by Cynthia Hand
Uncle Charles scoffed. “Of course not. How could you believe we would do such a thing?”
“The moment Francis died, you lost France,” Uncle Francis added. “If you’d had an heir already, perhaps we could have worked with that. But in that way you failed us. So of course we didn’t kill Francis. There was nothing for us to gain by his death.”
Mary gaped at them. That they would be so bold and unapologetic about their schemes was truly shocking. (We, your narrators, are not really that shocked.)
“It was the Medici woman,” added Uncle Charles. “I wouldn’t put it past her to murder her own child out of sheer ambition. If there was indeed foul play involved in the death of the young king, it was her doing. Not ours.”
“Catherine would never harm Francis,” Mary murmured, but her words lacked conviction. She thought of the way Catherine had smiled when she’d given Mary the gift of a mousetrap.
“Think about it. With Francis out of the way, Catherine is now the regent. She is, essentially, the ruler of France. It was as deft a political move as I’ve ever encountered,” Uncle Francis said with an admiring sigh. “She’s an evil, conniving witch, but she did manage to best us this time. Never fear, though. We’ll find a way to recover France eventually. Maybe you could even marry the boy who’s currently king—Charles. For now we must focus on you, my dear, and securing your position here in Scotland. And then we’ll get England for you. We’ve had a bit of a setback on that front this week, but if at first you don’t succeed, you know, try, try again.
“The first order of business should be to find you a new husband,” added Uncle Francis. “A better one, this time. A good Verity, someone rich and powerful, hopefully a prince from Spain or Italy or, if we’re feeling desperate, Bavaria.”
Mary shook her head in dismay. “You are shameless, the both of you. How can you—”
“We are realists, my girl,” said Uncle Francis. “And our family—which I would like to remind you is also your family—has survived so long because we are shrewd and unafraid of doing what must be done.”
“And what must be done now”—Uncle Charles bent and retrieved Mary’s crown. He crossed behind her and placed it back upon her head—“is for you to marry and produce an heir, as soon as possible.”
“Let’s see,” said Uncle Francis. “Who do we know who’s single?”
“I can find my own husband, in my own good time,” Mary said furiously.
Uncle Charles gave an amused chortle. “Oh, can you? Do you have someone in mind, my dear? Do tell.”
“Perhaps I’ll marry—I don’t know, Henry Stuart,” she said. “Not that it’s any business of yours.”
Her uncles collectively snorted. “Lord Darnley? Oh no, dear, that would never do.”
“Why not?” she asked. “He’s of royal blood.”
“He’s a leech, at best. His family was exiled in disgrace years ago and has never recovered from the shame of it. He may possess some royal blood, as you say, but he is not a royal, nor will he ever be.”
“He seems competent enough,” Mary said.
Uncle Francis scowled. “No. You will not marry Lord Darnley.”
“We forbid it,” said Uncle Charles.
“I am not your puppet!” Mary screeched. “I will marry whom I please!”
Uncle Charles laughed again. “You can’t really believe that. Are you done with your tantrum now? Because we have other business to discuss with you. About this John Knox fellow. The best way to be rid of him, we think, is—”
“I will be no part of your schemes. Not anymore,” she said.
Uncle Francis crossed his arms. “Oh, dear. I would hate to have to threaten you, being as I’m so fond of you.”
“You can’t threaten me,” she said. “There’s nothing left I care about for me to lose.”
“But that’s not true, is it?” said Uncle Francis mildly. “You still have your ladies, and we all know how vulnerable they are. Especially the one with the unfortunate sister, and the E∂ian bird-girl. And then there’s your half brother. He’s been somewhat useful, I admit, but he is ultimately expendable.”
Mary’s breath seized.
Uncle Charles patted her hand. “You’ll be a good girl, I think. As you always are. Because that’s how you survive. And how your friends survive, as well.”
“Yes,” Mary whispered miserably. “I’ll be good.”
But of course, Mary had no intention of doing what she was told.
Back in her chambers, the Marys, including Flem again, were waiting with grave expressions that meant they knew all that had happened. One of them—probably Hush, Mary guessed—had undoubtedly changed into her E∂ian form and eavesdropped on her conversation with her uncles in the throne room.
Liv, especially, looked worried.
“What will we do?” Hush asked.
For a moment, Mary really didn’t know the answer to that question. But if one of Mary’s traits was being contrary—and yes, we’re willing to admit that she was—she was also terribly, terribly stubborn. She was not about to simply let her uncles roll over her.
“My uncles forget that I am the queen, and therefore I am not powerless,” she said.
“My sister—” Liv began.
“I can look after your sister. She need not be ruined,” Mary said. “And I can expel my uncles from Scotland. While I was in France, it made sense for them to advise me, but I am no longer in France.”
She’d never go back to France, she realized. She swallowed down a lump in her throat. “I have no further need of my uncles. They must go.”
“What if they won’t?” asked Bea grimly.
“I could bite them!” Flem offered.
“Thank you, dear, but no. I can handle them. I’ll declare them enemies of the state and have them thrown into the dungeon if I must. I can align myself with other allies—” Something else occurred to her. “About that. Wait here.”
She strode out of the room, across the palace to the guest wing, and stood for a moment outside of Darnley’s door, considering whether what she was about to do was truly what she wanted.
It wasn’t.
It was at this moment, in fact, that Mary realized what she’d felt for Francis had been every kind of love. The love a child has for a member of her family. The love a girl feels for her best friend. The thrill a woman feels when her lover puts his arms around her. With Francis, it had always been love. True love. Love love.
But now that love was gone. Francis was gone.
And Mary had to go on.
So she pinched her cheeks to give them some color, smoothed her hair and straightened her crown, and knocked.
“Why, Mary,” Darnley said when he opened the door. “Are you all right? You look pale.”
“I’m fine,” she said briskly.
“To what do I owe the pleasure—”
“I will marry you,” she said. “My answer is yes.”
His mouth opened and then closed again. He smiled almost bashfully. “I haven’t even asked.”
“Nevertheless, that is my answer. Yes.”
He took her hand and kissed it. “I am honored, truly. You are the most beautiful and elegant and clever woman in the world. I promise I will be a good husband to you, and a good king to Scotland, and I will keep you safe, and . . .”
She waved off his flattery and his promises. “I won’t love you,” she said plainly. She wanted to make this clear from the start. “I can’t love you. As long as you don’t expect that from me, we’ll get along fine.”
He nodded solemnly, still holding her hand. “I understand.”
FORTY-ONE
Ari
Ari knew that if Francis had his way, they would have been on horses bound for Scotland, and Queen Mary, the moment after he thwarted the attempted assassination of Queen Elizabeth. She would have preferred that, too.
But in the English court, the deposed king of France was a long way off from having his druthers. And so, the night following
their arrival in London, Ari and Francis were given quarters to sleep in, and fresh clothes to wear. Ari was grateful for the change of clothes, because she had smelled distinctly of horse. The clothes were of the boy kind, because that’s how she’d been dressed when G and Jane had gotten her into the palace, and frankly she’d grown quite fond of them.
Officially, the queen was keeping Ari and Francis at the palace because there’d been several E∂ian and Verity skirmishes on the road to Scotland. But unofficially, the queen had no intention of letting them leave without getting to the bottom of things.
Ari knew this, because Francis had actually tried to leave. He’d shown up at Ari’s door with satchels packed. This was beginning to become a pattern with him.
“We’re going to Scotland,” he’d said.
“I’m right behind you,” Ari’d replied, thoughts of Liv dancing in her head.
But it had turned out the queen’s guards were right behind them as well, and when it came time to exit the castle, they kindly drew their swords.
“Are we prisoners here?” Francis had asked.
“Of course not,” one of the guards replied.
“Then we are free to leave,” Francis said.
“Naturally,” the same guard said.
Francis took a step toward the main door, and the tips of all four swords came within an inch of his throat.
“So, we’re prisoners,” Francis said, glancing at Ari.
“Never,” the main guard said again. He motioned behind him, and four more guards appeared. “Our palace is your palace. Our country is your country.”
Ari furrowed her brows. She wondered if there was a breakdown in the translation of things here. Her English was rough, but it couldn’t have been that rough.
“We wish to leave,” Francis said.
“By all means,” the guard said. He didn’t move.
So they had turned back and gone to their separate rooms. That was last night.
They shouldn’t have been surprised. Of course Queen Elizabeth wouldn’t let them leave, at least not without an explanation for yesterday.
An explanation Francis and Ari were waiting to give her now.
It was morning, and they were in Queen Elizabeth’s throne room, standing toward the back, watching masses of people—nobility, ambassadors, diplomats, relatives of relatives—all waiting patiently for an audience with the queen. Some were regional leaders who had come to report the latest on E∂ian/Verity battles that were plaguing the country.
Ari could tell by the number of times Francis ran his hand through his hair that he was anxious to be done and on his way.
Patience came a little bit easier to Ari, who was thoroughly entertained watching the English court. She hadn’t been there the day before, so this was her first time seeing the Queen Elizabeth. Not only that, she felt like she was witnessing an elaborate chess game, only nobody was really sure who was playing and which team they were on. So, it was a chess game where all the pieces were the same color, scattered about the board, with invisible hands moving them, and who knew how many teams.
Ari leaned toward Francis. “Don’t you think this is like a giant game of chess, where—”
“Shhh,” Francis said.
Ari crossed her arms. “Fine.”
“I’m trying to listen,” Francis said more gently.
Queen Elizabeth sat at one end of the room, the throne end, and at her right side was a man with a long gray beard. He leaned down to whisper in the queen’s ear so many times Ari wondered how he hadn’t thrown out his back. Most, if not all, of the people waiting to speak to the queen were men, and in addition to the ones there to report on the fighting, many of the others came with obvious marriage proposals. At least they would have been obvious had the gentlemen been free to say such things.
As it was, they usually went with something like:
“Your Majesty, I bring you warmest regards from my father, the duke of blah blah or the lord of blah blah, or your cousin blah blah, and I am at your service.” Followed by a deep bow.
The bearded man next to the queen always followed their greetings with a lengthy ear whisper.
“Who is that man?” Francis asked Edward, who had stayed the night as well.
“He is William Cecil, the first Baron of Burghley. He is the queen’s most trusted adviser.” Edward shrugged. “He annoys me so.”
“Why?” Francis asked.
“He always says things like, ‘The queen is the head, but I am the neck that turns the head.’”
Ari tilted her head (wondering if someone was directing her neck, too). “Why are the men even trying to propose when there’s so much fighting going on?”
Francis and Edward exchanged knowing looks. “It’s all part of the same thing. Trying to retain control of the country,” Francis said.
The queen nodded her head at her latest suitor, and then suddenly stood and waved her hand in a dismissive way. A page next to her stepped forward.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please clear the room,” he said.
The line of petitioners dispersed, as well as most of the lords and ladies. Ari started to step away, but Francis grabbed her sleeve. Queen Elizabeth was gesturing for them to come forward.
Ari followed Francis toward the throne.
She gave her best curtsy, despite being dressed as a boy, and Francis nodded politely, as he was also a king (or at least a former king trying to reclaim his throne) and it would not be appropriate to bow. Ari couldn’t imagine what was going through Francis’s head, considering he had only recently been crowned king of France, Scotland, and England.
This was awkward.
“This is awkward,” Queen Elizabeth said.
Ah! Ari was right. Maybe she was getting better at politics.
“You are our enemy,” Queen Elizabeth continued. “And yet you saved our life.” The queen was using the royal our.
Francis nodded. “And also I’m supposed to be dead.”
“Yes, that adds to our current discomfort,” Queen Elizabeth said in her stately manner. “I wonder, did you plan the assassination so that you could thwart it and ingratiate yourself to us?”
Ari snorted at such a suggestion, which she instantly regretted, because then Queen Elizabeth looked at her.
“And who are you?” she asked.
“Ari is my trusted squire,” Francis said. “She has served faithfully by my side these past few weeks.”
Edward came forward and gave a quick bow. “Bess, I believe their reasons for coming here are sincere. They crossed the channel dressed as peasants, and followed the signs to HORSE. If they had the support of France, there’s no way they would have made the treacherous journey alone.”
The queen leaned toward her brother and spoke under her breath. “Edward, how many times have I told you not to call me Bess in here?”
Edward smiled sheepishly. “Well, the room’s practically empty.”
“Still,” the queen said.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Edward said grandly.
Queen Elizabeth sighed. “Let’s adjourn to the grand parlor for some tea.”
Ari and Francis followed behind Edward, who followed behind Cecil, who followed behind Queen Elizabeth. They entered a smaller room down the main corridor. It was smaller than the throne room but still larger than twenty hovels, and four or five times as high.
They sat around a table. “Cecil, send for tea and biscuits,” the queen said.
After the tea came, things were a little more relaxed, but Ari could tell that Queen Elizabeth and Francis both had their guards up.
“You saved my life,” she said, abandoning, for now, the royal we. “Why?”
Francis leaned forward. “Because the de Guises are evil.”
“How did you come to know of their plan?” Cecil wanted to know.
“I overheard them talking,” Francis said matter-of-factly.
“So the dead former king of France, who is also married to Queen Elizabeth’s biggest
rival for the throne of England, just happens to overhear a plot to end her life, and instead of letting it happen, he decides to travel here by himself and stop it?” Cecil leaned forward to match Francis’s pose. “You see why we might find this very hard to believe.”
“I understand,” Francis said. “But can’t you just thank us and we’ll be on our way?”
Ari gasped and Edward gave an awkward laugh.
“You will not leave until we are satisfied that you do not pose a threat to the queen,” Cecil said.
Francis folded his arms. “I’m not sure how we can prove our story to you.”
“I am grateful for my life,” the queen said.
“But we can’t take you at your word,” Cecil interjected. “You must see that.”
Ari stepped forward, face flushed. Everyone was being so stubborn. “You can take his word, because it’s the word of a king. Francis came here to help you because these men had his father assassinated and he could not let the same fate befall another monarch. And he simply wishes to go to his wife, to protect her from the same threat, and return to France to reclaim his throne. Is that so much to ask?”
“I don’t think so,” Edward said mildly.
“You forget your place, girl,” said Cecil. “You are speaking to—”
“Enough, William,” said the queen, with a ring of authority in her voice. “She knows who she is speaking to. Edward says he believes them, and so do I, I find. What a different world we would live in if we as monarchs endeavored to help one another, as this king has done. So now I shall help you, King Francis, and perhaps that will ease some of the friction that has come between your family and mine for all these years.”
Ari sagged with relief.
“Thank you,” Francis said earnestly. Then he stood. “I am also glad for this chance for us to know each other better, so our countries will be better friends. But now we must go.”
Ari and Francis stood to take their leave.
The queen gave her hand for Ari to kiss, which she did.
As they walked toward the door, Francis whispered to Ari, “Thank you for standing up for me. You, Aristotle de Nostradame, you are a loyal friend.”
Ari smiled. It felt good to be of use.
Just as they were about to exit, a servant burst through the door. “Your Majesty, we have had a raven from up north.”
