“Yes, all right,” said Bitterblue, rubbing her face, trying to rub away her incredulous expression. “No talk of—”

Quall flinched.

Bones, finished Bitterblue in her own mind. Everyone is mad. “In addition to the findings of my associates,” she said, standing to go, “the people on Ivan’s street near the merchant docks who cannot read shall be taught to do so at the court’s expense. Is that understood?”

Her words were met with a silence so profound that it startled her; her judges peered at her in alarm. She ran through her words again: The people shall be taught to read. Surely there was nothing so strange in that?

“It is in your power to make such a declaration,” said Quall, “Lady Queen.” He spoke with an implication in every syllable that she’d done something ridiculous. And why should he be so condescending? She knew perfectly well that it was within her power, just as she knew it was within her power to remove any judge she felt like removing from the service of this Court. The watermelon-grower was also staring at her with an expression of sheerest confusion. Beyond him, a scattering of amused faces brought the heat crawling up Bitterblue’s neck.

How typical of this Court for everyone else to act mad and then, when I’ve behaved in a perfectly reasonable manner, compel me to feel as if I were the mad one.

“See to it,” she said to Quall, then turned to make her escape. As she passed through the exit at the back of the dais, she forced her small shoulders straight and proud, even though it was not what she felt.

IN HER ROUND tower office, the windows were open, the light was beginning to change to evening, and her advisers weren’t happy.

“We don’t have limitless resources, Lady Queen,” said Thiel, steel-haired, steel-eyed, standing before her desk like a glacier. “A declaration like that, once you’ve made it public, is difficult to reverse.”

“But, Thiel, why should we reverse it? Shouldn’t it distress us to hear of a street in the east city where people can’t read?”

“There will always be the occasional person in the city who can’t read, Lady Queen. It’s hardly a matter that requires the direct intervention of the crown. You’ve now created a precedent which intimates that the queen’s court is available to educate any citizen who comes forward claiming to be illiterate!”

“My citizens should be able to come forward. My father saw that they were deprived of education for thirty-five years. Their illiteracy is the responsibility of the crown!”

“But we don’t have the time or the means to address it on an individual basis, Lady Queen. You’re not a schoolteacher; you’re the Queen of Monsea. What the people need right now is for you to behave like it, so that they can feel that they’re in good hands.”

“Anyway,” broke in her adviser Runnemood, who was sitting in one of the windows, “nearly everyone can read. And has it occurred to you, Lady Queen, that those who can’t might not want to? The people on Ivan’s street have businesses and families to feed. When do they have time for lessons?”