IDE INVISIBLE

2: IN WHICH THE QUEEN LEAVES SOMETHING BEHIND

A murmur cascaded through the hall as Graeme rose to his feet, carrying himself with the easy charisma of a man fully confident that things would go his way.

I risked a look in Siobhan's direction. She betrayed no emotion, but I knew her well. Her face was a mask so hard it frightened me.

I turned my ring clockwise.

Marcus nodded, his expression calm and impartial. "The court recognizes your claim, your Grace. Are there any others?"

The hall was chillingly silent. Marcus waited a moment, then, when no one else spoke, turned to Siobhan. "The heir apparent is invited now to assert their claim."

Siobhan's voice didn't waver. "Elder Marcus, ladies and gentlemen of the court. With respect, I assert my claim."

"The court recognizes your claim, Crown Princess."

"Then the throne is in dissent," rasped Airdsgánne, "and as per tradition, we will decide its fate on the morrow once the kingdom has entered its period of mourning. This meeting is adjourned."

The court rose and bowed, then took its leave. Deidre and I filed after Siobhan, exiting into the candlelit corridors and staying close as the gathering dispersed.

A courtier—Tynan, I believed his name was—approached with a distasteful look pressed into his face, as if it'd been sculpted half-heartedly by some artist's thumbs. "Crown Princess," he said, "My condolences."

She presented him with a diplomatic smile, though I could tell she wanted nothing more than to run the other direction. "Most welcome, Lord Tynan."

"How do you intend to refute his Grace's claim, if I may ask such a question?"

His face was tart, as if he'd bitten into a fruit only to discover it wasn't yet ripe. I knew he was not interested in a legitimate answer.

Siobhan smiled again, charming as ever. "By honoring Abfhaenn as best I can. If you'll excuse us; you may imagine the many matters that require our attention in a time such as this. Luck to you, Lord Tynan."

Affronted, Tynan turned and walked stiffly away. I turned to Deidre and gave what I thought was a remarkable impression of his pinched features, pursing my lips and widening my eyes. She snorted a laugh before she was able to rearrange her expression to look appropriately scandalized.

Not bearing our antics any mind, Siobhan diverted into a corridor, and the two of us followed.

She remained composed until we reached the west wing, then let go of the façade, her shoulders squaring with indignation and hands balling into white-knuckled fists. She stormed ahead without looking back at the two of us, anger stretching her strides long. We hastened to follow at her heels.

"He's a weasel and a coward," Siobhan said, in a voice too calm for the words. Such insults weren't in any way befitting of a future queen, but when it came to Graeme, I felt she was allowed them. "Stirring up trouble wherever trouble's already present. I'd like to laugh in his face. Surely he doesn't believe he's a real chance at the throne?"

She was exasperated with Graeme's impudence, aghast at the court's willingness to entertain it.

"He's had his sights set on it since we were children," I said, in a helpless attempt to reassure her. "He's low, Siobhan. You mustn't take his methods as a personal slight."

Deidre nodded, her face solemn with agreement. "He'll do everything in his power to undermine you, but you can't let him. You're the heir apparent and the court's got no material reason to consider another. This is routine, nothing more."