My Contrary Mary

by Cynthia Hand

  The cook tsked but jerked her head toward a door in the back. “You’ll find most of what you need in the larder, but for the cropleek, you’ll have to go to the cellar.”

  It would have been easier for the cook (who knew her way around the kitchen) to retrieve the ingredients, but Ari wasn’t going to argue with her any more than she had to. Plus, the cook had the feast to prepare for.

  “Also,” Ari said more timidly. “I’ll need a pestle and mortar, and a pot. And a fire. And butter, celandine, and red nettle.”

  The cook rolled her eyes but snapped her fingers at a kitchen maid, who must have been used to such commands because she flew into action.

  “Anything else, Your Majesty?” the cook said sarcastically.

  “That will do,” Ari said. “Except the pot should be copper. And I’ll need a straining cloth.”

  As the maid went upstairs to get her part of the ingredients, Ari made for the cellar. She had just located the cropleek when she heard voices, coming not from the stairs, but from another room in the back of the cellar. Male voices. Angry voices.

  “All the prisoners?” yelled one of them.

  “Yes, my lord,” answered another voice pitifully.

  My lord. So it must be one of the uncles doing the shouting. Ari froze, her heart pounding in her chest. There was no way to make it to the stairs, so she did the only thing she could think to do: she climbed into a half-filled barrel of what turned out to be cabbages and pulled the cloth cover over the opening.

  “Even the fish?” yelled the uncle.

  “There was an empty bowl, my lord. Even the water was gone.”

  “I told you,” said another voice. “We should never have held any of them prisoner. The only proper way to deal with E∂ians is to put them to death.”

  Ah. This was the other uncle now, clearly. The cardinal. A chill went down Ari’s spine. It was so dangerous for Mary to be here. Especially if the uncles knew about Mary’s—cough—mouse problem. But surely they couldn’t know.

  “I agree, Your Grace,” said the pitiful voice. “Put them all to death, I say.”

  “We’re wasting time talking about what we should have done,” said the first uncle. “What we need to know now is who freed the prisoners? And what do they know?”

  “It was undoubtedly Catherine de Medici,” said the cardinal. “She has spies everywhere, you know.”

  Ari gulped and slid farther into the cabbages.

  “I cannot believe that you allowed that conniving woman to come into our home.”

  “It’s not as though I could help it,” said the duke. “She goes where the king goes.”

  “But why must she? The entire point, my dear brother, was for us to be in charge of the king.”

  “Clearly our work here isn’t done,” said the duke irritably. “We must persist with Mary. When we control Mary, we control Francis. And if Catherine has the bird-girl, it will only be a matter of time before she learns of what’s happened in Scotland, and perhaps even our part in what befell the king.”

  “We must act first, then,” said the cardinal. “We must separate Mary and Francis from Catherine immediately. And then move up our plans for England.”

  “You, boy,” ordered the duke. “Return to the workshop to see what else might have been stolen.”

  “Yes, my lord,” said the pitiful voice, and Ari heard him scurry away.

  “You’re going to have to deal with him, too,” said the cardinal. “He knows too much.”

  “One murder at a time,” answered the duke. They walked toward the stairs, so near to Ari’s barrel that she could smell the cardinal’s musky cologne. “For now we must take care that dear, sweet Mary never comes to know what happened to her lady.”

  Ari held her breath as they exited the cellar. Then she let out a sigh and peeled off a leaf of cabbage that had gotten stuck to her cheek. When they’d been gone for several minutes, she climbed out of the barrel and retrieved the cropleek. There was no time to waste. Bea needed her help, and Mary needed to know what Ari had heard from the uncles.

  Her heart was still beating fast, but a tiny thrill shot through her. Finally, she had a way to be useful to the queen. To prove her loyalty. To make up for what she’d done.

  Twenty minutes later, she was standing over a boiling pot, watching her tincture turn from an earthy brown into a deep red.

  “That smells like the inside of a horse stall,” the cook remarked.

  “It tastes like feet, too,” Ari said.

  “What does it do?”

  Ari tore a piece of fabric into several strips. “It helps where help is needed.”

  “Well that’s vague, isn’t it?” the cook said.

  Ari finished stirring the pot. Then, one by one, she dipped each torn strip of fabric into the elixir and placed them all in a basket. “Gotta go.”

  As she was racing out of the kitchen, she heard the cook say, “If it goes on the skin, how do you know it tastes like feet?”

  Ari returned to Queen Mary’s chambers to find Mary pacing, Liv stroking Bea’s forehead, and Hush and Flem frantically moving about the room, packing things into saddlebags.

  “Ari’s here now, Bea,” Liv said, glancing up. “She’s going to help you.”

  Ari carried her basket to Bea’s side, and together she and Liv draped the fabric over Bea’s arms and legs and heart and head. Ari smoothed the one over Bea’s head and closed her eyes, saying a silent prayer.

  When she opened her eyes, she saw Liv looking at her with a hopeful smile. The fire must have been extra warm because Ari’s cheeks began to burn. She recalled, in a flash, the feel of Liv’s lips against hers.

  “What will it do?” came Mary’s voice from above them.

  Ari blushed. “It will help her body absorb nutrients three times faster when she eats and drinks. It will soothe any pain, and it will mend any wounds. In essence, she will recover more quickly, Your Majesty.”

  “My goodness,” Queen Mary said. “If it does all that, why didn’t we use it on King Henry?”

  “There are some things you can’t come back from.” Ari winced at her own words. “Speaking of King Henry, there’s something you need to know. I was in the cellar and heard your uncles talking. Something about what ‘befell the king.’”

  At the mention of the uncles, Bea shuddered.

  “I know,” said Mary. “My uncles conspired to kill him.”

  Oh. Drat. “Well, what about what happened in Scotland? I heard—”

  “You mean with my mother? Bea told me.” Mary’s mouth pressed into an angry line. “She’s missing.”

  Ari was turning out to be a terrible spy. Mary probably already knew that the uncles were planning something in England, too. She glanced around. “Are we going somewhere?” she asked, noting the saddlebags.

  “We are leaving tonight,” Mary said.

  “Should I pack my things?” Ari asked.

  Mary shifted uncomfortably. “I’m afraid not. My ladies and I must travel in a particular way, and it wouldn’t . . . accommodate you.”

  What was that supposed to mean?

  “So you don’t want me to come?” Ari said.

  “I need you to stay here to look after Francis.” Mary glanced away. “He’s going to need your help.”

  Tears pricked at Ari’s eyes. “But, Your Majesty, I want to be one of your ladies.” Now more than ever, she wanted it, and not only because it meant staying with Liv. All right, maybe it was all about Liv.

  Mary shook her head. “You can’t. I’m sorry, but you’re not suited for this journey.”

  This must have something to do with E∂ians. “You can trust me,” Ari insisted.

  “It’s not a matter of—”

  “I know your secret,” Ari blurted out.

  “Ari, perhaps you should—” Liv attempted to intervene, but Mary was curious now.

  “And what secret would that be?” she asked.

  Ari leaned close to the queen, in case any of the other Mar
ys didn’t know what she was about to reveal. “I know that you’re a mouse,” she whispered.

  The queen drew back sharply. There was a revelation in her eyes, like she’d just discovered something about Ari, not the other way around. “It was you,” she said at last.

  “Me?”

  “You’re the one who told Queen Catherine.” Mary’s voice was ice-cold. She made no attempt to lower it. The other Marys must all know.

  Ari stared at her toes. She was suddenly aware of Liv’s gaze on her. She swallowed. “Yes. I saw . . . never mind what I saw. The point is, I shouldn’t have told Queen Catherine anything. I was upset about Liv. And the queen threatened me with the rack or maybe a hot poker. But I want to make up for it. To help you.”

  “Oh, I think you’ve done quite enough,” said Mary. “You’re dismissed.”

  She turned, as if to put her back to Ari and her betrayal, but Liv caught her arm. “Mary,” she murmured. “You forgave me. And you know how persuasive Catherine can be.”

  Mary sighed. “Very well. I un-dismiss you, Ari. But you must still stay behind and look after my husband.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” Ari mumbled.

  This had not gone how she’d hoped.

  “Thank you, Ari,” Queen Mary said. “That will be all.”

  In the corridor Liv caught up with her.

  “I’m fine,” Ari said, holding up a hand, even though she was starting to cry.

  “I’m sorry,” Liv said.

  “You have nothing to be sorry about. If it weren’t for you, I’d be fired. It’s just . . .”

  Ari sighed and sat on a bench. “I don’t know where I belong.” She put her head in her hands and squeezed her eyes shut so they would stop their stupid crying.

  Liv sat next to her. She rubbed Ari’s shoulder. “Us leaving has nothing to do with you.”

  Ari shook her head. “Nothing ever has anything to do with me. Why do I even bother? I’m never needed.”

  Liv put her arm around Ari and held her close. “You saved Bea. Of course you’re needed.”

  Ari scooted away from her. “But you’re leaving me behind. And it’s like you don’t care.” She shook her head. “I mean, it’s like none of you care.”

  Liv moved closer to her. “We care. I care. You know I do,” she said. “It’s . . . complicated.”

  Ari gave a frustrated laugh. “That’s what my papa says when he wants me to stop asking questions.”

  “This is bigger than our own problems,” Liv said. “We’re going to Scotland, to look for Mary’s mother. But we have to sneak out, before someone tries to stop us.”

  “Like the uncles,” Ari said.

  “Or Catherine,” Liv added. “Or even Francis.”

  “But why can’t I come with you?”

  Liv wet her lips almost nervously. “Remember that night we danced at the wedding, when you asked me to trust you?”

  “Yes,” sniffed Ari.

  “I’m asking you to trust me now. We would take you if we could.” Liv put her arm around Ari again, and this time, Ari sank into her. Liv pressed her lips against Ari’s head, and then once, gently, to her lips. “I promise,” she said. “We’re not going away forever. This will all make sense one day.”

  Ari sniffed. “I hope so.”

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Francis

  Francis endured the feast alone.

  Not totally alone, we should say, because Catherine was there. But her support was almost more trouble than it was worth, because three times he’d had to prevent her from tipping the contents of a small vial into someone’s drink. Plus, all these people talking to him, various nobles angling for favors . . .

  And Mary wasn’t here. Clearly, she was getting him back for their fight. He could almost hear her now, saying that if he didn’t want her help, then he could be king without her.

  It seemed like a very childish, unqueenly thing to do.

  But mostly, he missed her. After his walk, which didn’t make him feel any better, he’d gone back to his rooms to find she’d left. (That made sense, he supposed, as she had her own rooms.) But then she wasn’t at the feast her uncles had planned for their arrival, which seemed strange. And even stranger, her uncles had left the feast partway through, which suited Francis fine because he was having a very difficult time being in the same room as the men who’d possibly had his father killed. But even so, every single thing about the last week felt wrong. And strange, as we mentioned.

  After he escaped this latest public humiliation disguised as a social function, Francis headed toward Mary’s rooms. He hoped she was all right. Perhaps she felt ill after their fight earlier. He certainly did.

  As he reached her door, Francis decided that he would apologize. He needed Mary, even if she did sometimes forget to ask his opinions. They could work it out. That was what married couples did, right? Besides, they had all of France and Scotland to hold together. If they couldn’t keep their marriage together for even a month, then what chance did their kingdoms have?

  Heart in his throat, Francis knocked. There was a rustling inside, muffled voices, and then Mary Fleming answered the door, her eyes wide.

  “Your Majesty!” She curtsied, and just over her shoulder, Francis could see that Bea had returned. She was sitting in front of the fireplace, cradling a cup of tea in her hands, and wearing several strips of cloth draped across her forehead and arms. Liv and Hush were wrapping rounds of cheese into cloth before tucking them into a saddlebag.

  A saddlebag?

  Mary—Francis’s Mary—looked up as she pulled a fur-lined cloak from her wardrobe. “Francis. What are you doing here?” Her expression was drawn, her cheeks pale. She looked unwell.

  At once, Francis realized what she was doing.

  Packing.

  Leaving.

  She had one foot out the door already, metaphorically speaking.

  Francis blinked a few times, trying to make sure he saw what he thought he saw. His wife. Packing to leave. After a fight. About coming here.

  Just . . . what? What was wrong with her? Why was she doing this to him?

  “Were you just going to leave?” he asked softly. Abruptly, movement slowed around the room. The Four Marys stopped what they were doing and looked to Queen Mary for instruction, but her eyes were on Francis as he asked again, “Were you just going to leave without me? You dragged me here because of your uncles, and now you’re abandoning me to them?”

  Fury filled Mary’s eyes. “You want to come in here and accuse me?”

  “I think we’d better leave Their Majesties alone,” Liv said quietly, letting the pack she was holding fall to the bed. The Four Marys, even poor Bea, evacuated the room without another word.

  The door shut behind Francis, trapping him inside with his wife.

  “Well you are leaving, aren’t you?” Francis tried, and failed, to keep from raising his voice. “We had one fight. One. I was coming here to make up. But now you’re leaving. Over a single fight!”

  “You think this is about you?”

  Francis threw up his hands. “I suppose you’re going to tell me now that it isn’t? The timing is just a coincidence, you changing your mind about wanting to come here? This was your decision, Mary. Yours alone. You didn’t ask me. And you kept your uncles’ part in my father’s death a secret until it was convenient for me to know.”

  “You think it was convenient?” Color rose in Mary’s face. “Since when are you convenient?”

  A shock hammered through Francis, numbing him to the fingertips, but Mary didn’t give him a chance to respond.

  “Anyway, this isn’t about you. This is about my mother.”

  How did Mary de Guise fit into any of this? “You brought me here, against my will, because you said your uncles had my father assassinated. And now somehow your own mother, another de Guise, is the real concern? What makes you think she doesn’t have something to do with the murder? She wants you to have all the power in the world, too, doesn’t she? A
nd it’s convenient for your ascension to the French throne if my father is out of the picture.”

  Mary gave a gasp of outrage. “You really think that of me?”

  “Maybe I think that of your family! They don’t have our best interests at heart. They don’t have Scotland’s best interest at heart.”

  “You take that back.” Her fists clenched at her sides as she stalked toward him. “There may be a few bad apples in my family, but we all love Scotland. My mother has been caring for my kingdom all my life. You cannot claim—”

  Francis dragged his hands down his face. “Your family is manipulating you, can’t you see that?”

  “My mother is missing,” Mary said. “She is missing, and I’m going to find her.”

  “What are you going to do? Turn into a mouse and listen for court gossip?”

  She looked shocked. “That’s just mean, Francis. You’re being so mean lately.”

  “I’m not. What’s mean is you trying to leave me.”

  “This is my mother. I have to go after her.”

  “My father just died.”

  “And he will be avenged, I’m certain. But right now, my mother needs me.”

  “What about me?” Francis cried. “I need you. After all, who will make decisions if you’re not here?”

  “Your mother, of course!” She glared down at him. “Maybe you would understand my situation if you were actually the king of a country.”

  “I am the king,” Francis said. “And as king, I forbid you to go.”

  “You forbid me?” Her voice was dangerously quiet.

  “I do.”

  “As the king of France?”

  “Yes.” He swallowed hard. His heart pounded in his ears. If there was one thing he knew about Mary, it was that she defied orders. Even as a child, if someone had told her to eat her chocolate cake, she’d turn up her nose and demand strawberry. Mary hated being told what to do, and she never ever listened after that.

  All that is to say, Francis had made a mistake. A huge one.

  Mary let out a sharp laugh. “You forbid me. As the king of France. Oh, Francis, you don’t even know how to be king. You don’t even want to be king.”