by Cynthia Hand
Red tinged the corners of Francis’s vision. How dare she say that? How dare she throw that back in his face? “I am king,” he said.
“If you have to remind someone,” she said, “then you’re not really king at all.”
“You say it all the time,” he retorted. “But you haven’t actually been queen of your country, have you? Your mother has been running it this whole time. You’ve been here, in France, dressing up and going to parties, making bad deals with your uncles. Well, guess what, they’re murderers. I told you not to trust them, but you did anyway.”
“Get out,” she growled. “Get out of my rooms. I can’t look at you right now.”
“Gladly. I can’t look at you, either.”
Which was saying a lot, given how much time Francis usually spent looking at Mary.
Without another word, Francis opened the door, waited a beat for the Four Marys to duck out of the way as though they hadn’t been listening to every word, and then stormed down the hall.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Mary
Mary escaped the château under the cover of darkness. First the queen loudly insisted that she needed some fresh air, so she took a “walk in the garden,” Bea as a bird again tucked into a sling around Mary’s neck, and Flem as a dog at Mary’s side. Then they slipped out the back gate, headed for a barn nearby, where Liv had arranged to meet them with their bags.
Once in the barn, Mary dressed as a servant boy. They powdered Flem’s fur in soot, so the white bits of her coat would be less visible in the dark. Bea remained in the sling. Ari’s tincture had done wonders for her, but she was still weak.
“I know I’ve said this already,” Mary said gravely, when they were ready to depart, “but I will say it again. This journey will be long and arduous, and undoubtedly dangerous. I know that you are loyal friends to me, and that opinion will not change if you decide to stay behind.”
“Bark!” said Flem, a determined bark, which Mary interpreted to mean that Flem was going with her, no matter what.
“I’m going, too,” Hush whispered, and showed her quiet smile. “Without me your hair would be a mess, and we can’t have that.”
“All right.” Mary gazed down at Bea in the sling. It had already been decided that Bea should come along, as it certainly wasn’t safe for her at the uncles’ château.
So it was down to Liv.
When they’d talked before, when Mary had informed Liv that she was no longer going to be sent away to Norway, they’d both started crying. And then they’d both said they were sorry at the same time. And then they’d hugged, and Mary had felt like something had been righted in the world. In spite of everything, it was good to have her best friend back.
But she wouldn’t ask Liv to risk her life and position yet again.
“You can say no,” she whispered.
Liv shook her head. “I’m with you, Mary,” she said fiercely, putting a hand on Mary’s shoulder. “Please believe it when I say you have my undying loyalty. Until the very end.”
“I hope it won’t come to that,” Mary said. “But thank you.” She glanced around them. It wouldn’t be long before her absence was noticed. They should go. “Shall we, ladies?”
Liv and Hush removed their clothes and folded them into the saddlebag. Mary adjusted Bea’s sling. There was a bright flash—two combined flashes, in fact—and when the light faded, Mary was the only human standing there. At her feet sat a white ermine with a black-tipped tail (an ermine, dear reader, is a small weasel, also known as a stoat). And a few feet away stood a shining dun-colored mare with a pale blond mane.
They didn’t waste words. (Well—they couldn’t talk, so that helped.) Mary hurriedly saddled the horse and attached the saddlebags, a mere three bags to hold everything they’d need, which was the lightest she had ever traveled. Flem was placed into her own special saddlebag, where she could feel the wind in her ears and loll her tongue out as they went. Once Liv and Flem were properly outfitted, Mary scooped up the stoat and settled her into the sling with Bea, where they could ride comfortably against her chest.
Then she swung herself up into the saddle.
Her heart was beating like a drum. Her breath was already coming in gasps. She was risking everything in this moment. Her marriage, certainly. Her crown.
But she had to know, firsthand, what had happened to her mother.
And since her uncles (and apparently her husband) wouldn’t allow her to make the journey officially, she’d have to do it in secret.
“Let’s go,” she murmured.
Liv moved swiftly out of the stable. One of Mary’s footman bowed his head at her and closed the door behind her.
“Godspeed, Your Highness,” he said.
The earth seemed to fly beneath them as Liv ran. Mary held on tightly.
She didn’t look back.
They headed along the Loire River until they hit Orleans, where they found an inn in which to rest through the night. In the morning, Hush became a girl and donned Mary’s servant-boy clothes, and Mary became a mouse and rode in Hush’s pocket. They rode hard north for two days, skirting Paris, bound for Calais, where Bea became the human of the group and sought out one of her contacts, who arranged passage across the English Channel.
On the boat they all became human again and had some supper.
After they ate, Mary stared off across the water, toward England, toward Scotland, toward what felt like her destiny.
But then she turned around and gazed back at France.
“I’ll see you again,” she murmured to herself.
“Of course you will,” whispered Hush from beside her. (Liv, Bea, and Flem were all sleeping again, Liv because it was exhausting, running and running all day, Bea because she was still recovering from her captivity, and Flem because, well, Flem napped a lot.)
“Of course,” Mary repeated, twisting her wedding ring around her finger.
“Should you have said goodbye to him?” Hush asked gently.
Mary sighed. “No. He would have tried to stop me.”
Francis would see this as a betrayal, of course. He’d think she had abandoned him. This wasn’t how things were supposed to happen. Married people had fights. That was normal. But Mary and Francis had fought once, and then again, even worse the second time, and now Mary was sailing off to a different country.
My country, she reminded herself.
What he’d said about her not being a real queen had stung. But this was her chance. She was going to her country to sort things out. To be a ruler, for once.
But leaving Francis, no matter how mad she was at him still, felt wrong.
“I’ll be back,” she said to the wind, to the water, as if they could carry her words to him. “I promise. I’ll be back.”
TWENTY-NINE
Ari
Ari breathed in the familiar scents of the Louvre gardens, sewage in the streets, and body odor. After a long week of travel, made longer by the constant bickering between Queen Catherine and Francis, she was finally back in Paris. But as glad as she was to be home, Ari felt as though she’d lost direction. She’d lost Queen Mary, and Mary’s ladies, whom she had come to consider as friends. Mary had told her to look after Francis, and Ari was trying, but it wasn’t like she could become his lady-in-waiting. That would be considered inappropriate, obviously.
But she reminded herself that she hadn’t lost her father, or Greer, both of whom would be waiting for her in their laboratory. All she had to do was get there.
She stepped out of the royal carriage, where she’d been trapped with Francis and Catherine for the entire journey, and looked up at the palace. Almost there.
“I’m not holding court today,” Francis said behind her. “And you can’t make me.”
Ari cringed.
“You will,” Catherine announced. “We—and by we I mean I—have too much work to do. You’ve spent long enough moping about Mary.”
Ari tried to scurry away, but she still hadn’t learned how to
scurry in the fine dresses she was forced to wear, and the royals were out of the carriage before she could vanish into the palace basement.
“Perhaps you should be more alarmed about Mary’s departure,” Francis said.
“Oh, I am,” Catherine replied.
That was true. The morning after Mary left, when her absence was finally noted, the uncles had ordered the entire château locked down and searched, from cellar to stables. Everyone had been questioned, especially Ari, but she hadn’t betrayed Mary’s confidence—not again. She hadn’t said a word when the uncles cornered her, and before they could properly threaten her, Francis had swept her away into his household, effectively protecting her from the de Guises. Catherine had been a different matter, of course, because she loomed over Francis’s every move, but Ari had kept to the background as much as possible and let Francis do the talking. Or grousing, depending on your point of view.
No, he didn’t know where Mary was.
No, he didn’t intend to send guards after her.
No, it wasn’t necessary, because after a search of her rooms, it was clear she and the other Marys had left of their own volition. They would turn up when they were ready.
Then Francis had declared they would leave the château immediately.
“I’m going to bed,” Francis announced now. “I’ll hold court tomorrow. If I feel like it.”
“But, Sire.” Cardinal Charles popped out of the carriage behind them. “It’s only three o’clock in the afternoon.”
“My son is tired,” said Queen Catherine, abruptly changing her mind to oppose Mary’s uncle. “He should rest.”
“We’ll see him at dinner, then,” said the cardinal. It was strange, Ari thought, seeing this man without Duke Francis, like coming across a single, lonesome shoe without its mate. The cardinal had insisted on returning to Paris with the king, as he was needed to be the king’s “spiritual adviser.” (Ari shuddered, remembering this “spiritual” man speaking so lightly of torturing and murdering people. Including King Henry.) Duke Francis had stayed behind at the château, saying he’d be along to Paris shortly after he “took care of some things.” Ari wondered if “some things” included the plan for England she’d heard them talking about in the cellar.
“I wouldn’t count on seeing me at dinner,” said Francis. Without another word he strode away. Ari tried to stride after him, but Catherine caught her arm.
“Just a moment, girl,” the dowager queen said.
“I swear, I don’t know where Mary went,” Ari lied smoothly.
Catherine scrutinized her face for a moment. “That’s interesting. But not why I wanted to speak with you.” She glanced over at Cardinal Charles, who was lingering nearby. “Don’t you have some prayers to get to?” she barked.
“Yes, I shall pray for you, especially,” the cardinal replied in a nasty tone. “I’m praying for your soul right now.”
“Do it somewhere else.” Still holding Ari’s arm, Catherine pulled her into one of the garden courtyards. “I may have been hasty in dismissing you, Aristotle.”
Ari blinked at her. This might be the closest anyone had ever come to receiving an apology from Catherine de Medici. “It’s all right,” she murmured. “Queen Mary hired me. Officially, I mean.”
“But Queen Mary is gone.”
“And I have no idea where.”
“Yes, so you say. But I have thought of a way you can help her.”
Blink blink. Queen Catherine’s “help” was usually designed to help only herself. But Catherine was in power again, so Ari didn’t dare outright refuse her. “What can I ‘help’ you with?” Merde. Now she was using air quotes.
“I wish you to make a potion.”
Double merde. Not another potion. But some part of Ari was immediately intrigued. “What potion?”
“Given what you told me about Queen Mary and her ‘little’ issue, if she does return to court—”
“She will,” Ari said. Liv had promised that they wouldn’t be gone forever.
“Of course,” said Queen Catherine. “So when she returns, we must ensure that her secret remains secret.”
On this, Ari was surprised that she agreed. “Yes,” she said slowly.
“But secrets do have a way of getting out. You discovered her secret after only a week of watching her.”
“Yes, but I had—” Ari stopped herself. What would Queen Catherine do with a See Through Walls potion? “Never mind. You’re right.”
“If someone were to accuse Queen Mary of being”—Catherine glanced around to make sure no one was nearby; she lowered her voice—“an E∂ian, it would be Mary’s word against whoever accused her.”
Ari’s brow rumpled. “But what could I do about that?”
“You could make a potion to transform a person into an animal.” Catherine said this like it was the most obvious of conclusions. “That way, if conspirators accused Queen Mary, we could arrange for them to be ‘revealed’ as E∂ians, themselves.”
Ari bit her lip thoughtfully. She didn’t want to do any favors for Catherine, but this actually seemed like a clever idea. It was a way to help Mary, and by extension, Liv. And it was a tantalizing challenge. Could she really make a potion to turn a person into an E∂ian? It sounded like fun to try. (Maybe not so fun for Greer.)
“If I do this,” Ari said carefully, “and I can do this, I want an assurance that my position here at court, and my father’s, will never be in question again.”
The corner of Catherine’s mouth turned up in a hint of a smile. “Well played. But I can’t promise you that. I’m only the Queen Mother, after all.”
“Then make your own potion,” said Ari, turning away.
“Wait!” Catherine caught her shoulder. “I wasn’t finished. I’m sure the king would be most grateful if you could protect his wife. He could provide you that assurance.”
“All right,” said Ari, trying to not smile herself. “I’ll give it my best shot.”
It was exhilarating to be back in the laboratory. Ari spent a few minutes greeting each piece of her equipment.
“Hello, giant cauldron,” she called tenderly. “Good afternoon, favorite vial! We meet again, dear fireplace.”
“Uh, I’m here, too,” said Greer.
Ari threw her arms about her. “Oh, yes. I have missed you most of all.”
A throat cleared from behind her. She turned to see Nostradamus looking up from his quatrains.
“Hello, Galileo,” he said.
Sometimes she wondered if her father was messing with her. But she went to him and hugged him, too. “Hello, Papa. I’m back.”
“I predicted you would be. And you have restored our position here, as I also predicted. Now you have an important task to complete.” Nostradamus stroked his long beard in a satisfied manner.
Ari had a shivery feeling. She did not like being the subject of any of her father’s prophecies. “Yes, well . . .”
“Better get to it,” he said. “No time like the present. Unless you’re me, of course, in which case it’s the future.”
“What task?” asked Greer, a note of trepidation in her voice.
Ari grinned. “We’re about to have a lot of fun.”
Greer already looked a bit green.
THIRTY
Francis
Francis wasn’t very good at being king.
Day one back at the Louvre: two farmers had declared ownership of the same land. One planted grapes. The other planted apples. Catherine sided with the apple farmer, but Francis, who wouldn’t have minded a glass of wine about that time, and knew that wine came from grapes, proclaimed that the grape farmer should keep the land. Later, one of his attendants located the actual records, which revealed that Catherine had been right. The apple farmer truly owned the land.
Day four: seventeen new parents arrived to ask Francis to kiss their babies. Francis, whose wife had just left him for another kingdom, started crying. The babies cried. The parents cried. Everyone was crying.<
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Day seven: Francis stared into the middle distance while Catherine held court.
Day eleven: a handful of courtiers approached him to request a festival or celebration of some kind. King Henry would have held three by now, after all. I don’t care, Francis thought, but he’d accidentally used his outside voice. The courtiers immediately decided to interpret that as permission—he didn’t care if they went ahead and did what they wanted.
Day fifteen: Francis was dragged to one of those parties. He didn’t have a wife to dance with, so he didn’t dance with anyone. Instead he got into a huge fight with his mother.
“You need to try harder,” she chided him over dessert. “Or, at all.”
“I am trying,” he said. Like now, he was trying to eat a sticky bun.
Catherine tsked. “Oh, darling. We must not tell lies.”
So she was calling him a liar now. That was rich, coming from her. “How’s this for the truth?” Francis said. “I never wanted to be king. I’ve been dreading it all my life.”
She glanced around. No one was looking at them, but the room had gone quieter. “Tough luck,” she replied softly. “You are king.”
“Yes, I am,” he said.
“So act like it,” she muttered.
“Are you sure that’s what you want? Because I thought you wanted to rule the country.”
“All I want is what’s best for you,” she said. “And for France, of course.”
“And you think I’m not what’s best for France.”
“I think you’re very young and inexperienced.”
“So it’s better to be old and corrupt.”
The room got even quieter. Catherine gasped in outrage. “What did you call me?”
“Old,” he said. “And corrupt. And you’re right. I am the king, and it’s time for me to act like one, and kings don’t need their mothers hovering over them.”
Catherine went very still. “We’ll speak more on this later,” she said after a moment, and then swept away from him into the crowd.
Francis refused to let his shoulders sag in relief.
“Get me the Nostradamus girl,” he heard his mother snap to a servant as she went out the door. He hoped Ari wasn’t in trouble now.
