My Contrary Mary

by Cynthia Hand

  His eyes were fixed on her. Mary suppressed a shiver. Then she glanced at Liv.

  “Please turn around now,” Liv ordered Knox. “So that the queen may return to her human form with her modesty intact.”

  Knox’s face turned red, and he spun around to face the wall.

  Mary changed and quickly put on the dressing gown again.

  “If you tell anyone what you’ve seen here, I’ll deny it,” she said to Knox’s back. “But I wanted you to know that I am no Verity tyrant, bent on the destruction or suppression of E∂ians. I mean to have peace in my kingdom, and tolerance among my people, whatever their beliefs.”

  He slowly turned around again.

  “You’re still a woman,” he said stiffly. “And women still shouldn’t rule countries.”

  “We’ll just have to agree to disagree about my qualifications for my position,” Mary said. “I am to be married today. And one day I might have a son, who will be king of Scotland after me, and I wanted you to know that, as well as being the rightful king, appointed by God, as I have been, he will be an E∂ian supporter, as I am. That I can swear to you. I don’t think you could find anyone with royal blood enough to claim the throne of Scotland who could offer you the same.”

  Knox thought for a long moment. Then he sighed. “All right, fine.”

  She smiled. “Wonderful. And if you could perhaps cease with distributing that awful pamphlet about me, that would be nice.”

  “Very well. It needs to be revised, anyway. I’ll marry you today. But I can’t promise that I won’t try to overthrow you tomorrow,” he warned.

  She nodded. “Let’s take this one day at a time, shall we?”

  Her uncles were confused when she arrived at the Holyrood chapel for her wedding that afternoon with John Knox and a large company of Knox’s men. The uncles were even more confused when they were told that the ceremony was to be performed by Knox, not Uncle Charles, the cardinal.

  But they didn’t protest. The uncles didn’t want to make a scene, not today.

  It was an odd assembly of onlookers, then, when Mary came down the aisle, not on any man’s arm this time. There were E∂ians and Verities; her brother, James, and his men; her uncles and their men; the Scottish courtiers and their men; and even a large group of the common people, who Mary had invited at the last minute.

  It didn’t have the grandeur of her wedding to Francis. But it would do.

  “You look . . . ,” Darnley started as she came to stand beside him in her resplendent gown of blue velvet and golden trim.

  The dress reminded her of Francis’s blue doublet. Her favorite on him. But she was not going to think about that.

  “You too,” she said to Darnley, and took the hand he offered her.

  Together they turned to face John Knox.

  She did try very hard not to think of Francis.

  Francis and the silly high-heeled shoes.

  Francis saying the vows, his blue eyes fixed on hers, the rest of the world fading into the background as he’d murmured, “I take you to be my wife . . . forsaking all others . . . keeping faith and truth in all matters between us . . . until death us do part.”

  “If anyone knows of a reason that these two should not be joined in holy matrimony,” Knox was saying. “Speak now or forever hold your peace.”

  Mary’s bottom lip began to tremble. But she didn’t speak.

  The chapel was utterly silent. It seemed that everyone approved of her marrying Darnley. Only her heart screamed a protest. But she was determined that she would overcome her heart this time. She would do what was best for Scotland. Which meant marrying. And producing an heir.

  Still, the image of Francis kept floating up in her mind. With this ring, I thee wed. She remembered the smile in his voice as he’d said that to her.

  With this ring.

  Her breath caught. She was still wearing Francis’s ring.

  Which was bound to get awkward when Darnley wanted to put his own ring there.

  “Wait,” she said softly.

  Everyone in the chapel froze. Was she going to back out now?

  Mary pulled her hand from her future husband’s and turned to her ladies. She gave her bouquet to a grumpy-looking Flem. Then she slipped Francis’s ring from her finger and handed it to Liv, who nodded and closed her palm around it solemnly. Mary took the bouquet back from Flem—red roses, not white cowslips. Then she faced Darnley and took his hand again.

  He smiled wanly. He’d looked worried for a second there.

  “Very well,” Knox said, clearing his throat. “Let us continue with the business at hand. Marriage,” he said, and there was something funny about the way he rolled his r’s with his thick Scottish brogue. “Marriage is what brings us together today.”

  FORTY-FOUR

  Ari

  “Are you ready, Sire?” Ari asked Francis. He was staring pensively in the direction of Holyrood, as if he could sense that the wedding was beginning and he could stop it using his will alone.

  Francis startled and then nodded. “I’m ready,” he said steadily.

  Ari turned to the six English soldiers who had accompanied them from London. She tried not to dwell on how small a number they were, when going against so many. This would not be a battle of strength but a battle of wits. She unstoppered a large vial from her chest of potions and handed it to the first soldier. “Once you take this, we’ll have about ten to twelve minutes. So we have to move fast.”

  The soldier looked less than thrilled at the idea of drinking some mystery concoction. Ari had explained how it worked while they’d gone over the details of the plan—her plan!—but of course nobody but Francis had believed her.

  “I still think this is a ridiculous plan,” said the soldier.

  “Yes,” agreed a second soldier. “We liked the one with the fireproof cloak and the wheelbarrow better.”

  “But only mildly better,” said a third.

  The fourth pulled out the voluminous black cloak. They had picked it up at a street market. It hadn’t been advertised as a fireproof cloak, until Francis had mentioned to the vendor that they needed one. Then it was suddenly a fireproof cloak. And they’d bought it. But when Ari had tested it out by lighting a corner on fire, she’d singed all the hairs off her arm. So that put an end to the idea that they’d scare the guards off using a tall guy on fire yelling, “I am the Dread Pirate Roberts!” as she had seen in her previous vision.

  The day wasn’t going to be won with her visions, she’d decided right there and then. It was going to be won using her true skills. Namely, potions.

  “Just drink it,” she ordered the first soldier.

  He held the vial up to his nose. “It smells bad.”

  “It’s not meant to be perfume,” she pointed out.

  “Drink it,” said Francis from beside her, using his I-am-the-king voice, even though he was not the king of this particular man.

  “Just one swig should do it,” suggested Ari.

  The soldier took a swig. His face immediately squished up in an expression of disgust. “It tastes terrible!”

  “I didn’t have time to flavor—” Ari started to say, but then stopped.

  Because the soldier’s face had vanished. Along with the rest of him.

  There was an exclamation of surprise among the remaining soldiers. Ari grabbed the potion (which now seemed to be floating in midair) and thrust it at the second soldier. “Hurry! We have to go!”

  The soldiers each quickly swigged and disappeared.

  “Look at that!” she heard one cry. “I’m invisible!”

  She grabbed and tossed the vial to Francis, who took a sip. “It really doesn’t taste so bad,” he said as he literally faded into the background. “A bit lemony.”

  He was trying to be nice. She kind of wanted to hug him for that. But how did one hug an invisible king?

  “Let’s be off,” she said.

  The invisible men (and Ari) moved quickly along the outside of the wall that
surrounded Holyrood Palace (and the abbey, where the wedding was taking place even as they ran), to the north side, where the gatehouse was located. This was the only way in if they didn’t want to descend some impressive-looking cliffs, which had felt like insanity to even consider. Ari rather wished that she could have taken her invisibility potion as well, but she had another potion to ingest in a few minutes, and she wasn’t fully certain of what would happen if a person took two of the potions at once.

  She tried to walk casually, like she was just a serf out on serf business, as they got in position in front of the gatehouse. There were twenty men standing outside of it, but how many were inside?

  She removed another potion from her belt and drank it. Then she looked at the gatehouse again.

  “Ten,” she whispered. “There are ten men in there. Wait. Eleven. But past the gatehouse there is no one. It’s a straight shot to the side door of the church.”

  “What’s going on in there?” came a voice she knew as Francis’s. “Has it started yet?”

  Ari shook her head. “I can’t see that far. I have to get closer.” She blinked a few times, suddenly dizzy. Seeing through walls was so disorienting.

  “You there! Boy!” one of the guards on the outside of the gatehouse called out, having spotted her. “What are you doing?”

  Ari fumbled with her pack. Her fingers closed around a sloshy packet, which she’d heated over a fire a few minutes ago. It was like grabbing a hot potato, burning her already singed fingers, but she gritted her teeth and lobbed the packet at the line of guards. It burst, sending a plume of green steam into the air around them.

  For a moment nothing happened. The guards just looked at Ari in anger and confusion. And then their faces started to turn green, and all hell broke loose.

  “Now!” Francis shouted.

  The six invisible soldiers rushed the unsuspecting guards. Some of them were already panicking and bolting away, because it’s simply not natural for one’s face to turn grass-colored. And the others were dispatched quickly enough, because it’s difficult to fight an enemy one can’t see.

  “This is a most wondrous plan!” she heard one of the soldiers exclaim. “I wish we could be invisible for all our battles!”

  They were down to sixteen guards now, outside the gatehouse.

  Ten.

  Six.

  But they still had to deal with the men inside. And they no longer had the element of surprise.

  “Francis?” Ari called.

  “I’m here,” said a voice next to her.

  She held out a bow. It was indeed strange to watch it wobble in the air as he lifted it.

  “I don’t know why you picked me for this particular task,” he complained. “I’m only a decent shot. Mary is much better. You should have picked her.”

  “Mary’s in there,” Ari reminded him, pointing at the church beyond the wall.

  “Right. I’ll do it.”

  Ari handed him the arrow with the weird bulbous tip she’d fashioned on it. “Remember, aim for the exact center of that tiny window.”

  “I remember.” Francis nocked the arrow. It was noisy. The soldiers were shouting. The remaining green-faced guards were shouting. The guards inside the gatehouse were shouting. Francis blew out a breath.

  “This is going to work,” Ari said, more to herself than to him. “As long as you hit the target exactly.”

  “So, no pressure,” Francis said. “It’s only my entire life, my future, and the future of France at stake.”

  “And England and Scotland,” Ari provided helpfully.

  “Gah!” Francis said in exasperation.

  “But I believe in you,” said Ari.

  Francis loosed the arrow. Ari held her breath as she watched it sail in a clean arc toward the gatehouse.

  And then into the wall.

  “Merde! I told you I wasn’t very good!” Francis cried.

  Ari handed him the second, just-in-case arrow that she’d also prepared. “Try again. You can do this.”

  She really hoped he could, because this was their last chance to get into the gatehouse. And if they couldn’t get into the gatehouse, they couldn’t get into the church. And she had a feeling that the wedding was already well underway.

  “What if we’re too late?” Francis asked, as though he were reading her mind.

  “We only have to get there before they say man and wife,” Ari replied.

  Francis abruptly appeared next to her as the potion wore off. His face was red. “She’s my wife!” he roared, and then drew back the bow and shot the arrow perfectly through the tiny window of the gatehouse. Within seconds something like smoke began to curl out of the window, and the shouting from inside turned to frantic screaming. Still able to peer through walls, Ari watched the remaining guards begin to panic.

  “Come on!” yelled Francis, and sprinted toward the gatehouse.

  Ari hoped the six English soldiers were still alive and behind him.

  As he reached the door, it burst open and a guard ran out, clutching at his face. “I’m blind!” the man screamed. “I can’t seeeeeeeee!”

  Francis pushed the guard to the side and entered the gatehouse. Ari ran in behind him, a bit unsteady with her double layers of vision. Inside it was chaos. Most of the guards had been blinded by the Not There potion and were either cowering or stabbing out wildly at nothing. The rest were being handled by the invisible soldiers.

  This was actually going the way Ari had hoped it would.

  But then she ran to the inner door. And it was locked.

  “Francis!” she panted. “It’s locked! What are we going to do?”

  Francis, clearly caught up in the moment, screamed out a battle cry and charged at the door, bashing it with his shoulder. It didn’t budge. He fell back, panting.

  “Ow,” he said. “Surely one of these guards must have the key.”

  They both looked around and at the same moment spotted a single man whose uniform was slightly different from the others, trying to slink inconspicuously away from the fighting. Francis grabbed him by the collar and flung him against the wall.

  Mary would have been impressed with him, Ari thought.

  “You’re the captain of the guard, aren’t you?” she asked the man. “Where is the key?”

  “I have hidden it where you will never find it! I will never give it up!” the man yelled. His eyes narrowed on her. “You’re a woman!”

  “So?”

  “You’re a witch!” he concluded. “WITCH! WIIIIIIIIIITCH!”

  “Now that’s not very nice,” said Francis, looking embarrassed on Ari’s behalf. “She’s merely good with potions. She’s not—”

  “I am a witch,” said Ari, drawing herself up as best as she could.

  Francis’s mouth fell open. “You are?” (In this time, dear reader, being a witch was even worse than being an E∂ian.)

  “I am a witch, and if you don’t give us the key, I shall turn you into a toad.”

  The man scoffed. “I don’t believe you.”

  Ari gave Francis a meaningful stare. “I absolutely will turn you into a toad. Or at the very least, a frog.”

  “No,” Francis groaned.

  “Yes. I shall.”

  Francis closed his eyes for a moment, mortified at her suggestion. Then he sighed. “Even I don’t believe you have the power to do that.”

  She fake scowled at him. “You don’t believe it? Now I am displeased with you, as well. I’ll show you.” She lifted her hands toward Francis in as witchy a way as she could manage. “Alakazam!”

  Light flashed, and when her eyes adjusted, she saw a small green frog sitting where Francis had been standing.

  “Dear God!” exclaimed the captain of the guard.

  At that moment, the rest of the six soldiers began to materialize in the room, one after another. Ari was relieved to see that they were all still alive.

  The captain of the guard began to tremble. Ari turned to him with an icy expression and lifted
her hands again. “Ala—”

  “Wait!” The captain of the guard drew the key out of his doublet from a long chain around his neck. “Here! Take it!” He yanked the key free and threw it at her, then bolted away.

  Ari caught the key and hurriedly unlocked the door. There was a flash as Francis transformed again. She moved quickly into the courtyard to give him a moment to get into his clothes.

  “You owe me,” he muttered as he appeared next her, fully dressed. “But I already owe you so much that it doesn’t matter.”

  There was no time for thanks or pretty words. Ari was staring with her enhanced vision through the walls of the abbey. It was crammed with people. Mary and the man Ari assumed was Darnley were standing at the far side under a giant stained glass window. And a few steps from Mary stood Liv, beautiful even through a wall.

  Ari’s heart leapt. “Liv,” she murmured.

  “Ari, focus,” said Francis.

  Ari blinked and remembered why they were there. “The wedding has started!” she reported, and grabbed Francis’s hand and ran across the grass toward the church.

  “I should burst in at the part where they ask if anyone has an objection,” Francis said as they reached the side door. “That would be the best time.”

  “We’re well past that!” Ari watched in horror as Liv stepped forward to give Mary a ring. A ring that she was about to place on Darnley’s finger. “Go, Your Highness! Go now!”

  Francis threw open the door and stepped into the chapel.

  FORTY-FIVE

  Francis

  Finally, after what felt like a thousand years, Francis saw her.

  Mary.

  She was standing right there in a blue dress, looking up at the man before her. Lord Darnley, Francis thought bitterly. He was taller than Mary, and undeniably handsome.

  Francis straightened his shoulders. Now was not the time for despair. In fact, now was the time to stop this, because as he stood there, staring jealously while his wife married another man, the man performing the ceremony was just getting to the part where both parties were to say “I do.”

  Darnley had already said it, in fact. And behind Mary, her ladies were lined up, looking somber.

  “Do you, Mary Stuart—”