by Cynthia Hand
She bumped his eyelid again.
“That’s cold,” he grumbled.
She nipped his nose lightly.
He sat up with a start, definitely awake now. “My lady! If you wanted to wake me, you’ve succeeded. But you don’t have to take off my nose.” He was grinning, though.
Jane made a low chuckling noise and danced across the bed, the mattress giving an extra spring to her jumping.
“Most undignified, my darling. But quite charming.” Gifford laughed and excused himself from the room. “I’ll return once you’ve changed.”
A few minutes later she became a girl again. Just like that: the sun was coming up, and she changed without even trying. It was mystifying that she was still, after all this time, completely unable to control her E∂ian self.
She’d only just managed to get all the pieces of her secondhand dress in their proper places when Gifford knocked and came back into the chamber.
“Need help with the laces?” he asked.
“Yes. Thank you.” She turned so he could access the ribbons along the back of her gown.
He swept her tumble of red hair over her shoulder, his hand lingering there for a moment before he saw to the fastening of her gown. “Anything for my wife.”
She was coming to like that word—wife. Especially the way he said it.
“So what’s the plan for today?” he asked as he fastened a hook at the top of the gown, his fingers brushing the skin between her shoulder blades. Jane shivered. “Are we storming any castles?”
“No, but we’re starting our long journey to France tomorrow. So we need to pack.”
“I wasn’t aware that we had any possessions that would need packing.” He pulled the laces tight, but not too tight. She appreciated that.
“Bess is arranging for a finer gown for me to wear,” Jane explained. “For the French court. Edward says he wants me with him when he makes his appeal to the king.”
Gifford cleared his throat. “Ah. I see. Edward wants you with him.” He finished with her dress quickly and stepped back. “There.”
“It makes sense that I should be there, in case I’m needed to validate Edward’s story.”
“Yes, of course,” he said stiffly. His expression was suddenly blank. “The sun’s almost up. I should go.”
She followed him as he made his way outside. “Wait, G—”
“Have a good day, my lady,” he said, and jogged off, pulling at his clothes.
“Have a good day,” she called after him lamely.
Then he was a horse. She watched him trot through the gardens and jump a low section of the crumbling wall.
She sighed.
Gifford had been acting strangely since they’d escaped London. For the most part, he was warm and affectionate with her. He teased her, but never with an intent to hurt her feelings. He often held her hand. He called her pet names, like “my darling” and “my sweet.” Those things shouldn’t have had such an effect on her, but they did. Being with him made her breath come quicker and her heart pound and her palms get all clammy. It made her wish she could remain human all the time so that they could stay together.
But then there were other times, especially when they were around Edward and Bess and Gran, when Gifford retreated behind a wall of silence, his jaw set in a way she recognized as anger. She wondered if he blamed her for all that had happened.
They had no home now, no safe place to go except for this broken-down abbey. No title or position. No possessions, as he’d pointed out.
That was hardly her fault, but still. She’d been awful to him in London. They’d had an actual fight. She’d thrown pillows at his head.
No wonder he hadn’t even been trying during their training session with Gran and Gracie. He was probably happy to avoid her company.
Jane watched him canter across the field, his head high, mane streaming. He seemed so content as a horse. And it wasn’t as though she’d given him much of a reason to try to be a man.
Her chin lifted. They had so little time together now—just a few minutes at the start and end of every day. She’d have to use those precious minutes wisely.
She’d have to try harder to win back his trust.
When she came into the kitchen later, Gracie, Bess, and Edward were discussing the best routes to take to France.
Bess unfolded a map and spread it across the table. “If we want to move quickly—”
“And we do,” said Edward.
“—then we need to take the most direct route with the best roads,” Bess finished.
Jane stood on tiptoe to peek around Edward’s shoulder. “Let’s do that.”
“But there are a few problems with this route,” Gracie said. “Mary’s men will be looking for all of you, and this road”—she dragged her finger over a line—“takes us dangerously close to the Shaggy Dog.”
“The Shaggy Dog?” repeated Jane.
“From the description that Gifford gave us,” Edward said, “that’s the tavern you were attacked in. The headquarters of the Pack.”
Jane shivered. “What are our other options?”
“Longer paths on poorer roads.” Edward pointed out a few. They did look rather out of the way.
“So what will we do?” Jane asked.
“I . . .” Edward drummed his fingers on the map. “Speed is of the essence. But so is safety. What do the rest of you think?”
“Long way,” Gracie replied immediately. “The Pack is bad news.”
“Short way,” Bess said. “We’re taking back a kingdom. We should be bold. And swift.”
Everyone looked at Jane, who consoled herself with the reminder that, though she was a tiebreaker, this would still be Edward’s decision. He was the king. “Short way,” she said. “I agree with Bess.”
Gracie glared. Edward looked uncomfortable. Bess gave a faint smile.
“Furthermore,” Jane said, “I think we should recruit the Pack to our side.”
“Are you daft?” cried Gracie. “They almost killed you.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“They’re not just some random bandits, you know,” Gracie said. “They’re a well-run organization. And they see themselves as superior to humans. They certainly don’t answer to any king. They’ll use your pretty feathers to stuff their pillows, Sire.”
“Right. Recruiting the Pack sounds like a terrible idea,” agreed Edward.
“But we need anyone who isn’t already on Mary’s side,” Jane argued. “We could use all the help we can get.”
“Not their kind of help!” Gracie shook her head. “Tell her, Edward.”
“What do you think, sister?” Edward turned to Bess, who looked thoughtful.
“I have my army, of course, and France will hopefully agree to loan us some of theirs once you ask King Henry. But that still might not be enough men to take back your crown.” Bess tapped the place on the map where the Shaggy Dog was located. “Besides, I’ve been thinking that perhaps it’s not enough to simply take back your crown.”
Edward stared at her. “What do you mean?”
“This country is divided. E∂ians and Verities are at each other’s throats. The people are caught in the middle, and they are suffering for it. It’s one thing to win back your crown, Edward. It’s quite another to win back your country. Your people. You will need both sides to do that. Verities and E∂ians. You must unite them. And to do that, you’ll need the Pack.”
“You’re right,” Edward said.
“You’re crazy, is what you are.” Gracie’s green eyes were filled with worry—though that worry was masked with a practiced expression of annoyance. “If you go to the Pack, you’ll die.” She turned to Jane. “I don’t want to hear a rumor about Thomas Archer wearing a ferret stole come this winter.”
Jane shivered. She didn’t want to be a ferret stole, either. She remembered the danger of the Pack well enough. The gash in her side was still stitched and healing. And she remembered the villagers and their poor
cow.
That was just the kind of thing that had to stop if things were going to get better for England. Which meant that Bess was right. I was right, Jane thought, silently congratulating herself for having the idea.
“Thank you very much for your concern,” she said to Gracie, “but I think we should go.”
“What do you mean ‘we’?” Edward turned to Jane, his eyebrows raised in alarm. “You’re staying here to recover from your injuries.”
“My injuries? I’m quite recovered now, really.” Mostly.
“Even so, you’re not going. The Pack is too dangerous.”
Gracie straightened. “That’s right, Your Majesty. The key word here is dangerous.”
“Why are you so afraid of them?” Edward turned on Gracie. “I’ve never known you to balk at danger before.”
“I am not afraid!” Gracie bristled. “I just don’t want to . . . see Archer again.”
“Why not?” Bess folded her hands in front of her.
“Because he’s my ex,” Gracie blurted out.
“Ex?” Jane had no idea what that meant.
Bess leaned toward Jane, keeping her voice low. “Former paramour.”
“Oh!” Jane nodded, finally understanding. “They had a romantic relationship.”
“What?” Edward’s face turned bright red as he looked at Gracie. “You had a relationship with him? Archer?”
“My affairs are my own business, Sire.” Gracie tugged a hand through her mess of black curls. “But it does mean I know far more about the Pack than any of you, so you’d best take my advice. Stay away from them. They’re trouble. Especially Archer.”
“Especially.” Edward frowned and turned back to Jane. “All right. I’ve made my decision. I’m going to recruit the Pack. But you’re staying here. So are Bess and Gracie.”
Bess lifted an eyebrow. “I’m not staying here.”
“If you’re going to insist on this fool’s errand of yours, I should go with you, too.” Gracie stalked forward, her hands in fists at her sides. “Archer won’t be reasonable. It’s not in his nature to do anything unless it directly benefits himself. But perhaps I can keep you from getting yourselves killed.”
“No,” Edward protested. “You’re staying here, too. To—uh—guard Jane.”
The Scot’s green eyes shot daggers at Edward. Jane almost felt bad for her cousin. “Oh, and I suppose you’ll let Gifford go with you?” Gracie huffed.
“He’s a strong young man—”
“He’s a horse!” Jane and Gracie yelled at exactly the same time. They paused, glanced at each other, and Jane understood immediately that they were now on the same side. “Allow us to tell you exactly why we’re going with you.” With a quick nod, she indicated Gracie go first.
“I know the Pack, for one. I know their tricks and hideouts. And furthermore, when you lot get hungry and start looking for bugs to eat, I’ll be the one to find something you’ll actually want to eat. Not to mention I’m quick with weapons and the king needs all the protecting he can get.”
“Now stop right there—”
But Jane was ready now. “To complement Gracie’s considerable skills with violence and illegal activities, I have read at least twice as many books as you, Edward. Likely three or four times, which means I’m quite knowledgeable on an assortment of subjects that might come in handy.”
“Just because we’re girls doesn’t mean you have to coddle us,” Gracie said. “The truth is, you need us. You need me, especially, if you want to face the Pack.”
“It’s not because you’re girls.” Edward’s face was red again. “All right, fine. I suppose you’d just follow us anyway and then we’d have to rescue you in addition to everything else that awaits us. I guess you can come.”
“Fine,” said Gracie. “Then it’s settled.”
But Jane had a feeling that it was still anything but.
The group’s mood was somber as they approached the Shaggy Dog—Gracie had told them over and over that this was a bad idea. That it wasn’t going to work. That they were all going to die and become pillows and stoles.
“Well,” Bess said as they were finally making their way down the main street of the village toward the tavern. “If anyone’s inclined toward prayer, now might be the time.”
“Yes. Last chance to call it off,” Gracie said.
“You can still wait with the horses,” Edward said. “I can do this on my own.”
“Shut up, bird boy.”
There were five horses with them—four normal and one very special, in Jane’s opinion—and they tied the four real horses to a post. Then they were standing at the tavern steps. The sign over the door squeaked on its post—the image of a dog with vague scratches in the paint to signal shagginess. It looked different in the daylight. And smaller, now that she wasn’t a tiny ferret with blurry vision.
Still, Jane shivered. This was where she’d almost died just days ago.
Edward said, “Gifford—”
The fifth horse snorted.
“Call him G,” Jane translated.
“G, watch our mounts.”
Gracie began changing the knots on the horses’ leads. “This is a better knot for our situation. If we run out screaming, we—or G—can just pull the ends of these and flee.”
The whites around Gifford’s eyes shone.
“I agree,” Jane said to him, and turned to Gracie. “Do you think fleeing will be necessary?”
Gracie nodded toward a corner on the far side of the street where a man disappeared behind a butcher shop. Then to the rooftop of an apothecary. The streets were eerily empty for this time of day. “They know we’re here. Maybe they haven’t done anything yet, but they know.”
Jane petted Gifford’s soft cheek. He blew out a breath and dropped his chin on her shoulder, pulling her into what might have been a horse version of a hug. She put her arms around his neck for a moment and breathed in the warm scent of his fur.
“I’ll be fine,” she whispered by his ear. “They won’t recognize me. But if anything bad happens, you have my permission to kick down the door.” She rubbed his forehead before hurrying after the others into the tavern.
“I’m here to speak with Thomas Archer,” Edward called as the door swung shut behind them.
There were seven people in the taproom—five drinking at tables, one working at the bar, and one in deep conversation with the bartender—and all of them stopped what they were doing and turned to stare at Edward.
“Who are you?” asked the bartender.
“I’m the King of England,” Edward announced. “And I want to speak to Thomas Archer.”
One of the drinkers laughed. “The king is dead. So is the new queen. The new new queen sits on the throne now. Mary.”
“She is not the rightful queen,” Jane objected.
Bess bumped Jane’s arm in warning. Then, subtly, she nodded toward Gracie, whose gaze was fixed on the man sitting at the bar. The Scot’s hands were clenched into fists at her sides.
No question about it: that man was Archer.
His back was turned to them, but there was enough to reveal him as a young man. His form was slender and straight. Strands of black hair curled over his collar.
“He is the king,” Gracie said to him alone. “He’s telling the truth.”
Slowly, the young man at the bar turned around. He had a striking face, with sharp cheekbones and a strong jaw. He looked Gracie up and down. “So, the little fox returns. With a king, no less. You’re looking fine, Gracie. Did you miss me?”
“Not even a little.”
“Aw, now.” Archer grinned and pressed a hand to his chest. “You wound me, lass. Do it again.”
Edward reddened and strode up to the bar, pulling out a handful of coins, which he slapped down in front of Archer. “Ten sovereigns. To pay off the bounty on her head.”
Archer looked from Edward to the coins, and back. “Bounty? Is that what she told you?”
Edward pushed the c
oins toward Archer. “And now with that matter out of the way, I wish to recruit you to my cause.”
Archer remained sitting. “And what cause is that?”
“I want to get my kingdom back.”
Another drinker laughed. “Mary has an army, from what I hear. You have a fox, a grand lady”— he nodded respectfully at Bess—“and a redhead.”
“Hey, Jane’s hair isn’t that bad.” Edward ceased the truly inspiring defense of her hair and composed himself. “What I mean to say is, I intend to take back the throne, and as citizens of England, the Pack should be with me.”
Archer scoffed. “What has England done for us?”
“You’re E∂ians,” Edward said.
“Guilty as charged. But I don’t see why that means we need to side with you, boy king.”
“Mary is Verity, through and through. Even now she is hunting down E∂ians with the intent of purging them from England.”
“I know,” said Archer grimly. “Haven’t you heard that the royal servants have already been interrogated, and anyone thought to be an E∂ian has been jailed? They’ll be burned in less than a fortnight, I hear.” He took a deep drink from his mug of ale. “But we E∂ians have survived hundreds of years of persecution. What does it matter to us if the reigning monarch is E∂ian or Verity?”
Bess stepped forward. Everyone looked to her—there was just something about Bess that commanded a room. “Freedom,” she said to answer his question. “Real freedom, Mister Archer. You’ll be equals to Verities. No longer persecuted.”
“Begging your pardon, my lady, but King Henry made the same promise when he transformed into a lion, and that didn’t change much for us.” Archer shook his head. “Be king or don’t. It doesn’t matter to me.”
This wasn’t going well.
“But I am your king!” Edward said. He was saying that a lot lately. Too much.
“Nope,” said Archer. “But if you leave now, I might let you walk out of here with your lives. Because I’m feeling generous today.”
Like we mentioned earlier, there were seven people in the tavern, and now six of them had some sort of weapon drawn.
The members of Edward’s party exchanged anxious glances. Well, they’d tried and failed. Gracie had been right: there was no reasoning with Archer. Perhaps they’d just have to consider it a victory if they got out of there alive.
