They had almost reached the covered walkway on the far side of the atrium when they caught a sudden movement in the darkness. Something had dashed out from behind a hedge and darted in front of them; then having reached the safety of a flowerbed, it sat and looked up very pointedly at Molly.
“Don’t be alarmed, Your Highness,” said the slave who was in the lead. “That’s just the princess Elizabetta’s cat. We call him Leondas, because he’s half as big as a lion.”
“Was that—?” Tobias whispered in Molly’s ear.
“Yes,” she said. “It was.”
Day Three
10
Like Father, Like Daughter
“I WANT IT IN writing,” she said. “Two copies. One for me and one for you, both with your privy seal.”
“You don’t trust me to keep my word?”
The princess laughed. “Of course I don’t. Nor can I assume that you’ll die in your bed surrounded by scribes busily taking notes as you put your affairs in order. You might die suddenly. And if there’s no official document attesting to the change of heirs, then where will I be?”
“Goodness—who laid your egg in my nest?”
“Why, you did, Father. How can you doubt it? Just look at me and you’ll see yourself, only younger and much more attractive.”
He did look at her then, in a studying sort of way, scratching his neck at the hairline right behind the left ear. It was an old, unconscious habit of his, something he did when he was nervous. The princess took note of it.
“We made a bargain, Father, and so far I’ve kept my part. But I want assurance in writing that you’ll keep yours. If you refuse, then I will not only stop being charming—I will actively work against you in every possible way. And if you think I can’t send them packing, then you’d better think again.”
“You don’t become the heir until a treaty is signed. That was our agreement.”
“Ah, but once a treaty is signed, I’ll have lost my advantage.”
He shrugged.
“Come now. Must I write out a draft for you? All you need say is: ‘I hereby alter the royal succession in favor of my daughter, Princess Anna Maria Elizabetta, who shall rule the kingdom of Cortova upon my death, conditional to the signing of a satisfactory treaty of alliance with either the king of Westria or the king of Austlind.’ See how easy that was?”
“Don’t you have an engagement this morning? With Lady What’s-her-name?”
“Don’t worry. It can wait. We have all the time in the world. And how long can it really take to write out a few brief lines—and sign them, and seal them? Hmm?”
“I can’t think why you’d want to play chess with a girl like that. She’s nothing but a peasant.”
“Really? And yet she holds the favor of a great king and is betrothed to a mighty lord.”
“He’s a peasant too—that so-called lord. King Alaric raised them up. It was the laughingstock of Westria for months.”
“Well, Father, you do have a lot of information. I’ll bet you could even call up the lady’s name if you tried.”
“I could. I merely meant to disparage her.”
“Yes. I figured that out by myself. But I wonder, since you know so much about so many things, why you never thought to share any of it with me?”
“It’s my business to know things. It’s your business to look pretty, and be winning, and make sons.”
“No, Father, not anymore. So please stop changing the subject and wasting time. Let’s get our business done so I can go draw King Alaric’s little peasant into my web, and you can go back to torturing our guests. Here is some parchment, and here is your pen. Shall I dictate?”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“I want to read it when you’re done. Both copies.”
He looked up at her, his eyes near closed to slits, serpentlike. “You are my chick,” he said, dipping his pen into the inkwell. “How is it I didn’t see the resemblance before?”
“You never bothered to notice. More fool, you.”
He frowned and began to write in a beautiful, formal hand, as was fitting for such an important document. All the while he muttered to himself. “My stars, but you will surprise them—all those courtiers who’ll assume you’re weak because you’re a woman and brainless because you’re pretty. They’ll try to use you and manage you through flattery. Huh! I wouldn’t be in their shoes when they discover their mistake. No, I most definitely would not.”
When he’d finished, the king handed his daughter the document. When she’d nodded approval, he began again, writing out a duplicate on a second sheet of parchment.
“A woman on the throne of Cortova!” he went on, still talking to himself. “What a spectacle that will be—like gladiators battling lions in the ring, only so much more original, you know, something no one has seen before. I’m just sorry I won’t live to see it.”
“That could be arranged.”
The king laughed so hard that he blotted the page and had to start over again. But Elizabetta never smiled, not once. She just stood beside her father’s desk, following his pen with her eyes, scanning every word he wrote on the document that would one day make her queen of Cortova.
When King Gonzalo had signed both copies, he folded them into two neat packages. Then, with Elizabetta working the flint, he lit the wick of the sealing wax and held it over the first document, just at the tip of the final fold. Melting wax dropped onto the parchment like blood from a wound, forming a thick puddle, red and glistening. Gonzalo removed his signet ring, pressed the face of it into the wax, and held it there till the seal had cooled and hardened. When he took the signet out, the impression was sharp and clear: the Lion Shield of Cortova.
He sealed the second document in the same manner and gave one of the copies to his daughter.
“Was that so very hard?” she asked.
“What do you think?” He met her eyes with such a murderous look that it was all she could do not to flinch. “You just forced me to disinherit my son.”
“Castor hasn’t the making of a king, Father. You know it’s true. He’d have destroyed everything you’ve built.”
“You don’t know that. He’s still a child.”
“He will always be a child.”
“Go!” Gonzalo said suddenly, waving her away.
And when she didn’t leave instantly—transfixed as she was by the anguish displayed so openly on his face, thinking that this was the most honest moment they’d ever shared—he raged at her. “I bleed!” he shouted, pressing his fist hard against his belly.
And she believed it.
11
A Safe and Secret Place
AS THE PRINCESS STEPPED out of the king’s chamber into the hall, still trembling from what she’d just done, Elizabetta heard the scuffling sound of running feet. She squinted into the shadows but only caught the flash of a light-colored tunic as a figure rounded the corner.
At the same moment it occurred to her that there was no one guarding the door.
She stood, unmoving, for the briefest time, deciding what to do. She longed to give chase because she very much wanted to find out who had dared to eavesdrop on their conversation—and was now in possession of her dearest secret. But she knew the hallway led to a blind court: nothing but service rooms and slaves’ quarters. No one would have run in that direction unless the intent was to draw her into a trap.
And the missing guard—where was he? Also waiting in the shadows at the end of the hall, his weapon drawn?
Her decision made, Elizabetta turned and ran the other way, cutting across the atrium, then racing down the long colonnade that led to the east end of the compound. Everyone she passed stared in astonishment as she flew by; but the princess ignored them, never slowing her pace until she’d reached the safety of her own chambers.
She sat on her bed, breathing hard and trembling. Giulia and Estella, seeing her distress, hovered like a little cloud of butterflies, asking if she was all right and was there
anything they could do. But Elizabetta sent them away. She wanted only Claudia, her old and trusted servant.
Claudia had been in charge of the late queen’s household for many years and before that had served her in lesser positions. Over the course of all that time the two had grown as easy and affectionate as sisters.
Shortly before her death, the queen had summoned Claudia to her side and released her from bondage. Then she’d asked—asked—her friend and former slave for one last favor. Would she, dear Claudia, stay on at the palace as a paid servant and look after the little princess?
The old woman had broken down entirely then so that her answering words were lost amid the hiccups, gulps, and sobs. But the queen had understood her perfectly. This good soul, who had been at her side for as long as she could remember—offering wise advice when it was asked for, giving assurance and affection when it was wanted, and having the delicacy to fade into the background when she was not needed at all—would be there to protect and guide little Betta with that same tender care. Knowing this, she could die in peace.
Later that same night, in the deep silence of the small hours, the queen had departed this life. The priest had already gone by then, along with the crowd of courtiers. Only the king and Claudia had kept watch with her. But when death had finally come, Gonzalo had been asleep, his head lolling back against his chair. Only Claudia, who’d been holding her mistress’s hand, knew the moment she was gone.
Elizabetta had never heard this story. Claudia was far too discreet to tell it. But if you’d asked the princess to imagine her mother’s final breath, she would have come very close to the truth: Claudia would have been there; and she would have stayed awake through a month of long nights, if it had been called for, so her beloved mistress wouldn’t have to die alone.
Thus it was natural, at this moment of crisis when nothing in the world seemed clear or certain and danger lurked in the shadows, that the princess should turn to Claudia, as she had so many times before.
“This,” she said, holding up the sealed document, “is the most precious thing in my possession. I’ll tell you what it is when we have time, but right now I need to hide it in a safe and secret place. I’ll require your help, I’m afraid. We must move the bed.”
“Of course,” Claudia said.
It was heavy, made of gilded bronze, so they had to shift it bit by bit—heaving and resting, heaving and resting—till the bed was far enough away from the wall for the princess to slip in behind and pry up one of the tiles, revealing a hidden compartment. In it, carefully wrought to fit the space, was a sturdy iron box.
She’d found this secret hiding place many years before, at a time when the furniture was arranged in a different way and the loose tile hadn’t been covered by anything heavy. It must have been there since the floor was first laid many centuries past. The princess had been enchanted by it, imagining all the secret treasures that had been hidden there over the years and making up stories about them.
When her little child’s bed had been replaced by a large one, she’d been very particular about where it should be placed, making sure that one of the legs rested directly on the special tile. It was as if she’d known that one day she’d want to put something important there, and she didn’t want anyone coming across it by accident, as she had.
Now that day had come. And she noted with pleasure that the document fitted perfectly, as if the box had been especially designed to hold it. Smiling, she closed the lid and replaced the tile, then scrambled over the bed. Once again they shifted it, in slow stages, till it was back against the wall. When Claudia had smoothed the coverlet and arranged the cushions, everything looked exactly as it had before.
“Now,” said the princess, “I need a few minutes alone to catch my breath. Tell Giulia to set up the chessboard and lay out some refreshments. Then send a runner to fetch Lady Marguerite.”
“Yes, my lady,” Claudia replied.
She was about to go out, her hand already on the latch, when she turned and looked back at her mistress.
“You were so very like your lady mother just now,” she said. “So strong and resourceful, I half thought the angels had brought her back to me.”
“Claudia,” the princess said, “that was the single thing in all the world I most needed to hear.”
12
Black Queen/White Queen
MOLLY HAD SEEN THE princess on three separate occasions, and she’d been a different person each time. In Westria, Elizabetta had been a grand lady, exotic and yet familiar in her sumptuous gown and jewels. Last night, at the dinner, her simple dress and manner had made her seem young and sweet, even more beautiful than before. Now, as she greeted Molly in a well-worn tunic not even as nice as the ones her slaves were wearing, her hair braided loosely in back, much of it escaping at the sides in wayward curls, her face glowing and her expression bright with expectation, Elizabetta was transformed yet again. Now she was Molly’s comfortable old friend—like Winifred, except that she was a princess, and beautiful.
The chessboard had been set up outside on the covered porch, where they could enjoy the garden as they played. They sat on gilded chairs on either side of the table, facing each other.
Molly had seen people play chess before. She even had a board of her own back at Barcliffe Manor. It had come with the estate (along with the books she couldn’t read and the instruments she couldn’t play). But none of the sets she’d seen in the past, even including Alaric’s, could compare with what lay before her now.
Everything white was made from ivory, and everything black was ebony. The pieces, which were uncommonly large, were like miniature statues, beautifully carved with all sorts of intricate details. One of them—a woman wearing a wimple and a crown—was seated on a throne. She leaned forward, her chin resting on her right palm, her left hand clasping her right elbow. You could see the folds of her robe and the embroidery on it. Even the back of her throne was intricately carved in a swirling pattern of leaves and vines. But what struck Molly in particular was the way you could almost feel her thinking—something very serious, very deep.
“These pieces are so beautiful,” she said, “it almost seems a shame to play with them.”
“Yes, they are beautiful,” the princess agreed. “And very old, as so many things in this palace are. But I assure you; they’re also quite fun to play with. Because they’re so lifelike, you come to feel a kind of sympathy for them. And as you move them about the board and give them adventures, you will rejoice at their triumphs and grieve when they fall.”
“I can see how that would be so.”
“Indeed. Shall we begin?”
“Yes, Your Highness. Please.”
The princess shot her one of those apparently false but disarming smiles, then chose a piece from the back row and held it up for Molly to see. It was a figure of a bearded man, also wearing a crown. He was seated, and he held a sword across his knees, the hilt in his right hand, his left touching the point of the blade. His eyes were wide, as if he were startled.
“This is the king,” the princess said. “If you lose your king, you lose the game.”
She set down the piece and took up the thoughtful lady who was also in the back row and who sat beside the king.
“And this, of course, is the queen. She’s the most powerful piece you have.”
“But why would the queen be more powerful than the king? It isn’t that way in real life.” Then Molly remembered her manners and added, “Your Royal Highness.”
“Oh, please! We’re not at court, and I’d hoped we could be friends. Call me Betta.”
Molly resisted a strong inclination to believe that the princess was sincere.
“It would be an honor,” she said.
“And in return, may I call you Marguerite?”
“You can call me whatever you like, but I’d rather you called me Molly.”
“Is that how King Alaric addresses you?”
“Yes. Marguerite is the name I was given a
t birth, but I’m Molly to my friends.”
“It suits you better, I agree. Now then, Molly, to answer your question, I’m not exactly sure why it’s so. But I imagine the king is slow and deliberate because he’s so busy, weighed down by his many responsibilities. And wherever he goes he has to take his court, and his guards, and his servants with him. His life is restricted by his greatness. Whereas the queen, well, we ladies are light on our feet, clever, and quick.” She gave Molly a quick little grin. “We can work secretly, behind the scenes.”
“Ah.”
“Now, in keeping with the personalities of the pieces, each one moves in a different way. Our poor king can only move one square at a time, though at least he can move in any direction he wants. But clearly he needs protecting.”
“And the queen?”
“She can move as many squares as she wants and in any direction. That’s why she’s so powerful.”
Molly nodded.
“Now, here’s your bishop—see, he’s wearing his miter, and holding his pastoral staff, and giving the sign of blessing? We each have two of them—only the king and queen are single pieces. And, like the queen, the bishops can go as far as they want—but only on the diagonal. Like this, across the corners of the squares. So we ladies are still superior.
“I know it’s a lot to remember, Molly, but you’ll catch on pretty quickly. And once you’ve learned, we can play every day—if you’re willing.”
Molly wondered just how long the princess thought they’d be staying in Cortova. Even with Reynard thrown into the mix, the negotiations shouldn’t take more than a week. So was Betta saying, in a very guarded manner, that they would have years and years to play chess—after she had married Alaric and become queen of Westria?
“What about your ladies of the court? Don’t any of them play chess?”
She shrugged. “A few. But they always let me win because they think that’s what I want. And they’re not what you’d call ‘companions.’ They’re— Well, I have the feeling you know exactly what court ladies are.”
The Princess of Cortova Page 7
