The Prince of Lies

by Anne Lyle

  The guards straightened their backs as he approached the double doors at the top of the stairs though more, he suspected, to try and intimidate him than out of respect. He walked straight past them without so much as a glance either side, through the antechamber – empty but for a maid rebuilding the fire – and paused at the doorway, where he was announced by a startled herald.

  “Sir Maliverny Catlyn, of Rushdale!”

  Mal stepped into the presence chamber, quickly taking in the princess seated at her embroidery frame, surrounded by her ladies-in-waiting. His eyes caught Coby’s for an instant, and his heart quickened. He thought he saw an answering blush rise from her collar, but courtesy drew his eyes back to the princess. There was no sign of Robert or the other male courtiers; no doubt they were washing off the dust of the road and slaking their thirsts. Mal bowed, catching sight of his own scuffed and begrimed boots, and wished he had thought to do the same.

  “Your Highness.”

  “Master Catlyn. How good of you to come and see me so promptly on your arrival.”

  “The court is much duller for the absence of its brightest jewel,” he replied. The formulaic praise was sour on his tongue, but the middle-aged princess smiled nonetheless.

  “Sit with us a while, sir. We were just enjoying a recital by my newest treasure, a castrato all the way from Italy.”

  “It would be my pleasure, Your Highness.”

  A servant brought forward a stool, and he settled down. His position was frustratingly far from his wife, but since she sat on the other side of the throne, they could exchange a glance or two without his having to turn his back on the princess. It would have to suffice for now.

  A Dutch harpsichord had been placed on a table, and two figures stood by it: a woman at the keyboard, and a man by her side. More than that, he could not make out for the bright sunlight streaming in through the enormous windows that occupied almost the entire far wall. The lady at the harpsichord began to play, and a few bars later her companion joined in, singing a countermelody with words in Italian. A chill ran down Mal’s spine. That voice. An image rose in his mind, of a darkened garden lit by glass lamps hanging from the trees, and a beautiful woman in an ivory silk half-mask, playing a lute. Olivia dalle Boccole. It was all he could do not to leap to his feet and denounce her on the spot, but a glance at Coby revealed that she was completely unaware of the danger. Perhaps he was mistaken. The singer was a eunuch, so of course his voice was high like a woman’s, and he was singing in Olivia’s native tongue, so of course he sounded a little like her. Mal forced himself to breathe slowly. Sandy’s anxiety at visiting the neighbourhood of their former torment was catching.

  When the song ended all the ladies clapped. Mal joined in belatedly, his hands still so tense they scarcely felt like his own.

  “Mistress Catlyn tells me you play the lute,” Princess Juliana said, when the applause had died down.

  “Alas, I have not played much these past few years, Your Highness. I would sound foolish indeed after such a fine performance.”

  “You are too modest, sir, just like your wife. But never fear, I shall not press you. Music should be a cause for joy, not dread.” She beckoned to the singer. “Come, let me introduce you to my servant, Bartolomeo Pellegrino, all the way from the choir of Santa Maria Maggiore in Rome.”

  The young man approached the throne and bowed curtly. Mal rose from his seat but froze on the verge of returning the courtesy. He had been right all along. Dark olive skin, full lips, and eyes the colour of jade. Olivia, brazenly disguised as a young man. Remembering himself he completed the gesture before the ladies could notice. Olivia on the other hand had not missed his hesitation. Her eyes twinkled with amusement.

  “A pleasure to meet you, Signor Catalin.”

  “And you. Sir.”

  Coby shot her husband a look of concern. The others surely hadn’t noticed it, but after five years together there was no mistaking the tension in his voice. His expression was guarded and he did not look her way, but she saw his left hand moving where it rested on his sword hilt: two taps of his index finger, two taps of the middle finger, over and over. Enemy sighted. She got to her feet.

  “Your Highness, may I beg your indulgence? My husband is no doubt weary from his ride, nor has he seen his son in many weeks, and I think Susanna will have roused Kit from his nap by now.”

  “Of course, my dear.” Princess Juliana rose. “Perhaps later I will have the pleasure of a dance, sir, if you will not play?”

  “I look forward to it, Your Highness.”

  He held out his arm, and Coby slipped her hand around his elbow as they walked out of the room.

  “I was going to warn you,” she whispered as they crossed the antechamber.

  “Not here,” he replied.

  She fell silent, resisting the urge to look back over her shoulder. So, Mal had instantly guessed that Bartolomeo was a spy. But how?

  The walk up to her apartments felt like it lasted an age, so anxious was she for answers. She kept glancing up at her husband, but his eyes were fixed straight ahead, his face pale. Coby’s stomach roiled.

  “Bad news?” she asked, the moment the outer door closed behind them.

  “The worst. Our young Italian friend downstairs is none other than Olivia dalle Boccole.”

  “The courtesan?” She stared at him, aghast.

  “Yes. Well, not a courtesan any more, of course. But still a guiser.”

  “How did she get away from Hennaq?”

  “How should I know? All that matters is that she did, and she’s here.”

  Sandy leapt up from the window seat. “Ilianwe, here?”

  A vivid flash of memory: amber eyes gazing up at him, white petals stuck to their bare skin. Ilianwe was Olivia’s soul-name, as Erishen was Sandy’s – and his own. She had taught him dreamwalking… and much else.

  “So it appears,” Mal replied, hoping his wife hadn’t noticed his discomposure. “And plotting revenge on the two of us, no doubt.”

  “What do we do?” Coby asked.

  “You and Kit cannot stay here,” Mal told her. “It is no longer safe.”

  “The Princess of Wales will think it very strange if I leave her service so soon. She may not even permit it.”

  “You are a married woman. If I say you must leave court, you must obey.”

  She frowned at him.

  “In law, I mean,” Mal said, putting an arm around her shoulder. She shrugged him off.

  “I can be of more use to you here,” she said. “If I leave, how do we spy on Olivia? You and Sandy can hardly stay here, especially with me gone.”

  “Then we will all stay here,” Sandy said.

  “No,” Mal replied. “Someone has to keep an eye on Prince Henry. And we still have not discovered his amayi.”

  Sandy made a noise of reluctant agreement and went to sit cross-legged on the rug near his nephew, who was stacking wooden bricks with fierce concentration.

  “I shall take Kit back to London,” Mal said at last.

  “What? No.” Coby crossed the room and stood between her husband and their son.

  “He will be safer there, with Sandy and me, than he could possibly be here. Olivia is vastly more powerful than any of the English guisers. In any case, soon he will be old enough for schooling. You must untie his leading strings sooner or later, my love.”

  “If you take him, Olivia will be suspicious. She will wonder why we are hiding him from her, and perhaps guess who he is.”

  “There is one way,” Sandy said. “I have held back from it, but…”

  “What?”

  “I can make him forget who and what he is. He will just be another little boy, as I was.”

  “You can do that?” She looked down at Kit, who had stopped his play and was watching the adults with curiosity.

  “Only with one so young. His soul is barely half-awake as it is.”

  “Isn’t that dangerous?” Mal said. “How could you wish your fate on anyone?�
��

  “This is different. He is whole, unbroken. And I will be there to help him when we no longer need him to hide.”

  For long moments no one spoke.

  “Do it,” Coby said softly.

  Sandy knelt and whispered something in the skrayling tongue, then pressed his forehead to Kit’s own. The boy’s eyes closed, and after a while he gave a little gasp. Sandy released him, and Kit went back to playing with his toys as if nothing had happened.

  Coby went to put a hand on Sandy’s arm, but he turned away and went to stand staring out of the window.

  “Well, that’s that,” Mal said. “Now, no more sadness. I have not ridden all this way for only a fleeting visit. Tonight we shall have a private supper together, and tomorrow you can show me the gardens.”

  “You just want to scout out secret ways into the palace,” Coby said, trying to sound petulant and failing utterly.

  “There, I knew that would put a smile on your face.” He took her hands in his. “We can pretend it’s the old days, just for a while.”

  She smiled up at him. “Yes, I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.”

  Mal threaded his way through the maze of courtyards and passages at the rear of Richmond Palace. He had still not had a chance to talk to the spy Lady Frances had spoken of, and he knew not how long the prince would want to stay at Richmond. If the hunting was poor, Robert might leave within the week. Mal had tried to arrange a rendezvous earlier, but Princess Juliana had held him to the promise of a dance and it was nearly midnight before he could get away. Coby had her own duties when the princess retired for the night, which left him with half an hour or so to fulfil his mission.

  The service buildings had fallen silent, all the servants snatching a few precious hours’ sleep before the whole great machine of court protocol started up again. The perfect time for a secret tryst. Mal slipped across another passage junction and out into a courtyard. Raindrops fell from the eaves into the hollows that millions of their predecessors had worn in the flagstones; the only other sound was the scuff and splash of Mal’s boots as the flags gave way to equally ancient cobbles.

  Lost in thought he turned a corner – and found himself face to face with the one person he did not wish to meet. Olivia. The former courtesan bowed and gave him an ironic smile.

  “It has been too long, Signor Catalin,” she said in that low husky voice that made the blood stir in his veins despite himself.

  “Three years? I would hardly call that too long.”

  She tipped her head to one side. “I suppose it is but the blink of an eye to our kind.”

  Mal couldn’t help glancing around. There was no one within sight, and all the windows in the surrounding walls were closed against the autumn chill.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked, perhaps a little more abruptly than he had intended. Dammit, she knew just how to get under his skin.

  “I grew lonely,” she said, with a pout. “You abandoned me, if you recall. Betrayed me.”

  “I had no choice.”

  “There is always a choice,” she hissed. She paused, as if reconsidering. “But it matters not. Thanks to you I have found a new home, with many companions to choose from.”

  Many? How many guisers were there in England? He reined in his impatience to question her. She was probably bluffing.

  “I won’t let you stay here,” he said.

  “Oh? And how will you get rid of me?” She folded her arms. “Expose my true sex, perhaps? That would be a scandal, a woman disguising herself as a young man for months at a time.”

  She fell silent, but the unspoken threat was as clear as day. Expose “Bartolomeo” as a woman, and Olivia would denounce Coby for the same and worse.

  “The skraylings still want you back,” he said. “I’m sure we can find you a safer route home this time.”

  Olivia laughed. “If the skraylings were so anxious to have me, I’m sure they would have done something by now. Alas for you, I think they value their trade with England more than one poor lost soul.”

  “They don’t want to see a guiser on the throne any more than I do.”

  “But I’m not on the throne, am I? Besides, that was never my way, as well you know–”

  Footsteps sounded behind him. Mal turned to see the source, and when he turned back, Olivia was gone. He cursed loudly, earning a startled look from the gardener’s boy whose arrival had given Olivia the means to evade him.

  “Master Catlyn?” the boy whispered. “I have the report you asked for.”

  Mal drew the boy aside, well away from any hiding places where they could be overheard, and listened to his recitation. The lad was illiterate, of course, but sometimes that was for the best. No written evidence to betray them.

  “And you’re certain the alchemist has not been seen at Syon House this past twelvemonth?” he asked when the boy was finished.

  “Aye, sir. Jennet knows all the ways in and out and the secret places–” Even in the dark, Mal could tell the boy was blushing “–and she says he’s not been there since before Michaelmas last.”

  Mal thanked him and gave him a handful of money for his pains; small coins that would not draw attention in the hand of an ill-paid servant. No use in pursuing an invitation to Syon House, then. Wherever Northumberland was keeping his pet alchemist, it wasn’t at home.

  CHAPTER XV

  Though Mal’s presence at Richmond did much to lighten her days, Coby had not forgotten her other duties. There was still the question of Lady Derby’s visits to Syon House; if she was not going to meet Shawe or any of her lovers, what was she up to? Then there was Lady Frances’s daughter to keep an eye on. Through patient coaxing Coby learnt that Elizabeth had grown up at her grandfather’s house, Barn Elms, only a few miles east of Richmond Palace. It sounded a lonely childhood, with only nursemaids and tutors for company and occasional visits from her widowed mother. No wonder she was endlessly excited by even the dullest activities at court, though at the same time painfully shy and fearful of attention.

  One afternoon they were sitting together in one of the window seats, making the most of the fading light. “Bartolomeo” had just finished entertaining them with a song and was refreshing his throat with a cup of honeyed wine.

  “He sings so prettily,” Elizabeth said, gazing at Bartolomeo with ill-disguised admiration. “I wish I could speak Italian. Mamma made sure I learnt French and Latin and even a little Greek, but Master Cottenham said Italian was not a fit tongue for ladies: too passionate and like to turn their thoughts astray.”

  “I think your tutor was right,” Coby replied.

  She was not about to encourage the girl by teaching her the few Italian phrases she remembered from her time in Venice. On the contrary, the less Elizabeth had to do with Olivia the better, especially if her betrothed was Jathekkil’s amayi. Poor child, caught in the midst of such scheming without the slightest idea of what was going on.

  The room fell silent as a page in the livery of the Prince of Wales’s household entered.

  “Your Highness,” the youth said, staring straight ahead, “your royal husband requests the pleasure of your company, and that of your ladies and your servant Bartolomeo, at tomorrow morning’s hunt.”

  Elizabeth immediately set her sewing down on her lap and leaned forward, eyes bright with anticipation.

  The princess’s lips tightened briefly. “Please thank His Highness, but as he well knows, I care little for the hunting.”

  A sigh of disappointment ran around the ladies-in-waiting. Elizabeth’s shoulders sagged, and Coby glimpsed bitter frustration in Lady Derby’s countenance before she managed to hide it. The countess had set her sights higher than the Earl of Essex, it seemed. Perhaps it would be wise to find out just where her ambitions lay.

  “Such a pity,” Coby said brightly. “I expect the Earl of Rutland will want to ride out with his betrothed, but she cannot go alone.”

  The princess frowned at her. “Well, I suppose there can be no harm
if you accompany her, my dear. I would not keep the gentlemen from their pleasures.”

  “Lady Catlyn cannot be relied upon to watch Mistress Sidney,” Lady Derby said. “Her husband will surely be there, and he will forever be distracting her.”

  The ladies giggled, and Coby flushed. She thought she and Mal had been discreet here, far more discreet than back home in Derbyshire.

  “Perhaps we should both go, Lady Derby,” Coby said. “I am sure you are far less easily distracted than I.”

  Juliana’s eyes narrowed, and Coby cursed her misstep. Now it looked as if the two of them were colluding to get Lady Derby and the prince together.

  “Oh no, I d-d-don’t want to be any trouble,” Elizabeth said, twisting her hands in her lap. “I will gladly stay here, Your Highness–”

  “Nonsense, my dear,” Princess Juliana said stiffly. “Of course you must go, Lady Derby. You look so pinched and thin these days; a little fresh air will do you good.”

  Lady Derby bridled almost imperceptibly at the insult but forced a smile. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

  The atmosphere in the princess’s presence chamber was frosty for the rest of the afternoon, and Coby was relieved beyond measure when she and the other ladies were finally excused. Lady Derby caught Coby’s elbow as they left.

  “Thank you for what you said earlier, Lady Catlyn. I swear I feel like a caged bird here.”

  Yes, well, nothing is keeping you here but your own wicked ambition.

  “It is rather dull sometimes,” Coby replied aloud. “I am glad to have a friend who feels the same way.”

  “We could be sisters,” Lady Derby gave her a disarming smile. “Now, if you will excuse me, I had better tell my maidservant to unpack my riding habit.”

  Coby watched her leave with a sinking heart. A riding habit? That was not something she had thought of when she put together a wardrobe for her new station in life. She ran upstairs to look through her gowns in the hope of finding something suitable.

  Early next morning Coby made her way down to the stable yard with Elizabeth Sidney. They had been invited to the formal breakfast before the hunt, but Elizabeth was so nervous and excited that she looked fit to vomit up the rich food. Instead they breakfasted in Coby’s apartments on bread and small ale. Mal had already left to attend upon the prince, and Sandy was taking Kit for an early walk, so they had the place to themselves for a while. The peace and solitude seemed to soothe Elizabeth’s nerves, and at last she felt able to take Coby’s hand and go down to join the hunt.