A Song for Orphans. Морган Райс

composing herself. The guards there said nothing, merely waited for Angelica to make her case to go inside. If she’d had more time, Angelica would have sent a servant to request this audience. If she’d had more confidence in her power here, she would have rebuked the men for not showing her the proper deference.

      “I need to see her majesty,” Angelica said.

      “We were not informed that our queen would be seeing anyone,” one of the guards said. There was no apology for it, none of the courtesy that Angelica was due. Silently, Angelica resolved to see the man pay for that in time. Perhaps if she could find a way to repost him to the war?

      “I didn’t know it would be necessary until a little while ago,” Angelica said. “Ask her if she will see me, please. It’s about her son.”

      The guard nodded at that, and set off inside. The mention of Sebastian was enough to motivate him even if Angelica’s position couldn’t. Perhaps he just knew what the Dowager had already made clear to Angelica: that when it came to her sons, there was little she wouldn’t do.

      It was what gave Angelica hope that this might work, but it was also what made this dangerous. The Dowager might turn and stop Sebastian from leaving, but she might just as easily have Angelica killed for failing to seduce him as well as she’d been told. Keep him happy, the old bat had told her, don’t let him think about another woman. It had been obvious enough what she’d meant.

      The guard reappeared quickly enough, holding the door open for Angelica to step through. He didn’t bow as he should have, or even announce her with her full title.

      “Milady d’Angelica,” he called out instead.

      Then again, what titles did Angelica have that could stand up to a queen’s? What power did she possess that didn’t pale into insignificance beside that of the woman who stood in the sitting room of her apartments, her face a carefully composed mask.

      Angelica curtseyed, because she didn’t dare do anything else. The Dowager gestured impatiently for her to stand.

      “A sudden visit,” she said without a smile, “and news about my son. I think we can dispense with that.”

      And if Angelica hadn’t curtseyed, no doubt Sebastian’s mother would have rebuked her for it.

      “You told me to bring you any news about Sebastian, Your Majesty,” Angelica said.

      The Dowager nodded, moving over to a comfortable-looking chair. She didn’t offer Angelica a seat.

      “I know what I said. I also know what I said would happen if you didn’t.”

      Angelica could remember the threats too. The Mask of Lead, the traditional punishment for traitors. Just the thought of it made her shudder.

      “Well?” the Dowager asked. “Have you managed to make my son the happiest husband-to-be in the circle of the world?”

      “He says that he is leaving,” Angelica said. “He was angry at being manipulated, and he declared that he was going after the whore he loved before.”

      “And you did nothing to stop him?” the Dowager demanded.

      Angelica could hardly believe that. “What would you have had me do? Tackle him at the door? Lock him in his chambers?”

      “Do I have to spell it out to you?” the Dowager said. “Sebastian might not be Rupert, but he is still a man.”

      “You think I didn’t try that?” Angelica countered. That part stung worse than the rest of it. No one had rejected her before. Whoever she wanted, whether it was out of genuine desire or simply to prove that she could, had come running. Sebastian had been the only one to ever turn her down. “He’s in love.”

      The Dowager sat there, and seemed to calm a little. “So you’re telling me that you can’t be the wife I need for my son? That you can’t make him happy? That you’re useless to me?”

      Too late, Angelica saw the danger in it.

      “I didn’t say that,” she said. “I only came because – ”

      “Because you wanted me to solve your problems for you, and because you were afraid of what would happen if you didn’t,” the Dowager said. She stood, her finger jabbing at Angelica’s chest. “Well, I am prepared to give you one piece of advice. If he is following the girl, the most likely place she will go is Monthys, in the north. There, is that sufficient for you, or do I need to draw you a map?”

      “How do you know that?” Angelica asked.

      “Because I know what this is all about,” the Dowager snapped back. “Let’s make it clear, Milady. I have already done something to control my son. I have sent you to distract him. Now, if necessary, I will discard that option, but there would be no marriage then, and I would be… very disappointed in you.”

      She didn’t need to spell out the threat. At best, Angelica would find herself sent away from the court. At worst…

      “I’ll fix this,” she promised. “I’ll make sure that Sebastian loves me, and only me.”

      “You do that,” the Dowager said. “Whatever it takes, you do that.”

***

      Angelica had no time for the usual niceties of noble travel. This was not the moment to meander along in a carriage, hemmed in by a gaggle of hangers-on, and surrounded by enough servants to slow her to a walk. Instead, she had her servants dig out riding clothes, and with her own hands she packed a small bag with things she might need. She even tied her hair back in a much simpler style than her usual elaborate braids, knowing that there would be no time for such things on the road. Besides, there were some things it might be better not to be recognized doing.

      She set out into Ashton with a cloak around her to make sure no one saw who she was. She took a half mask as well, and in the city, that was a common enough mark of religious fervor that no one questioned it. She rode to the gates of the palace first, stopping by the guards and spinning a coin between her fingers.

      “Prince Sebastian,” she said. “Which way did he go?”

      She knew she couldn’t hide her identity from the guards, but probably they wouldn’t ask questions either. They would simply assume that she was following after the man she loved and intended to marry. It was even the truth, in its way.

      “That way, Milady,” one of the men said, pointing. “The way the young women went when they ran from the palace a few days ago.”

      Angelica should have guessed as much. He pointed, and Angelica went. She followed Sebastian through the city like a hound at the hunt, hoping she could get to him before he went too far. She felt almost like some spirit bound to the city. In her home, she was powerful. She knew the people here, and whom to talk to. The further she went beyond it, the more she would have to rely on her own wits. She asked the same questions Sebastian must have asked as he went, and received the same answers.

      She heard about the flight of Sophia and the serving girl through the city from a series of folk so filthy she wouldn’t even have noticed them under other circumstances. They remembered it because it had been the most exciting thing to happen in their dreary lives for weeks. Maybe she and Sebastian would become another piece of gossip for them. Angelica hoped not. From a gossiping fishwife who genuflected to her as she passed, Angelica heard about a chase through the city’s streets. From an urchin so grubby that she couldn’t tell if it was a boy or a girl, she heard about them diving into the barrels of a cart to hide.

      “And then the woman with the cart told them to come with her,” the filthy creature told her. “They all drove off together.”

      Angelica tossed it a small coin. “If you’re lying to me, I’ll see to it that you’re thrown from one of the bridges.”

      Now that she knew about the cart, it was easy to track their progress. They’d headed for the northernmost exit from the city, and that seemed to make it clear where they were heading: Monthys. Angelica sped up, hoping that the Dowager’s information was right even as she wondered what the old woman was keeping from her. She didn’t like being a