by Lily Blake
“Mary…” Francis started, then shook his head.
It was more than just a name. It was Francis’s love, his guilt, his devotion to his country, his frustration. In that one word, Lola heard her own loyalty toward her friend. As appealing as a life with Francis had seemed, and as wonderful as it had been to kiss him again, they had already gone too far. If they went any further, she would be breaking something that would never be repaired.
“I know, I understand…” she said.
“I can’t betray her,” Francis said, his voice breaking.
Francis turned away. He put his face in his hands, then raked his fingers through his hair. When he turned back, his expression had changed into something serious. He didn’t look at her.
She could feel it—he’d already put away the pieces of himself that he had shown to her. He gathered them up, hid them in some far-off place. That Francis—the man who was vulnerable, who spoke his heart—was beginning to disappear. He was the dauphin, now the king. Impenetrable, unknown.
Francis made himself turn away from her again. He couldn’t keep doing this—he couldn’t have these feelings for her, not if he wanted his marriage to survive. And his marriage meant much more than his happiness with Mary; it meant the future of France—and Scotland. He couldn’t throw all that away.
He turned back to the woods, thinking about his father. Henry’s solution to loving two women was simply to not decide, to keep them both around, bear children with them both and leave others to sort out the details. For a fleeting moment, Francis could understand why. He could finally see how someone could love two people at once.
But he knew well what that arrangement had done to all of them—to his mother, Diane, Bash, even himself. How they had all been pitted against one another, none of them ever sure of their place in Henry’s life. It had been a difficult way to grow up. Francis was always worried about the ground shifting beneath his feet, jealous when Henry went hunting with Bash and not him, nervous when his father spent too many nights in Diane’s chambers. He didn’t want his son to ever look at him the way he’d looked at Henry. He wanted better than that… for all of them.
“We should get back on the road.…” Lola covered her face with her hand, but Francis noticed she had tears in her eyes. Seeing it was almost more than he could take.
“You mean so much to me,” he said to her, quietly, fiercely, hoping that she would take these words and remember them when he was no longer able to speak to her this way. “Please don’t ever doubt that. If things were different…”
Lola nodded. She allowed herself to do it, if only for a moment—to think about a world where things were different, where she and Francis could be together, where they could be a family with their son. Where he wasn’t the former dauphin, or the current king, just the sweet, shy boy she’d grown to adore. Francis and her over another kitchen table, their son in her arms as she fed him mashed peas. Francis and her riding on the horse through the woods, heading toward the home they lived in together, the home they shared. Francis and her in bed…
She tried to push the thoughts away. There was no sense in wishing for things that would never be true. “The two of us,” she said. “In a small house with our child… Agamemnon.”
Francis smiled, but it only lingered for a second. “In another world,” he said. “Another life.”
The sky above had turned a deep bluish gray. They could hear thunder in the distance. “We should go,” Lola said, trying to keep her voice even. “A storm is coming. We should get back to the palace before the sky breaks.”
Francis nodded, helping Lola up onto the saddle, settling her and the baby on Champion’s back. Then he mounted the horse and started toward the palace. Mary—and their real lives—were waiting.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Bash…” Pascal said, nudging his shoulder. “I hear something. Someone’s in the dungeons.”
Bash rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. The cell was dark. The little boy was sitting up beside him, completely still, staring out into the corridor. Bash held his finger to his lips, quieting him.
There were footsteps echoing down the stone hall. Bash could hear voices somewhere far off—two people whispering. Pascal was right… someone was coming.
The little boy inched closer, snuggling under Bash’s arm. They’d fallen asleep that way. It seemed that’s all they’d done in the past days, lie there like that on the cot, drifting in and out of sleep. Bash had hoped the guards would return to them at some point, with another tray of food, maybe a sack of day-old bread. But they’d left them there, hungry and thirsty, weakened with each hour that passed.
Bash had wondered, more than once, if that would be what killed them. They’d been in the dungeons for at least two days, waiting and watching for signs of a sickness that never arrived. Their fingernails never turned black. They never got the telltale red rash that spread out on people’s necks, or felt the fever rise to their heads. No, they had made it through the worst hours, only to find themselves alone and starving, forgotten in the dank bottom floor of the palace.
Two sunrises, two sunsets, and no one had come. They didn’t see a single servant pass—at least not while they were awake. After hearing Pascal’s story about the girl in the mask, the one who wanted to bring the plague inside the palace, Bash worried that he was too late. That maybe she had already succeeded. Maybe there were people upstairs suffering, the plague spreading inside the palace walls.
The footsteps grew louder. Then there was a familiar voice. “Bash? Pascal? Are you there?”
Kenna. Bash tried to get up, but a wave of exhaustion swept over him. “We’re here,” he called. His throat was hoarse from so many days without water. “We’re all right.…”
Pascal stood, making his way to the cell door. He reached his hand out beyond the bars and the footsteps picked up pace. Within seconds Kenna appeared in the corridor, a guard right behind her.
“Oh, thank God,” she said, grabbing Pascal’s hand. “You’re alive.”
Bash pushed himself off the cot, taking small, careful steps as he started toward her. “We are. Just barely…”
The guard was a heavyset man Bash didn’t recognize. He fumbled with the keys and the door finally swung open, releasing them. Pascal threw his arms around Kenna’s waist. She held his head in her hands.
Kenna stared into the dank cell. Bash looked around, seeing it as she must have. The rat droppings that lined the walls. The tattered cot and the single chair, the tin bucket filled with urine. He himself was almost as dirty as Pascal was. His clothes were soaked through with sweat, his pants muddy and frayed. Now they both needed baths.
When Pascal stepped away, Kenna moved toward Bash, throwing her arms around her husband’s neck. She kissed him once, hard on the lips, pressing him close to her. “I was so worried. They wouldn’t let me come see you down here. Every day, I cried and prayed. I’d no idea if you were even alive.”
Kenna felt so small in Bash’s arms. He breathed in, loving the familiar scent of her perfume. Her skin was soft beneath his touch. After so long in the dark dungeons, he’d felt like he’d come home.
“I was here, waiting for you,” Bash said. “Just the thought of you kept me sane.”
It was true. In the worst hours, when night fell and the dungeons were cold and dark, when every cough or sudden movement from Pascal sent him into a panic, Bash closed his eyes and went back to the days before, back to Kenna. He imagined her in their chambers, sprawled out across the bed, her ankles hooked as she read one of her novels. He remembered her warm hand on his arm or the smell of her bath salts on her skin. Had he told her often enough that he loved her? Did she know that their marriage had saved him, had brought him back to a happiness he had only briefly known?
Kenna peered up into Bash’s gray eyes. She brought her hands to his face, her fingers running along his cheeks. “You are such a good man,” she said. She kissed him again, her lips breaking into a smile.
&nb
sp; “And you, a good woman,” he said. He wanted to stay like this, forever in her arms. He pulled himself away, kissing her again on the cheek.
“Pascal was very brave,” Bash added. He squeezed Kenna’s hand. “I don’t think I could’ve gotten through this without him.”
“Is that so?” Kenna said, smiling. “I’m not surprised. I’m relieved you’re both safe, but I wish you hadn’t run away, Pascal. We were all so worried. And then when we saw you beyond the wall…”
Pascal looked down at his feet. “I was scared.”
“There was nothing to be scared of,” Kenna said, kneeling down to look the boy in the eye. “Everything is all right, everything will always be all right. You’re safe here with us.”
“He knows that now,” Bash said, starting out of the cell. He reached behind him, offering Pascal his hand. “Right, Pascal?”
Pascal reached up, taking it. He gave Bash a small smile. “Right. I know.”
Kenna wrapped her arm around Bash’s side, and the three of them followed the guard down the corridor and up the narrow set of stairs. “The villagers are still outside the gates,” she said, lowering her voice. “They’ve gotten more violent. Two men were killed in a fight. You got to him just in time.”
“And inside the walls…?” Bash asked, glancing from Kenna to the guard. “What about here in the palace? Is everything all right?”
“Yes… I guess, considering,” Kenna said. “Mary’s been hurt. She fell outside the north wing two days ago. I saw her yesterday, but she’d hit her head… she wasn’t awake yet. The doctors say she’ll recover soon, though. Thankfully it wasn’t as serious as it could have been.”
They’d reached the first floor of the palace. The guard kept pace in front of them, leading them down the hall, back to the east wing. Bash could just barely walk in time with the others. “We should stop in the kitchens,” he said. “We both could use some food and water. We haven’t eaten in days.”
Kenna looked down at Pascal, her face full of concern. “Is that true? You poor thing, I—”
They were interrupted by another guard, who came running out of the stairwell to the queen’s chambers, calling out to the guard who led them, “Maurice, you must come upstairs—it’s the queen,” he said. “We need more men by her chambers.”
“What is it? What’s happened?” Bash asked.
The guard, a skinny fellow with white-blond hair, rubbed his forehead. “Her taster…” he said. “She was poisoned.”
“What do mean?” Kenna said, her voice rising in panic. “By whom?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” the man said, turning down the hall to find others.
“Please,” Kenna said, looking to the heavyset guard. “Before you go—take Pascal to his room. We need to go to the queen. This isn’t something he should see.”
“Of course, my lady,” the guard said.
“We’ll come for you within the hour,” Bash told Pascal, leaning down and putting his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Just sit tight, all right?”
Pascal nodded. The guard wrapped his arm around him, leading him farther down the hall.
As soon as he was safe, Kenna and Bash started up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Bash was no longer thinking of how tired he was, how hungry, how thirsty. All he could think of was Mary and what had happened to that poor girl. He’d seen Cecily at every meal for the past weeks. She was so young, no older than fifteen.
“It’s been years since a taster has been poisoned,” he said, following Kenna up the stairs and into the north wing. “Only a few, trusted people have access to the queen’s food, and it’s nearly impossible for an outsider to get into the kitchens without someone seeing.”
“Maybe it’s a mistake,” Kenna said, not wanting to believe it. But when they turned down the corridor, they saw a swarm of guards outside Mary’s room. Two of them were carrying something heavy, a long wooden plank draped with a sheet. As Kenna and Bash stepped aside to let them pass, they saw that it was a body.
Kenna quickened her pace, pushing past several guards, trying to get to her friend. “She’s one of the queen’s ladies,” Bash explained as he followed close behind. “She needs to see her.”
When they got to the doorway, Mary was sitting on the end of the bed, her face in her hands. Greer was sitting beside her, rubbing her back. “Kenna, thank God,” Greer said, standing to meet her. “It’s Cecily, Mary’s taster. She was right there, and then she just fell.…”
“I know,” Kenna said, wrapping her arms around her friend. “We heard. The guards are on alert.”
“Who would do this?” Mary asked, looking up at them. Bash noticed the bruises on her face and neck. Her arm was held in a sling. “Everyone knows the queen uses a taster. And even if they didn’t, how would they even get into the kitchens?”
“Perhaps it was one of the servants?” Kenna asked, sitting on the bed beside her.
“The tunnels…” Bash looked at Mary, a realization dawning. “Do they go to the kitchens?”
Mary brought her hand to her mouth; her eyes locked on Bash’s. “The tunnels—” Mary said, looking stricken. “Why did you bring up the tunnels? Do you know something?”
Kenna turned, studying Bash. “What is it?”
“Pascal… He took the tunnels out of the palace. That’s how he ended up outside the gates,” Bash said. “He told me about a girl he saw in there. Someone wearing a mask over her face. He said she was talking about bringing something inside the walls… something bad… and she wanted him to help her. I tried to warn the guards, but we were confined to the dungeon. We yelled for them, but no one came. No one would come near us until they were certain we weren’t infected.”
Mary stood, pacing the length of the room. “Oh God…” she said. “A girl wearing a mask? It can’t be.…”
“What do you mean, Mary?” Greer asked.
“And the blood I found in the tunnels,” Mary said. “The supplies. Who else could that be? It sounds too much like Clarissa.”
Bash tensed at the sound of the girl’s name. Clarissa was the daughter Catherine had abandoned as a baby, the deformed girl Nostradamus had been kind to. But only a few months ago, Clarissa had kidnapped Bash’s half brothers, holding them for ransom. Mary had knocked the girl unconscious before she could hurt the boys, though. He’d seen it with his own eyes—the blood that spilled from her wound, how she’d died there, lying in the snow. The guards had buried her… she was supposed to be dead.…
“But she died,” Bash said. “It can’t be her.”
“This is awful,” Mary said, her fear growing. “It would make sense, wouldn’t it, though? She knows those tunnels better than anyone. She’d know how to access the kitchens, how to get to my room. Maybe somehow she’s returned. Maybe it’s… a ghost. And she wants revenge, especially on me.… I’m the one who hurt her.”
Greer shook her head, her face lined with worry. “No… this can’t be happening. It doesn’t make sense.”
“I hope not, but how can we say for sure?” Mary asked. “Who else would it be?”
“Maybe one of the guards,” Kenna offered. “Maybe someone inside the palace has turned against you.”
“Pascal described her so clearly, though, the girl with the mask,” Bash said. “Is there any chance Clarissa could be alive? Where was she buried?”
“In the woods somewhere,” Mary said. “Beyond the walls. There’s no way to find the grave site now.”
They all fell silent. Bash could hear each one of Mary’s breaths, thin and shallow, as she resumed her pacing. His mind reeled as he tried to make sense of it all. He’d have to return to Pascal, ask him to tell him the story again, recount it in all its detail. For now they would wait, they would wonder.
He reached out his hand to Kenna, pulling her close.
Pascal sat on the edge of the bed. There were guards right outside, but he couldn’t help but feel scared now. What had happened to Kenna’s friend Mary? Why was ever
yone so upset? Kenna and Bash had run up the stairs in a hurry. They’d both looked so sad.
The door to the bedroom opened a crack. One of the maids peeked in, her gray hair tied in a knot at the back of her head. “How are you doing, little one?” she asked. “I have some dinner for you. I heard you were starving.…”
She slipped inside the room, closing the door behind her. She was carrying a tray of fresh bread and cheeses. There were two giant glasses of water. Pascal ran to her, grabbing one and drinking it down as fast as he could. He plucked a slice of cheddar off the tray and ate it in two bites.
“There, there, child,” she said, combing back his hair. “Take as much as you like. This is just a snack to tide you over. I’m going to go back to the kitchen to get your dinner. How does roast beef sound?”
She smiled, then slipped back out, closing the door behind her. Pascal ripped off the top of the loaf of bread. It was warm in his hands. He bit into it and swallowed it without chewing. He’d been hungry for so long he’d forgotten what it felt like to be full. He had another bite of cheese, and another, loving the taste.
“Can I have some?” a voice whispered behind him. He turned, noticing the girl there. She was standing by the window, staring at him.
He froze, too scared to move. Bash had been upset when he told him about the girl and what she’d done—Pascal had seen it in his face. She wasn’t someone he could play with. She’d brought him outside the palace walls and left him there. If it wasn’t for Bash rescuing him, he would’ve died.
“What, you don’t want to share?” the girl asked. She took a step toward him, staring at him through the holes in the dirty burlap sack. “That’s not very nice of you.”
“You locked me out,” Pascal said, his voice shaking. “You left me outside the walls.”
“I was playing a game,” the girl said. She took another step closer, then yanked the piece of bread from his hands.
Pascal just stood there, tears filling his eyes. He couldn’t talk again. That same feeling he’d had when he’d come to the palace returned. He was too frightened to even say a word. He watched her slink about the room. She examined some of the bottles on the dresser, then picked a piece of cheese off the tray. She took a few items of clothing from one of the dressers before turning back toward the balcony.
