the new queen is compromised.
Doctor Enzo pats my shoulder awkwardly. “The fact that you are awake and alert is a good sign.”
I am not reassured. But I am too tired to think about it a moment more. Of their own volition, my eyes drift closed.
No. I snap them open. I’ve been asleep long enough. “Doctor, send someone to fetch my mayordomo.” I need his report on the state of things immediately. Conde Eduardo and General Luz-Manuel have no doubt been ruling in my absence, and if they are willing to contest my worthiness in a face-to-face meeting, how much more will they undermine me while I am indisposed?
My mayordomo arrives within minutes. He is a decadent man prone to egregious ruffles and bright colors, but I admire his quiet dignity as my guards search him for weapons. It’s probably the first time in his tenure as ranking palace official that he’s been treated so abominably.
“Thank you for coming so quickly,” I say in a warm voice, hoping to lessen some of the sting.
He has hardly risen from his bow when he blurts, “Your Majesty, the city garrison just put down another riot. They made several arrests.”
I start to lurch to a sitting position, but the tearing at my abdomen sends me crashing back against my pillow. “Another riot?” I say weakly. “Why?”
“There have been three in protest of the tax increase. All were quickly put down by the garrison, but each riot has been progressively larger. . . .”
My head swims. Riots? Tax increase? How could I forget about a tax increase? Maybe this is what Doctor Enzo meant by “permanent damage.”
“Remind me,” I say carefully, “about the details of this tax increase.”
“The Quorum pushed it through while you were indisposed.”
I gape at him. “Can they do that?”
“According to article 67 of the Concordancia, when the monarch is physically unable to perform his duties, the longest-sitting member of the Quorum must vote on his behalf.”
“So the general had two votes.”
“Yes.”
I clutch at my sheets until they are balled into my fists, but sharp pain darts up my forearm, so I force myself to unclench. Maybe I would have voted for a tax increase, I tell myself. Maybe it’s for the best. We’re desperate to refill the coffers for reconstruction. To rebuild our army before Invierne can mount another attack.
“And how did Hector vote?” I ask in a small voice.
“He abstained.”
I sink into my bedcovers with relief, though I’m not sure why it’s so important. “Thank you for your report,” I tell him.
He turns to go.
“Wait!”
He spins and drops into a courtier’s bow. “Your Majesty?”
“That day. When the animagus burned himself. Did you order the palace lockdown?”
“No, Your Majesty.”
“Who did?”
“It was General Luz-Manuel.”
The soldier told me it was the conde. The conde told me it was the mayordomo. What am I missing?
“Did you speak to the general in person?”
His eyebrows knit together thoughtfully. “I received word through His Grace the conde’s emissary, Lord Franco. He is a much trusted adviser. Did I do wrong?”
Franco again. I must meet this person, and soon. “No, you did well. I assume the city has been searched thoroughly?”
“No other Inviernos have been discovered, though I’m sure the mere possibility of another attack contributed to this sudden spate of riots.”
My city is splintering apart. I sense it as surely as if I still stood on the palace wall with Hector, watching it happen. “Thank you. You may go.”
Doctor Enzo insists I’m in no shape to hold appointments or even make decisions, so the mayordomo clears my schedule. But I hate being useless. I lie awake for hours each day, trying to figure out how to rule effectively from my bed. First I summon Lord Franco, the man who reportedly ordered the palace lockdown, but I’m told that he has left for Conde Eduardo’s southern holdings to oversee rebuilding projects.