That would be Varia. She was seated grandly on her throne, wearing a dress of ruby red velvet with a skirt far too big for practical movement. I suspected servants had spread it out and draped it over the throne in an artful way. She had brown eyes and brown hair arranged in another of those high hairstyles I kept seeing among Yew women. Her age was difficult to guess, but she was certainly older than me. Jewels adorned almost every free spot: fingers, wrists, neck, ears, and hair. It was a dazzling display that walked a very, very fine line between regal and gaudy. On her lap were two tiny, furry little dogs that looked suspiciously like the annoying yappy kind I despised.

“Kneel,” one of the guards said. He started to shove me down, but Varia made a small, delicate motion with her hand, and he immediately stopped.

“No need for that,” said Varia, stroking one of the dogs. She pitched her voice in a way that was well received by the room’s acoustics, something she’d probably practiced quite a bit. “Queen Eugenie here is a fellow sovereign. We don’t kneel to each other.”

“Do we often take each other prisoner?” I demanded.

She smiled sweetly. “Well, now, that depends on whether or not we are staging coups into each other’s lands. You can hardly expect me to take no action when you and your cohorts come with plans to assassinate me in some feeble attempt to end the Winter Enchantment.”

“We call it the blight,” I said. “‘Winter Enchantment’ sounds like some kind of ice-skating show.” I didn’t really expect her to catch the reference. What had seized my attention was her accusation that we’d been coming to take her out personally. She didn’t know about our actual plans. She didn’t know about Volusian’s help and the deductions we’d made about the gifts she was holding.

“It makes no difference what you call it,” she declared. “And don’t flatter yourself by thinking you’re the first monarch who has tried to take matters into her own hands. The watchers I keep in my lands have descriptions of most of the kingdoms’ royalty. That’s the charming thing, you see. Monarchs who plan to surrender send emissaries. Monarchs with grand plans of rebellion come in person. Some delusion of personal greatness, I suppose.”

“Or,” I said bitterly, “maybe it’s because those monarchs care about their people and are willing to risk themselves.” I was guessing Varia and her dogs rarely dirtied their hands.