Lost In Character: Transmigration Chronicles Of A Nameless Heroine 43 The Funeral Iv

By now, the Queen ought to have pieced it together: a man had called her spineless, and nearly everyone who heard him had agreed. Because Hilde did not go into the specifics when she told her sister of it, Queen Heloise must have a.s.sumed it was an ordinary man who'd spoken, that those who'd heard and agreed were equally weak and powerless.

They were not. Among the military, it wasn't only the Lord General whom she was up against. One would think she'd have seen this coming, but from how her eyelids fluttered, the realization had caught her by surprise.

It was the strangest thing. Did she perhaps think that, after neutralizing Lord Alfwin – or appearing to, at the very least – the rest of the army would back down as well?

Far more likely, they'd depose them both.

Hilde sighed. 'These men want war, Sister,' she thought – even if she'd said the words out loud, she knew they'd only fall on deaf, overly proud ears. 'As should you. As long as you don't give in… I'M their ticket. If you insist on your own plans and views, eventually, we'll have to get you out of the way. And whatever you try to do to me... I suppose I now have others to help counter it.'

Despite the dubiously optimistic thought and the rea.s.suring presence of Inge, Raban, and two other soldiers nearby, she sighed again.

'That's right,' Hilde insisted, as if trying to convince herself. 'Right now, pride be d.a.m.ned. I need to survive, and there are far, far worse ways to do it.' Before she could stop herself, her gaze slid fearfully towards the bier ahead. 'Far worse ways…'

Queen Heloise just had to choose this moment to retrieve her attention from the soldier to look at Hilde; the younger woman had still been in the process of wrenching her gaze back from where it had strayed. Luckily, she had already schooled her expression to show the kind of worry one might feel when caught in the middle of a conflict one had no control over. As far as everyone else was concerned, Hilde was only a "p.a.w.n" in all this, not a player. Always, she must act the part.

Did her sister notice where she'd been looking? Would she guess at whom, specifically? Most importantly, would she guess why? If the answer to all three was "yes," then she'd just handed the Queen the weapons with which to strike down her opponent's figurehead.

For once, Queen Heloise's expression was coldly unreadable.

"So that is what happened," she said blandly.

Lady Ilse cleared her throat and commented, "Such a thing…" But even though she tried to act surprised and horrified, the worried frown she threw her elder niece said, 'What were you expecting?'

The intended recipient missed the look entirely. "Officiate," she called. Once releasing Hilde from her gaze, the Queen acted as if she'd dismissed her completely. Swallowing, the younger woman thought it was just as well. The paunchy middle-aged man who'd been at the head of the column hurried to his monarch's side. "Are all in readiness?" she asked.

The Royal Officiate hesitated, indicating the answer was "no."

"Yes, Queen," he answered anyway, bowing with extra grace. "I shall go signal our departure."

Wasting no time, he returned to his place at the head of the column and matched his words with actions. Despite whatever else needed doing, the second part of the funeral rites commenced. The servants who were to stay behind cleared away trays of cups and plates; those who were to come with their masters and mistresses were armed with leather flasks of fluids and pouches full of gray cotton cloths.

Like well-oiled cogs, the top tiers of Arnica's society broke the heretofore-clear divisions within their ranks. Major and minor n.o.bles, the unt.i.tled elites, their attendants, and even the foreign representatives mingled and pressed together indiscriminately as they all chose at random which of the five biers to surround.

At least, the choice WAS supposed to be random. Barring the families, every living human present was supposed to accord the same importance to the dead if there's more than one who needed honoring in a day. In death, all of them were equals.

But this particular funeral was too politically charged for such niceties to be observed. After what happened at the throne room, only a complete and utter fool would "randomly" choose to stand by the Lord General's family. Impervious individuals like the Lysean Prince aside, the rest would have to have a good enough reason – like a personal friends.h.i.+p with the deceased or his family that transcends scheming – or…

Well. They'd have to have skins of steel and a certain agenda to push, wouldn't they?

Lord Alfwin and his family had many of the first kind; his public pledge of loyalty to the Queen notwithstanding, there was also no shortage of the second kind to cl.u.s.ter around his son's bier.

As far as figuring out where people's initial allegiances lay, it was all loud and clear over at the other side.

On the side of the royals, it was trickier. Majority of those who'd surrounded the four living women and the one dead man also did not do so at random. The question was, which in particular had drawn them there? Was it the Queen, the Princess, the Prince, or – and this was very likely – the beauties?