Debriefing

Even though Thorunn and I do not arrive back at my beachfront villa until three in the afternoon, the whole task force still has yet to properly assemble. Lucienne and Pansy have cancelled, probably because they are too busy making out in the morgue or whatever those two freaks are into. Ezra is running horribly, fashionably late. I do not entirely mind this, as it gives me, Thorunn, and Hilde time to assemble more furniture for the pathetically empty house, but to my ultimate chagrin, the most important piece of furniture—the long oak dining table that I had hoped to use as a conference table for meetings—has not been delivered.

By the time everyone has arrived, we have all decided to abandon the empty dining room in favor of the parlor, which has at least a coffee table. Mom and Edgar have laid claim to an armchair that hasn’t even been taken out of its protective canvas wrapping, with Mom sitting fully in Edgar’s lap. Hilde, Svara, and Ezra take the sofa, and to my great relief, Ezra is surprisingly normal about it. He seems more interested in obsessively picking bits of styrofoam out of the cushions than the two beautiful six-foot-tall women pressing in on either side of him. Moretti paces, and sometimes sits on a box. But mostly, he paces.

“I apologize for the unconventional seating arrangements,” I say, carrying in a platter of snacks. “The dining table has been delayed in transit.”

“Unacceptable,” Ezra replies. “Edgar, shall we execute her?”

“With all haste,” Edgar agrees.

“And the shipping company,” Mom adds. “Get them, too.”

“Execution en masse for a minor shipping delay,” Thorunn remarks. “We are off to a productive start.”

I head to the kitchen a second time and return with tea. Once all of my guests are served, I settle in the corner next to Thorunn, who has laid out his fur cloak for both of us to sit comfortably on the floor.

“Miss Odric,” says Edgar, “do you have an agenda for today?”

Of course I do. I always have an agenda. “Yes. First, I’d like to address Lady Amira’s standing with the members of the Royal Family and the Guildensterns. Although Pansy and Luci are not present, they were kind enough to send over the notes they took, so I will include their observations with my own.

“Second, we will discuss Lady Amira’s housing and security during the pendency of this case. I am certainly willing to have her as my guest, but I am not equipped to host both of you.” I level my glare fully towards Edgar. “I would like to sleep in my house.”

Mom winces. Although she is clearly deep in her honeymoon and otherwise oblivious to anything that is not Edgar, she clearly catches the thinly veiled disgust. “S…sorry.”

“Not your fault,” I tell her. “I blame Edgar entirely. Lastly, we should discuss the matter of Thorunn’s engagement to Elizabeth. Your Highness, with all due respect, this should not be on the agenda at all, but I believe it should be addressed as soon as possible. The Jarl is due to depart for his home country in three weeks. I do not know if you were aware of that fact.”

Edgar raises an eyebrow. “I…was not.”

“If I may,” Ezra chimes in, “I’d like to add one more thing to the agenda. Our mom.”

“The Queen?” I ask. He nods, and I write it down. “When is she due to return?”

“Not until September, I’m afraid,” says Ezra. “So we have all summer to squabble with her legal team until she can make her formal appearance.”

“ ‘Squabble’ is one word for it,” Moretti mutters. “I woke up to a process server kicking my front door down. While all of us were sleeping peacefully last night, Her Majesty’s best attorney was drafting a defamation countersuit. I foresee that they will fight us tooth and nail on this petition.”

“On the bright side, it gives us a timeline,” Edgar counters. “When Mother returns, she likes fanfare. Once her business is complete, the palace will throw a grand homecoming party to welcome her. By the time that party rolls around, we should have the bulk of our case ready for trial. We will also have a better idea of who supports us…and who doesn’t.”

“Speaking of which.” I clear my throat. “If we could start at the top of the agenda, please. What are our thoughts on last night’s dinner guests?”

“Emerlane hates me,” Mom says, at the same time Edgar says, “Emerlane loves you.” Then they look at each other in stunned silence.

“Okay,” I say. “Let’s unpack that.”

“I was getting more of a ‘hate’ impression, to be honest,” says Moretti. “I did not know the Crown Princess was such close friends with Lady Olivia.”

“She’s not,” says Edgar.

“Emerlane is ‘friends’ with a lot of people,” says Ezra. “That’s her charm. She’s charming. And it’s goddamn effective. People like her, and they think she likes them, so they tell her things. I’ll bet that Olivia thinks that Emerlane is her friend—but I do not think that feeling is mutual.”

“What does the Crown Princess have to gain from such a ruse?” Thorunn asks.

“I’ll tell you,” I respond. “Ships. With the Queen abroad, Emerlane commands the navy. With the Guildensterns controlling the Saelic market of iron-hulled steamers, Emerlane has a lot to gain by befriending Lady Olivia. Better contracts, first choice of newly-built vessels, an insider’s peek at investment strategy.”

“Emerlane likes to be ahead,” Edgar agrees. “So Miss Odric is right. She will do and say whatever she needs to stay ahead. But she does not like Olivia. I can promise you that much.”

I scribble down notes as fast as I can. Even though Emerlane very clearly took Lady Olivia’s side at dinner last night, I know what bargaining power looks like when I see it. “She’s a clever one,” I muse as I write.

“We like to say she absorbed all of Winny’s brain cells in the womb,” Edgar adds. “Write that down, too.”

I don’t, but it does make me chuckle. Instead, I write down a note to keep an eye on Emerlane—particularly her investments. If she truly is on our side, I expect to see her quietly slide her stocks out of Saelic iron and into Nordic steel. Though if she does not wish to draw the ire of the Guildensterns, she will likely wait until much later in the game to fully make the trade.

“What about him, then? The Crown Prince?” I ask.

“He’s never liked me,” Mom sighs. “Though I reckon it has less to do with me and more about resenting his own arranged marriage. A sort of ‘if I can’t be happy, no one can be’ mentality. It’s sad.”

Edgar snorts. “He doesn’t need pity.”

“Well, I said ‘sad’, but I meant it like ‘pathetic’.”

“Mm, you’re right, he is pathetic. A real tar-pit of a man.” Leaning back in the armchair, Edgar begins to play with a lock of Mom’s hair. “I can only assume he’s jealous. ‘Why should baby Edgar have such a beautiful, brilliant wife? I should have one too. Oh, there’s only one like her? There’s no one else like Edgar’s wife? Boo hoo, that’s not fair, I deserve the most gorgeous woman in the world…’”

Edwinn IV can be pretty easily written off. That just leaves one member of the Royal Family. “His Majesty has clearly taken the position of neutral, impartial arbiter,” I state. “Which I assume that he must, since he will be judging this petition.”

“That’s correct,” says Moretti, “but Your Highness, with all due respect, you are not helping His Majesty decide in your favor.”

“Me?” asks Edgar. “What did I do?”

“The Crown Prince is trying to get under your skin by insulting Amira. He wants you to snap. He wants the King to see you as the immature youngest child who doesn’t know how to behave at dinner, much less what will be good for the kingdom.”

Edgar sniffs. “For fuck’s sake. I’m thirty-seven years old, I’m not a baby.”

“And Ellie is eighteen, almost nineteen,” says Mom softly. “But she’s still just a baby in my eyes.” She clasps Edgar’s hand and squeezes it. “Not a day goes by when I don’t worry for my little girl, when I don’t want to just…swoop in and fix everything for her. Parents can’t help it.”

“Well, that’s different,” Edgar counters. “You want to do what’s best for her.”

“I don’t think it’s so different,” Mom responds. “Your father wants what’s best for you.”

“So you need to show him that this is, actually, what is best,” says Moretti. “He’s not going to grant your petition if he thinks he is just indulging your bad behavior. But, your Highness, you had a foothold there—when you told Guildenstern about your ties to the Northerners. I saw it. A flicker of recognition in His Majesty’s eyes. In that moment, what did he see? Not a petulant child who didn’t get his way. Not a horny teenager running off with some random girl. Not a vindictive drunkard trying to cause infighting and drama. He saw a prince. A strategist, a businessman. What you did back there—I need to see more of it.”

Ezra leans back in the sofa, and with a feigned yawn, he fake-casually slides his arms behind Svara and Hilde. I frown. The two Vallikyr give the prince a bemused look, but they must tolerate this behavior to some degree, since they both allow it. Svara even crosses her legs towards Ezra, as if affirming it.

“While we’re talking about Dad, I’ll note that he adores Amira,” Ezra declares. “Not like it’s hard, though. You’re irresistible, darling. But recall that he was willing to go to bat for her against Winny—at least, insofar as demanding respect to her status as a lady.”

“He was very nice at the party,” says Mom. “He’s always been so polite, even back when I was a maid. Did I ever tell you, love? That His Majesty always left a whole five shillings as a tip?”

Edgar smiles. “Yes, honey. You’ve told me.”

“That was life changing money back then, and he handed it out as easily as a ‘thank you’. And did you hear? When he left the party? He actually called me ‘your Eminence.’ I didn’t actually think anyone was going to call me that!”

“I’ll admit, neither did I,” Ezra presses a strained smile. “Unfortunately, at the time you and Edgar first got married, most of the Saelic people were not ready to accept that the Alamarics were human, much less that an Alamaric could become a princess. Nowadays, it seems, the cultural narrative has somewhat shifted. Folks are more willing to respect a foreign princess.”

Mom sniffs. “While in public, that is.”

“Mm.” Ezra nods. “A sad reality of being a controversial public figure…you can’t let that sort of thing get to you. They’ll eat you alive.”

“This does raise an interesting thought,” says Moretti. “I do not believe that Amira’s greatest barrier in high society will be her race; but rather, her humble background. A foreigner can be respected as long as they are rich.”

“What are you saying?” Mom asks.

Moretti turns to face her. “I mean to say that I am extremely impressed at your progress in noble etiquette. The party guests were none the wiser. With a little extra training, we may yet pass you off as having been born into wealth, a princess by nature—perhaps a recipient of that divine right of kings you Saelics are always going on about. And if Edgar is unable to exert control of himself…the Saintess may be a more effective ‘face’ for your relationship.”

“I can control myself!” Edgar blurts, before quickly realizing the irony and shrinking back. “Erm. I see.”

Mom clears her throat. “I’m flattered you think I’m princess material, Your Grace,” she says to Moretti, “but I think we’re ignoring the elephant in the room. My background isn’t exactly a secret. And I haven’t been…let’s just say well-behaved . It’s only a matter of time before some reporters find my old house, my old jobs. They’ll talk.”

Ezra cracks his knuckles. “Leave that to me. I’ll shape the story; you just focus on your lessons, alright?”

She purses her lips. She seems uncertain, but eventually nods. As I had expressed to Martha in my initial interview, Imogen Rossach’s reputation is not particularly clean. Although I knew Imogen Rossach as a kind and protective mother; my neighbors knew Imogen Rossach for her frequent arguments, public meltdowns, and the occasional fistfight at the corner tavern causing the town guard to literally drag her home in hysterics. Her status as an immigrant, absent husband, and stubborn personality did not make her many friends, either. In the past few months, Mom has successfully kicked many of her bad habits, but that does not change the past. The poor decisions she made during her life of poverty will undoubtedly follow her into her life as a princess. Ezra has his work cut out for him.

“Now that we have gone public, we may be able to obtain more resources for Amira’s lessons,” says Moretti. “On my list are a dance and music instructor, a dedicated stylist, and a language tutor. Jarl Thorunn has provided the Vallikyr, so no need for bodyguards or ladies-in-waiting, since they perform the functions of both. To address the second issue on our agenda, I may also be able to obtain housing for Amira through a sponsor. Dowager Duchess Gwynevere Macduff has shown notable sympathy to our cause, and her estate is usually vacant while she travels for the summer. The Duchess is willing to meet Amira in person. If she likes her, she may allow her to tend to the estate in her absence.”

“An estate?” Mom echoes. “As in, her whole mansion? Oh, gods. I can’t even keep my bedroom clean.”

“That’s the nice part of being rich,” Edgar tells her. “You wouldn’t do it yourself, you’d just be directing the servants to do it. Authorizing purchases, managing the staff, so on.”

“Hmm. Convenient.”

“However,” Moretti announces, “I must stress the importance of confidentiality. The last thing this petition needs is to be ripped apart from the inside by unfounded gossip and speculation. In addition to new tutors and servants for Amira—as well as anyone within Duchess Macduff’s household—the legal side will be welcoming Edgar’s, Ezra’s, and my own support staff. If any of these newcomers have questions beyond what is published in the petition, they are to report directly to Baroness Odric or myself. If you see anything suspicious, or hear anything that the speaker should not know, you are to report it immediately . Am I understood?”

A general nod of assent from all present. This message is likely redundant—with the exception of Mom, everyone here has undoubtedly sat in meetings much more hazardous than this one, and all are familiar with volatile secrets.

I clear my throat. Now seems like as good a time as any. “With all that being said,” I begin to stand, “I’d like to address the last issue in private. One-on-one with His Highness, if possible.”

Edgar frowns, confused. “Your engagement? Well…we all saw it, can’t we discuss it out here?”

At the same time, I feel a soft brush against the back of my hand. I glance down. Thorunn gives me an encouraging smile, then pats my hand as if to say, You got this. Go get him.

“No,” I tell Edgar firmly. “Just you. My office, now.”