Steelhands - Jaida Jones [207]
“I always imagined that if this day ever came, you would back Dmitri’s claim to the throne,” the Esarina said softly.
Antoinette smiled and gathered up the ruins of her skirts to perform a brief curtsy.
“My son is an excellent Provost,” she explained. “Would you have me remove him from that position? I do not imagine Thremedon could find his equal for a replacement, and soon he would be blamed for the lack of order in the streets. The people would resent him. Besides, this country has two rulers for this exact reason, does it not?”
“On its good days,” the Esarina said, rising to her feet at last. She didn’t seem to know what to do with her book, so I reached out to take it from her. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Your Highness,” I responded automatically. It didn’t seem an appropriate response, given the gravity of the situation, and so I added, “I’m sorry.” That, too, was weak, but at least the Esarina appeared to have already forgiven me for it.
“It is strange that we should meet here again, Balfour Vallet,” the Esarina said. Up close she did look sad, but wistfully so, wearing the cryptic expression of a lone noblewoman in an oil painting. “If I am able in the future to write your mother again, I shall have to tell her how her son has proven a hero to his country twice over. Few young men are so remarkable these days.”
“Few have such bad luck as I do, you mean,” I said.
To be truthful, I was in awe of the Esarina’s poise. She could have joined the corps on a raid and fit in perfectly with that measure of calm in the face of her world crumbling around her. Perhaps she’d always known, on some level, that it would come to this, and had been preparing mentally for quite some time. I didn’t have enough intimate knowledge of her relationship with her husband to wager a guess, but her strength when presented with her duties was like the other side of the ha’penny to Antoinette’s. They were very different women yet equally admirable.
Luvander in particular would have been delighted with certain key bits of gossip to which I’d accidentally been made privy, confirmation of Provost Dmitri’s parentage prime among them. But even though I’d memorized every detail of this private meeting, I planned on keeping it just that way—private. It seemed the only decent thing to do.
“Here is your coat,” Antoinette said, having gone to the Esarina’s wardrobe while we’d been speaking. She held it for the Esarina while she put it on and I felt my pulse quicken at the reality of what was about to happen. It was inevitable, and we’d been forced to choose this path; nevertheless, it was difficult to believe it. Even in the days when our girls had been going mad and refusing orders and everyone had been too scared to talk to their closest friends about it, we’d never considered rebelling outright against the Esar. We’d gone to him with our concerns—more like demands—but we’d always trusted him to answer them, no matter how mad we’d been that he was keeping secrets from us. This was an entirely different plan.
From this moment on, there was truly no turning back.
I faced Antoinette, meaning to ask her recommendation on the swiftest way out of the palace, when the quiet patter of some distant, gentle noise filled my ears, distracting me from my purpose. It sounded like muffled speech of the sort I heard most days coming from my upstairs neighbors when they chose to shout to one another across the apartment instead of moving from room to room.
“Do you hear that?” I asked in a hushed tone.
Antoinette went still as she listened, and the Esarina shook her head.
“I do not hear anything,” she said, pulling the fabric of her coat more tightly around her. It was a beautiful piece of work, deep blue wool with a lining that looked as though it was made of some soft, white fur. I could tell it was the sort of thing Luvander’s latest hats drew their inspiration from. Thinking of him drew my thoughts back into the present. I had to retain the hope