Chapter 59
Cassandra could not sleep.
Every time she closed her eyes, thoughts about Lillian and the queen’s current condition made it impossible to fall asleep.
She turned onto her back and stared into the darkness, the covers pulled to her waist. The palace was quiet now, but her mind refused to follow its example. Thoughts crowded one another, each demanding attention before another pushed its way forward.
Eventually, she abandoned the attempt at sleep.
She rose from the bed, slipped her feet into her slippers and walked to her writing desk.
Several invitations lay scattered across its polished surface, along with correspondence she had not yet answered. She pushed them aside without looking at them and drew a fresh sheet of paper toward herself.
For a while, she simply sat there with the quill between her fingers.
She needed to form order in the chaos that was currently her mind. That was all.
Her thoughts had become too tangled to be useful, and Cassandra had learned that a problem became easier to manage once it was removed from the confines of one’s mind and placed somewhere it could be examined properly.
She dipped the quill into the ink.
At the top of the page, she wrote: Known.
Beneath it, she began recording all the information she knew and the things she could rely upon.
She moved to another section and named it: Unknown.
That list was longer.
Her quill scratched steadily across the page as she separated what she knew from what she merely suspected. Some names appeared more than once. Some were followed by brief notes. Others were crossed out almost as soon as she wrote them.
She considered the people around her carefully.
Who could be trusted?
Who could be useful?
Who owed her something?
Who possessed influence but could not be relied upon?
Who might help her willingly, and who would require something in return?
Cassandra found that the last question mattered less to her than it once would have.
Perhaps that was one of the things her former life had taken from her. The idea of a purely transactional relationship no longer sounded distasteful to her. Power was built upon such arrangements.
Men did it openly every day, dressing their bargains in the respectable language of politics, friendship and duty but it was still the way they obtained that which they desired most.
She had simply been too naive to recognize the transaction for what it was and now it was clear that she would have to play those same games.
Her list gradually narrowed.
Some names were eliminated because they were too closely connected to her family. Others possessed neither the influence nor the reliability she required.
A few might have been useful under different circumstances, but Cassandra could not afford to build her future around people whose fickle loyalties shifted with convenience.
She studied the remaining names.
Then she began considering what each person could actually offer her.
There were those who could offer things like information, strong connections and favors. She marked several of them for further consideration.
She did not need to decide everything tonight. She only needed to know where to begin.
Her mind felt calmer now, the terrible jumble of thoughts gradually becoming a collection of ideas and problems. They would be examined, then filled into two neat categories. The ones that could be solved and the ones to be exploited.
She paused her quill when she reached a name she had not intended to write.
Draven Montague.
Cassandra leaned back in her chair as she studied the name intently. Her mixed feelings towards him hardly mattered when she was trying to think objectively.
She remembered their last conversation. More importantly, she remembered his offer. He had told her that she would always find a friend in him, that she could call upon him if she ever needed his assistance.
At the time, she had thought little of it. Now she wondered whether she should take him at his word.
The question was not whether Draven would help her out of kindness. Cassandra knew better than to rely solely on the kindness of men, especially when any of them could end up being untrustworthy.
The question was what she could offer him in return for his cooperation in her scheme
What does the Duke of Norham want? How could she buy the loyalty of one of the most powerful men in Arden?
The question stirred a brief memory of something she had once deemed inconsequential.
Cassandra remembered the irritation that crossed Draven’s face whenever his cousin came up in conversation.
Simon was not merely an inconvenient relative. He was a man Draven clearly considered irresponsible and burdensome, yet there was more to the matter than personal dislike.
Deep in thought, Cassandra slowly set down the quill.
Simon was currently Draven’s heir presumptive. That fact had never seemed particularly important to her before. Now, placed beside something else she knew about the duke, it acquired an entirely different significance.
Draven had no legitimate child. If he died without one, Simon would inherit the dukedom.
Cassandra’s gaze moved to the other side of the desk, where she had earlier written notes concerning the people whose interests might intersect with her own.
And then she recalled the last bill brought before the council.
Draven’s proposed legislation. The bill that would allow a daughter to inherit noble estates in the absence of a male heir.
At the time, Cassandra had regarded Draven’s position as an interesting political cause. But when she put those details together, an image unfurled before her.
Now she was forced to look at it from an entirely different angle.
If the bill passed, a daughter could inherit Norham. Draven’s sister, perhaps and Simon would be displaced.
Her eyes narrowed in concentration.
Was that the reason? Was this part of his personal battle?
Perhaps Draven genuinely believed in the legislation. Cassandra could not know that yet. But if Simon’s position was part of the reason he was fighting so fiercely for it, then she had stumbled upon something far more valuable than she had expected.
Leverage.
What would Draven want badly enough to bargain for? The question no longer seemed so difficult.
Cassandra looked down at his name again and she thought; ’I could help him.’