The Queen's Secret Read online

  “There’s always rumors of war,” Caillin MacRennie said soothingly.

  “The Kronenhofer emperor has been threatening to withdraw all trade unless we—” Finn began.

  “The Kronenhofer emperor has been threatening to withdraw trade for years,” Caillin MacRennie said. He started to say something else, but then he frowned. “Is that why you came all the way here, Andrew? Or was there something else?”

  Andrew cleared his throat. “We got word from our … patron … that we needed to consolidate our forces, and possibly send some of our younger riders back to Leana.”

  “And I don’t think we need to panic,” Finn interjected. “The qu—our patron, that is, didn’t say why, just that there were rumors of trouble.”

  “Actually, sir?” Watson raised his hand. He looked at Andrew, seeming a little relieved to identify the man in charge.

  “Yes?”

  “Two Kronenhofer naval ships came up the river toward Coronam last week. They refused to dock or reply to any signals. When one of our river patrol boats tried to approach, they fired on it. I think what this patron of yours is trying to say is … well, now we are at war with Kronenhof.”

  3

  PHOTOGRAPHS

  “No, pull the animal’s head down. Farther. Will it bite you?”

  Florian heaved a sigh. Anthea echoed it.

  “He won’t bite,” Anthea said, trying for patience as she shortened the reins again so that Florian’s head was hanging right over her shoulder. “He’s not a wild dog.”

  “Oh. All right.”

  Watson ducked under the black cloth that hung from the square box of his camera. Anthea held as still as she could, sending thoughts of calmness and steadiness to Florian as she did. He didn’t need them: he was intrigued by the idea of the camera and eager to have his picture taken.

  “Now his head is covering too much of your, um, coat,” Watson said.

  Anthea sighed again. Jilly had tried to get Anthea to wear her tailored and embroidered coat, but Anthea had refused. She had always thought that photographs were strange. People dressed up in clothes that they would never normally wear, their hair in stiff styles that forced them to hold their heads at unnatural angles. Watson was here to take pictures of the Horse Brigade for the historical record. Not a fairy tale, but a real accounting of them, and so Anthea wanted to look like herself.

  She wore her best trousers, and had her boots polished to a shine. Jilly had retaliated by pinning the back of Anthea’s coat so that it was more fitted and fell open to show that Anthea wore one of her favorite middy blouses underneath, of which Jilly actually approved.

  “I don’t recognize you without your sailor suits,” she had joked as she did Anthea’s hair.

  Anthea’s hair was the other thing they both agreed on. Jilly had carefully twisted Anthea’s long wavy tresses into curls and then pomaded them so that they would stay, then she pulled them to the side and tied them with a red ribbon under Anthea’s right ear. Anthea wore the silver rose earrings that the queen had given her for her birthday last month, and pinned the silver rose pendant her aunt Deirdre (a former Rose Maiden to the queen) had given her next to the silver horseshoe charm from her late father on the lapel of her coat.

  Of course the red ribbon wouldn’t show up in the black-and-white picture, and now Florian’s head was covering her jewelry. The photographer had him standing straight on, with his head hanging over her shoulder and her hand gripping the reins.

  “No, no, no,” Finn said, coming out of his tent and seeing what was happening. “That’s terrible. You can’t see Florian or Thea, so what’s the point?”

  “Are you a photographer?” Watson snapped.

  “No, but I have eyes,” Finn retorted.

  Florian snorted. Anthea snickered in her throat, still trying not to move.

  “Here,” Finn said.

  He took the reins from Anthea and moved Florian around so that the horse was standing behind Anthea, her against the saddle. Finn put the reins back in Anthea’s right hand, and gently moved Florian so that his neck was curved around and his head was next to Anthea’s shoulder but not hanging over it. Finn then arranged Anthea’s hair, to her embarrassment, turning the curls so that they hung nicely and adjusting the ribbon so that the bow was straight.

  Finn was standing very close to her to do it. She could feel his breath stirring the tendrils of escaped hair on her forehead. He smiled down at her and then cleared his throat.

  “You should let Jilly fix your coat permanently,” he said in a low voice.

  “I—I can’t get it buttoned like this,” she muttered, feeling her cheeks burn.

  “Oh,” Finn said.

  Anthea glanced up and saw that now Finn was blushing, too. He stepped aside.

  “There, try that,” he said to Watson. “Now you can actually see both of them.”

  “I’ll have to move the camera back,” Watson said.

  “Then do it,” Finn said shortly.

  Fussing and muttering, Watson moved his tripod back a few inches and then disappeared under the cloth. Anthea and Florian both sighed but didn’t move until he replaced the cap.

  “All right,” Watson said. “Who’s next?”

  Anthea started to lead Florian away.

  “Wait,” Finn said. “Let me bring out some of the others and we can all have a picture together. Keth is ready, and hopefully Jilly is done beautifying herself. Let’s have a picture of the four of us,” Finn said.

  “I will never be done, because I am worth waiting for,” Jilly announced, coming out of the tent she shared with Anthea.

  Watson wasn’t the only one gaping.

  She had smoothed and shined her light brown curls so that they made a halo around her face. She had pinned her own rose (a gift from the queen) and a horseshoe charm from Uncle Andrew to her lapel, along with an emerald brooch that was so large it looked fake (though knowing Jilly, it was likely very real). She was wearing a tightly fitted silk blouse and a blue-and-pink-paisley ascot, riding breeches that looked painted on, and boots so glossy you could see your reflection in them.

  As usual, Anthea instantly felt grubby and younger than her years. Jilly, eyes twinkling, pulled a ruby brooch out of her pocket, pinned it to Anthea’s lapel, and grinned at her. Then she reached into her other pocket and pulled out Arthur, setting him on Anthea’s right shoulder so that he wouldn’t hide in her hair.

  “You look gorgeous,” Jilly said. “Are you sure you won’t let me fix your coat like this permanently?”

  “Finn asked the same thing,” Anthea whispered.

  “Did he, now?” Jilly waggled her eyebrows, and Anthea found herself blushing again. “I’m going to get Caesar and Buttercup, because it’s only fair. Do you want me to bring Bluebell and Leonidas, too?”

  “Let’s see how many horses we can get in the picture,” Keth said with a laugh. His laugh turned into a cough. “Woof! Excuse me,” he said.

  Keth was the fourth of the young people, a half-Leanan, half-Kadiji boy whose mother was the brigade’s beloved Nurse Shannon. He had come back from a courier mission to Travertine just in time to join the photography session.

  “And how was the big mission, by the way?” Anthea asked as they waited for Finn to arrange the horses, while Watson paced back and forth, wringing his hands.

  “Boring,” Keth said.

  “I’m sorry, did you just spend the last month standing in some mist and looking at nothing?” Anthea demanded.

  “Well, no,” Keth laughed. “But I did spend it sitting around an army barracks, having people whisper about me, and occasionally passing on messages. Not even important messages, you know, but random words and things.”

  “I know,” Anthea sighed. “All the messages were coded that way.”

  “And I never thought I’d say this,” Keth said, “but passing messages through the Way was boring!”

  Sometimes they were close enough to send the message directly through the Way, sometimes the
y had to ride closer to reach. It depended on the rider, and the horse, and the strength of their bond. And while being close enough to pass a message through the Way made Anthea feel proud, she also had to admit that just standing there thinking “teapot caterpillar dragon florist” was not half as exciting as galloping down the highway to deliver the message in person.

  “I know,” she sighed again.

  “So boring,” Keth agreed.

  He stroked Gaius Julius’s nose and stepped in close to Anthea. Finn brought Anthea’s two other charges: Leonidas and the gray mare Bluebell. Anthea had Florian hanging over her right shoulder, so Arthur flapped up to sit between his ears, wrapping his claws around the headstall of Florian’s bridle.

  Beyond Keth, Jilly was fussing around rearranging Caesar and her mare, Buttercup, and wondering aloud if they should have put flowers or ribbons in the mares’ manes to show that they were female.

  “I want to sleep,” Keth said. “Please can we do this so that I can go sleep?”

  “Not yet,” Andrew said, coming out of his tent. He looked at the arrangement and then, to Watson’s evident annoyance, he said, “Good, good, perfect.

  “Then we will see how many of the men we can fit into a picture. We need plenty of photographs, and always with at least one horse in them.”

  “The Crown ordered me to take a few photographs—” Watson began.

  “The letter you gave me said that I was to dictate how many photographs you took and who they were to be of,” Andrew said, cutting him off. “And I want as many as possible. And always with a horse in them.”

  “We can get more men in the picture if the animals aren’t there.”

  Andrew looked him square in the face. “I want to make it very hard to erase the Horse Brigade, when the king eventually tires of us.”

  “I don’t know what you’re … I’m not sure I can—” Watson spluttered, but Andrew cut him off again.

  “You can and you will,” Andrew said. “Or we’ll have the queen here in a matter of days.” He paused. “She keeps horses, too, you know,” he added, making it sound like a threat.

  Anthea couldn’t tell if Watson did know, or if he was just intimidated by Andrew, but it worked either way. He kept on taking pictures until the light began to fade, only speaking to tell someone to hold still or move in closer.

  And all while this was happening, Anthea and the other riders with the Way were carrying on a lengthy conversation through their horses about Kronenhof and the impending war.

  What is an act of aggression? Florian wanted to know when they were done. How is sailing on a boat a thing that becomes a war?

  I don’t really understand it, either, Anthea confessed as she finally let him loose in the paddock. He stayed nearby, however, his ears back with concern. But they are not supposed to have boats like that, boats with guns on them, in our rivers.

  And now everyone must fight?

  Apparently, my love.

  But would the king ask the Horse Brigade to fight? The king didn’t trust them to carry messages more secret than “blue triangle teacup” or “Today in Bellair it rained for one hour.”

  We should be allowed to take our place in the army, Finn said via Marius, as though he had read her thoughts.

  Caesar and I are ready to fight, Jilly said through Caesar, baring her teeth in a devil-may-care smile.

  I’ll be offended if we aren’t allowed to fight, Anthea said. But I’m terrified at the idea all the same!

  We still don’t know what’s happening for certain, Brutus said, on behalf of Caillin MacRennie.

  “Well, if we need to know,” Jilly said aloud as they finished up the last photograph, “there’s clearly only one thing to do!”

  She looked at Anthea, as though expecting her to finish the thought, but Anthea just blinked in confusion. Watson stopped putting away his camera to look at her. Jilly did have a very carrying voice. Everyone stopped to look at her. She threw an arm around Anthea as though they were having another picture done.

  “Anthea and I will just go visit our dear friend the queen, and find out for sure if we’re going to war!”

  CONSTANTINE

  Useless human fillies. They had caused no end of trouble.

  He could hear them talking now, talking and talking to his rider. They would take his rider away with them, on that inferior stallion, that one who dared to carry the Rider of the Herd Stallion. They would take his rider, and leave him behind. They would take other stallions, and mares, dividing the herd. That one, that Florian, that one who had dared to step into Constantine’s private field, that one who had dared to protect the girl when she needed punishment, he would get above his place.

  There was only one herd stallion. Constantine.

  It did not matter how far they traveled, how many days. The men thought they could say, You, horse, in this place, you are herd stallion. They said it to Florian. They said it to Marius, who dared to carry his rider. They said it to Brutus.

  No.

  There was only Constantine.

  Now these weak and foolish girls were talking, talking, talking of kings of men who were not his rider. Useless. They would go away, Constantine wanted them to go away. But they would take his mares. They would make Florian a herd stallion, which they had no power to do.

  Constantine rose to his hind legs. He screamed his rage. As his front hooves came down, he easily destroyed the fence on one side of his paddock. The men rushed to repair it and to soothe him. But he would not be soothed. They must listen to him: He was herd stallion. His rider was the one and only king.

  They must listen.

  4

  TEA AT BELL HYDE

  “Really, dear, I would be happy to take a look at that coat,” Queen Josephine said as they settled down to tea.

  “But I like my coat,” Anthea protested weakly. “Doesn’t anyone else …?”

  Jilly twinkled at her over the rim of her teacup. Princess Margaret, who was only a couple of years younger than Anthea, looked around, confused. Then she saw how Jilly was sitting and also crossed her legs right over left, to copy her. The queen smiled and reached over the tiny table to pat Anthea’s hand.

  “If you like it, I like it,” Queen Josephine said. “I just wondered if you’d like something that fits a bit better. I know you are supposed to wear a uniform because you’re part of the army, but the army just isn’t equipped to … equip girls!” She dunked a scone in her tea and took a big bite, still smiling.

  “Thank you, but I’m not that concerned about my coat,” Anthea said. “I’m more worried about going to war.”

  “Yes, I thought that might be why you came,” the queen said. She sighed and put down her half-eaten scone. She jutted her chin at Margaret.

  The princess hurried to the door of the sitting room where they were having tea. She looked into the entrance hall, said something in a low voice to the guard there, and then closed the tall double doors. She took her place next to Jilly and nodded to her mother.

  “We are going to do everything possible to avoid a war,” the queen said in a low, rapid voice. “What happened on the Crown River last week was terrible. My husband’s people are still looking into it. We don’t know who sent those ships, and we do not know who gave the order to open fire from either side. There is a great deal of shrugging, and messages going awry, but no one will claim responsibility.”

  “What?” Anthea almost dropped her cup. “None of the brigade’s messages, I hope!”

  “No,” the queen said, her brow creased. “None of yours …”

  “We could take a message to the Kronenhofer king,” Jilly said eagerly.

  “We could?” Anthea said in alarm.

  Fortunately Princess Margaret was already shaking her head. “Father will never agree to that,” she said. “He just found out that I’m learning to ride, and I thought actual steam would come out of his ears!”

  “But your mother rides,” Jilly said in disbelief. “The queen!” She pointed to
Queen Josephine, as though the others didn’t know whom she meant.

  “My husband learned long ago to give me my way in some things,” the queen said with a small smile. “But—”

  “He still thinks he should have total control over his children,” Margaret said bitterly.

  Anthea played with her teaspoon and took another scone even though she hadn’t eaten her first. “Do you have the Way?” she asked in a rush.

  She was never sure if it was a rude thing to ask or not. Jilly, who had only recently developed it (which was rare in someone raised with horses), had been very sensitive about it until lately. Out of the corner of her eye, Anthea saw Jilly lean forward eagerly, and guessed that it was all right to ask.

  “I—I think I might,” Princess Margaret said. She licked her lips, nervous. “I thought that I could smell something like oats or hay that I couldn’t have smelled from that part of the field, the last time I tried to ride. And … and I thought I could feel happiness from Blossom, but that might have been, might have been wishful thinking, you know?”

  “My darling, that’s wonderful!” Queen Josephine put out her hand and squeezed her daughter’s.

  “That is how it starts,” Jilly said sagely. “I’m only just now, after being around horses all my life, able to use real words with them.”

  “It was the same for me,” the queen said. “First the scents, and then emotions, and now I get words, but only from Holly.”

  All three of them looked expectantly at Anthea. She looked down at her tea, uncomfortable.

  “I, er, don’t remember anything from when I was little,” she admitted. “And then they brought me back to the farm last year, and I, er, just suddenly felt all the horses and … smelled things … and … knew things that the horses knew.”

  She had, in fact, rescued Jilly’s beloved Caesar within a few hours of arriving. Caesar had eaten a sponge, and Anthea had known instantly what was causing him distress. But from the moment that the farm’s ancient motorcar had pulled through the gates, Anthea had heard and smelled and felt what all the horses were thinking and smelling and feeling. It wasn’t until she had rediscovered Florian that she had been able to calm down and focus the Way to shut out the rest of the noise.