“We are not at home!” yelled Mrs. Loontwill after Floote. “To anyone!”
“You are at home to me, madam,” said a very autocratic voice.
The Queen of England swept into the room: a petite woman, in late middle life but wearing it very well.
Floote trailed in after and said, in tones of shock Alexia had never thought to hear from her unflappable butler, “Her Most Royal Highness, Queen Victoria, to see Miss Tarabotti.” Mrs. Loontwill fainted.
Alexia thought it the best, most sensible thing her mama had done in a very long while. Floote uncorked a bottle of smelling salts and went to revive her, but Alexia shook her head firmly. Then she made to rise and curtsy, but the queen raised her hand.
“No formality, Miss Tarabotti. I understand you have had an interesting night,” she said.
Miss Tarabotti nodded mutely and made a polite gesture for the queen to sit. She was mortified by what now seemed the shabby clutter of her family's front parlor. Her Most Royal Highness did not seem to notice, sitting down on a mahogany side chair next to Alexia, moving it so her back was to the collapsed form of Mrs. Loontwill.
Miss Tarabotti turned to her sisters. Both had their mouths open and were flapping about like ineffectual fish.
“Felicity, Evylin, out, now,” she ordered quite curtly.
Professor Lyall helped hustle the two girls from the room and would have followed, but the queen said curtly, “Stay, Professor. We may need your expertise.”
Floote glided out with an expression that said he would keep all prying ears at bay, although probably not his own.
The queen looked at Alexia a long moment. “You are not at all what I expected,” she said at last. Miss Tarabotti refrained from saying, “Neither are you.” Instead she said, “You knew to expect something?”
“Dear girl, you are one of the only preternaturals on British soil. We approved your father's immigration papers all those many years ago. We were informed the moment of your birth. We have watched your progress since then with interest. We even considered interfering when all this folderol with Lord Maccon began to complicate matters. It has gone on quite long enough. You will be marrying him, I understand?”
Alexia nodded mutely.
“Good, we approve.” She nodded as though she had somehow had a hand in this outcome. Professor Lyall said, “Not everyone does.”
The queen actually snorted at that. “We are the one whose opinion counts, are we not? The potentate and the dewan are trusted advisors, but they are only that: advisors. No legal records for our empire or any previous one forbid marriage between supernatural and preternatural outright. Yes, the potentate informs us hive tradition bans such a union, and werewolf legend warns against fraternization, but we require this business settled. We will not have our best BUR agent distracted, and we need this young lady married.”
“Why?” Alexia asked, confused that her single state should concern the Queen of England.
“Ah, that. You are aware of the Shadow Council?” The queen settled herself in the hard chair, as much as queens do, which is to say her shoulders relaxed slightly.
Alexia nodded. “The potentate acts as your official vampire consultant and the dewan in the werewolf capacity. Rumors are that most of your political acumen comes from the potentate's advice and your military skill from the dewan's.”
“Alexia,” Professor Lyall growled a warning.
The queen looked more amused than insulted at this. She even dropped the royal “we” for the space of a few moments. “Well, I suppose my enemies must blame somebody. I will say that those two are invaluable, when they are not bickering with each other. But there is a third post that has been vacant since before my time. An advisor meant to break the stalemate between the other two.”
Miss Tarabotti frowned. “A ghost?”
“No, no. We have plenty of those flitting around Buckingham Palace; cannot keep them quiet half the time. We certainly do not need one in any official capacity. Not when they cannot maintain solidity that long. No, what we require is a muhjah.”
Alexia looked confused.
The queen explained. “Traditionally the third member of the Shadow Council is a preternatural, the muhjah. Your father declined the post.” She sniffed. “Italians. Now, there simply is not enough of your set left to vote on your nomination, so it will have to be an appointed position. But voting is mostly a formality, even for the positions of dewan and potentate. At least it has been during my reign.”
“No one else wants the job,” said Professor Lyall with feeling.
The queen gave him a reproving look.
He leaned forward and explained further. “It is a political post,” he said. “Lots of arguing and paperwork and books being consulted all the time. It is not at all like BUR, you understand?”
Miss Tarabotti's eyes positively sparkled. “Sounds delightful.” Yet she remained suspicious. “Why me? What could I possibly offer against two such experienced voices?”
The queen was not used to being questioned. She looked at Professor Lyall.
He said, “I told you she was difficult.”
“Aside from breaking a stalemate, our muhjah is the only truly mobile unit of the three councilors. Our potentate is confined to a narrow territory, like most vampires, and cannot function during the day. Our dewan is more mobile, but he cannot travel by dirigible and is incapacitated every full moon. We have relied upon BUR to make up for the Shadow Council's weakness in this regard, but we would prefer a muhjah whose attention is solely on the Crown's concerns and who can come to us directly.”