In the twilight of sleep, Avery was awakened by that telltale click in the lock. Footsteps approached, and she dreaded having to tell Thomas’s brother she had failed him so far. But she didn’t have to speak or even move.
He said, “Remember, midnight tomorrow. Last warning.”
And he was gone.
Chapter 27
The Match
Just before dawn, Avery bolted upright in bed at a faint knock on her door. Enough was enough!
“Leave me alone!” she said. “I’m working on it!”
Silence. Then another gentle knock. Thomas’s brother had a key—who was this?
Avery moved close to the door. “Who’s there?”
“I apologize, Your Highness,” came a young female voice. Avery opened the door to a small servant girl, who looked petrified.
“Sorry,” Avery mumbled, “what is it?”
“The king wishes to speak to you.”
“I’m sleeping.”
“He says it’s urgent.”
Her resolve evaporated. Avery couldn’t deny she was curious, even if she had become an afterthought. She had to admit, Elizabeth’s dramatic reappearance threw protocol out the window. Avery knew she would probably act the same if she were reunited with her family.
As she dressed, Avery thought now might be the time to tell the king that she did not want to ever be queen.
The servant girl led her along the private gallery to the royal rooms, where they found the king wrapped in layers of lambskin and sitting in an ancient chair before a roaring fireplace. He was bent over a small table bearing a chessboard. In the glow of the flames he looked smaller—not at all the way he had appeared in the Great Hall the evening before.
The girl tapped on the doorframe with a fingernail. “Your Grace,” she said, “the princess.”
“Thank you, that’s all,” he said, nodding to a chair next to him.
“Can’t sleep,” he said as Avery sat. “I was up all night thinking.”
“I’m sorry, Highness,” she said, dumbfounded at no mention of Queen Elizabeth or their having left her in the Great Hall. There was so much she needed to know, but one was not to interrogate her sovereign, blood or not.
“Do you play?” he asked, nodding to the chessboard.
“I’ve dabbled.” She and Tuck had watched countless tournaments in the kids’ quarters, which was how she learned the basics. “I’d be no match for you.”
“Indulge me,” he said, sliding the table between them and rearranging the pieces.
Avery shrugged, trying to hide her pique. He had sent for her in the wee hours of the morning, saying it was urgent, to have someone to play chess with?
The king moved first. “Tell me,” he said, “why is it so important to you that I pardon the rebels?”
What was this? He’d gone from “I have spoken. No pardons” to revisiting the idea? Does he know about Thomas and the threat? Avery bought herself time to think by making her first move.
The king studied the board. “Do you support them waging war on me? Forget that I am your father. They attacked your king.”
“Of course not,” she said quietly. “It’s not right to disobey the man God has placed in authority.”
He smiled but fell silent for several minutes as they played. Then he said, “So why ask me to release them?”
He must have been thinking more about his question than the game, because his last move left his rook open and several other pieces in jeopardy. She studied his face to see whether he realized it. He stared into the fireplace, eyes wide, clearly agitated. She knew he was impatient for her reply, no longer engaged in the game. Avery spoke carefully. “Releasing the rebels would demonstrate your mercy, Majesty. Imagine the whole realm seeing that you’re willing to forgive a group of misguided kids—children, really. They’re thirteen years old.”
He grunted. “Which means only that they might rebel again as soon as they are released. How could I be certain they wouldn’t?”
“You couldn’t,” Avery said, moving her bishop but not taking his exposed rook. “You’d just have to hope they would respond to mercy with peace.”
The king quickly moved. “Hope is not much of a defense strategy, Daughter.”
The longer they discussed the rebels, the sloppier the king played. He hardly thought before moving, and he seemed to grow more agitated by the minute.
Avery knew she was on dangerous ground, but he had raised the subject. “Give them something they need, and they’ll remain loyal.”
“Like what?” he said, laughing. “Gold? So they can build their own army?”
She shook her head. “Purpose. Find work for them.”
The king fumbled another move. “Your turn,” he said.
“Some of the best cooks, seamstresses, and builders in the realm are in the dungeon with nothing to do,” Avery said. “Why not put them to work? You wouldn’t have to pay much if you gave them a place to stay and publicly recognized them once in a while. I doubt they’d rebel against that.” Avery moved her knight to a space the king should not have left open. “You could make your castle wonderful again.”
Avery hoped the mention of his castle would prompt the king to notice his rook was in danger. Otherwise, she could beat him at his own game, one at which she was but a novice.
He missed the opportunity, advancing a pawn instead, and Avery reached for her queen, which could checkmate him. But she reconsidered it. The key is knowing when to advance and when to retreat.
“Hiring all those children could improve my image,” the king said, settling back in his chair. “No more fiascoes like last night. That jester…humiliating.”
As was the music, the food, and the service. But Avery knew it wouldn’t be prudent to agree. “It was a fine event,” she said.
“Were I barbaric, a jester would lose his life for a performance like that.”
Avery flinched and looked sharply at the king.
“What is it?” he said.
“All due respect, Your Highness—may I speak freely?”
“Please.”
“To be frank,” she said, “would you not look barbaric sending to the gallows a group of thirteen-year-olds who dared attack a popular king and his vast army?”
The king cocked his head and sighed.
“Forgive me if I overstepped,” Avery said. “I didn’t mean to ques—”
“Not at all,” he said. “If I weren’t reconsidering, I would not have raised the subject.”
Avery hid her excitement. “I appreciate that, Your Grace.” Perhaps Elizabeth’s return had prompted this rethinking. But all that talk of the banquet and still no mention of her reappearance.
Avery moved a meaningless pawn, and the king sprang forward and laughed. “Your queen could have had me right there,” he said, pointing. “You still have much to learn about this game.” He moved out of harm’s way and added, “Don’t worry. I’ll teach you all you need to know about winning and about being my heir.”
That Avery did not want, but now was not the time to say so.
Cheerily, the king went on to win the match. “Congratulations, Your Highness,” Avery said.
He stretched and smiled. “You do my heart good, Daughter. My physicians tell me I should fully recovery, and I attribute that to you. And you’ll be happy to know your mother should also be restored by a few days’ rest, and we will be a family again. She’s been through a terrible ordeal.”
“Oh?” Avery said, hoping for details.
“You should go back to bed, Daughter. This afternoon we start discussing matters of state!”
Avery stood and thanked him, wishing the time felt right to tell him how she really felt.
“Something on your mind, Daughter?”
She wished he’d quit calling her that, but he had spoken so tenderly. Having his first wife back was plainly good for him. “It’ll keep, Your Majesty,” she said, turning to go. “Good night—well, good morning.”
The
king chuckled and reached to stop her. “If it means that much to you that I extend mercy to the rebels…”
“It does.”
“…I will grant the pardon before noon.”
“Oh, sir! I—”
“You are not without responsibility, however,” he said. “I will task you with assigning them jobs and finding them lodging.”
“Absolutely, Your Grace. I’ll work with your staff and—”
“And I will hold you personally responsible for any breach of loyalty.” Avery couldn’t hide her excitement. “May I tell them?”
He seemed to weigh this. Then, “Yes. But with one exception. I cannot pardon their leader.”
“But Your Grace, Edward is no older than the rest. He—”
“Don’t push this. I’ll not entertain arguments.”
“But need he hang, sir? He’s just a boy, really. Surely you can find it in your heart to—”
The king stopped her with a gesture. “Very well. His punishment will fall short of execution.”
Avery threw her arms around the king’s neck before realizing what she’d done. She quickly stepped back and curtsied.
The king laughed. “No need for drama.”
Next stop: the dungeon.
Chapter 28
The Telltale Scent
Avery raced through the maze of halls and balconies and down the stairs. She remembered the route to the dungeon but not how endless the journey seemed. Grateful her ankle was finally up to it, she did not stop to catch her breath until she cut through the dank passageway and arrived at the exit that led to the half-submerged stone steps.
As she leaned over, panting against the thick wooden door, the strange and terrible roar of the Salt Sea reminded her that timing was vital if she was to make it to the dungeon entrance. Had Babs not been with her the first time, she’d have surely drowned.
On her own now, Avery didn’t know when to open the door, and she wouldn’t be able to save herself if she guessed wrong. But neither could she risk waiting for the king’s pardon to release Thomas. He had been plainly near death when she first tried to spring him. She couldn’t imagine his brother’s rage if Thomas died hours before he would have been pardoned anyway.
Fighting to remember what Babs had done, she pressed her ear against the door and waited until the roar grew distant, and then she pushed through it.
From the stone-carved steps she could see the entry door below, nearly submerged. She would wait near the top till that door was clear of the tide then make a run for it. But as she readied herself, a wave bore down on her, massive enough to knock her twenty feet into the sea.
Avery dashed back up the steps and yanked open the door, sprawling inside and kicking it shut just as the wall of water crashed into it. The salty deluge sprayed through the frame and underneath the door as she struggled to her feet. Maybe Babs had made his move when the water was surging in, hurtling down the steps as the sea rolled back out. Again she watched and waited, trying to time her dash to the dungeon.
Soon all went silent.
When the roar and the surging waves returned, Avery waited till they appeared to peak then flew out the door as they receded, bounding down the steps and pushing her way into the dungeon. She slammed the door just as the roar began again and the sea rushed to flood the steps.
Overwhelmed anew by the stench and discordant din—like she imagined hell might sound—she slid to the floor with her back to the wall. Gasping until her breathing evened out, Avery peeked down the corridor to the inner entrance with a slim hope that someone new was on guard duty today.
No such luck. The vicious-looking sentry gazed back at her the way he might a cockroach. When she had caught her breath, Avery pulled herself up and strode toward him with all the confidence she could muster.
“I’ve come to take custody of an ill prisoner!” she shouted over the racket.
The guard slowly raised his chin and looked her in the eyes. He shook his head. “I ’eard nothin’ of that.”
“His name is Thomas, and he’s in the same cell as the rebel leader, Edward.”
“That changes nothin’. I’m not told, it doesn’t ’appen.”
“But I’m telling you, and I represent the crown.”
“For all I know, you coulda been washed up here by a storm. You don’t look like no royalty to me.”
“But you saw me here before! I’m the king’s daughter!”
He shook his head and turned away.
“If you value your job, sir, don’t refuse me. The king will not take kindly to—”
“The boy you want ain’t with us anymore.”
Avery’s knees went weak. Did he mean—?
“Where is he?”
The guard shrugged. “I don’t keep track of ‘em once they leave ’ere.”
In the near darkness, with frigid air swirling around her, Avery marched up the center corridor. “I’m looking for Thomas!” she hollered, and countless voices screamed back.
“Will I do?”
“Take me, Your Highness!”
“I can be Thomas!”
She headed for Edward’s cell. The prisoners across the hall and on either side quieted when she stopped. Edward stood at the door, arms folded, feet spread.
“Too late,” he said.
“Where is he?” Avery asked, peering past him at every face and every space in the crowded box.
Gone. But where?
As the time drew near for Avery’s lesson with the king on matters of state, she paced her room, wracking her brain for a plan to find Thomas. She could tell the king the whole story, but who knew how he’d respond, let alone what Thomas’s brother would do?
Angry as she was about how he had threatened her, she could hardly fault him. If she could blackmail someone in power to get Henry back, she might do the same. Thomas’s brother was doing the only thing he knew to do.
Kate knocked at her door. “Queen Elizabeth wishes to see you.”
Avery reeled. It was about time. She’d begun to wonder whether her birth mother even knew she existed. “Really? I—I—uh—am scheduled with the king for—”
“Avery! Forgive the informality, but this takes precedence.”
“Does it?”
“You’re all she’s talked about since she awoke this morning.”
“But I’m a mess!”
“Well, you’ve no time for a bath. Let’s get you freshened up.”
Kate dug through closets for powders and creams and lotions, and then she circled Avery, helping her rinse off and change clothes.
On the way to the queen’s chamber, Avery wondered aloud, “What will I say?”
“Whatever you need to.”
Kate tapped on the queen’s door, said, “Queen Elizabeth, your daughter, the princess,” and squeezed Avery’s shoulders before she hurried off.
Being identified that way so repulsed Avery that her nervousness turned to anger. She didn’t know what Elizabeth expected, but she wasn’t about to greet her as if she had been pining for her her whole life. Because she hadn’t.
Avery was curious, sure. She wanted to know where the assumed dead queen had been all this time and why she had never heard from her.
In fact, she had a wagonload of questions, one of which was wondering what the classic beauty would look like after a night’s rest and staff attending to her. The night before, Elizabeth bore only a hint of her once dignified bearing. Otherwise she might have been mistaken for an aged vagabond.
Somehow Avery was not surprised that the woman who ignored her for thirteen years and never even looked her way the night before now made her wait. Maybe she was hard of hearing. Avery knocked louder than Kate had.
After another minute, she threw gentility to the wind and knocked long and hard. “Your Royal Highness, it’s Avery! You sent for me?”
Finally, she tried the knob, no doubt violating every custom of the kingdom—entering royal quarters on her own. But she could plead ignorance. She was the queen�
��s natural-born daughter, after all. If she couldn’t enter her own mother’s room—to check on her well-being, if nothing else—who could?
The door was not locked, so Avery gently pushed it open. A privacy partition stood just inside, apparently serving to also block sound. She peeked around it to find the queen’s sleep chamber arranged much like her own. And there she lay, propped up by pillows, attended to by a medic.
“Pardon me,” Avery said. “Should I return at a more conven—?”
The queen peered past the doctor and smiled weakly, waving her in.
Avery slowly approached the woman who should be as familiar to her as anyone in the world, yet who was every bit a stranger face-to-face.
The medic bowed and quickly left.
Avery curtsied deeply, but the queen shook her head. “No need to do that for me,” she rasped. She looked so frail and sounded so weak, Avery’s anger evaporated.
The queen patted the mattress as if she should sit, but that didn’t seem right. Avery moved closer but remained standing.
“Light a candelabra so I can see you,” Elizabeth said.
Avery used a phosphorous match to light four wicks in the silver lamp holder beside the bed. The candlesticks illuminated the ceiling and cast a glow down through the queen’s sheer canopy, bathing her in light.
Avery was stunned at the woman’s beauty. Though the years had not been kind to her, and her hair was gray and her face lined, Elizabeth’s classic structure defined her face with high cheekbones and dramatic symmetry.
“You look well, Your Grace,” Avery said.
Elizabeth smiled weakly and took Avery’s hand. “I’m much better now, knowing you are alive and well. You are well, aren’t you? I understand you’ve suffered quite the trials here.”
“I’m being well cared for now, Your Highness, but I—”
“Please dispense with the formality, dear. Family need not encumber itself with titles. Surely your father does not expect you to use such.”
Yes, the king did, but Avery would not have wanted to address him any more informally anyway. He felt like anything but her father. She felt no attachment to the queen either, but the woman was so kind, tenderness seemed to ooze from her.
The Paper Boat Page 8
