Page 90 of The Witch Queen

“Yes, well, one of the women I talked to even referenced the scandal you mentioned. She claimed it wasn’t just the duchess who left court afterward, but another family.”

That’s unusual. Families don’t typically give up their positions at the palace unless they fall out of favor. Had they been involved with whatever Margaret did?

“What family?” I ask.

“If the woman knew, she wouldn’t tell me,” Jacquetta says. Fitz licks her face again and she strokes his head. “In fact, some of the servants have started to questionwhyI’m so curious.”

Damn. That’s the last thing we need. And the servants may notknow much more about this matter, anyway. Not if it was evidently hushed up. The courtiers might, though. They’re like bloodhounds when it comes to scandal. Still…they won’t speak with Jacquetta if she’s just a servant.

An idea lights in my mind.

“You’ll go to the ball,” I say.

Jacquetta balks. “You’re inviting me to aball?”

“Not like that,” I say, irritated. “But yes. It’s the perfect opportunity. The courtiers will be drinking and theyadoregossip. One of them must know more about whatever this was.”

“What makes you think they’re going to tell me anything?”

“It’s masked,” I explain. “No one will know who you are.”

“And if they find out?”

I raise an eyebrow. “You need to make certain that they don’t.”

“Certain? And how—”

“Fitz?” Joan’s voice drifts from above. “Where are you?”

“Come to my rooms before the ball,” I tell Jacquetta in a rush. “I’ll have what you need.”

She starts to argue again, but dust rains down on us as Joan descends the stairs. Jacquetta sets Fitz down. His ears droop at losing her attention.

“Fine,” she says, jabbing a finger at me. “But that disguise had better begood.”

—

The royal wardrobe is a series of several rooms strung together on the south side of the palace. With the ball so near, it’s stuffed with fabrics, baubles, and gowns—most in a state of mid-alteration. It’s late enough in the evening that nearly all the servants have retired, a fact I was counting on. I need to keep this errand as discreet as possible.

“YourMajesty,” the Mistress of the Wardrobe greets me, surprised. She sinks into a curtsy. “It’s an honor to have you here. Is there a problem? Has that Nellie been idling again?”

I have no idea who Nellie is and just shake my head, attempting a nonthreatening smile. Judging from the woman’s expression, I do not succeed.

“Nothing like that,” I assure her. “I came to request a favor—I need an additional gown for the ball.”

The woman’s brow furrows. “Gown? But yours has been finished for some time.”

“It’s not for me. This is for…a last-minute guest. I apologize for the trouble, but you’ll be very well compensated for the inconvenience. And the gown needn’t be anything too special. It’s for a minor noble.”

Very minor. And unimportant.

“Well,” she says, frowning, “we do keep some spares in the back. In case of mishaps. I will need measurements to alter it.”

“That won’t be necessary,” I insist. “In fact, if you’ll point me in the right direction, I’ll choose it myself.”

The woman fumbles a bit, but then indicates another door. “Just through there, Majesty.”

“Thank you,” I say. Then, for good measure, “And please know that your hard work of late hasn’t gone unnoticed. I’ll advise the marquess to revisit your salary.”