“I didn’t want to get your hopes up,” Nat said. “But it’s real, Lucy. It’ll bring us out farther down the Thames. And I have everything in readiness: a bit of food, some money, disguises. We can go this very night. In fact, I think we’d better.”
“You mean now?” I missed Norfolk terribly, but the suddenness of his plans disconcerted me. The candle wobbled in my hand.
“There’s no better time. The whole palace is in an uproar because of the attack on the King. It will be a while before anyone can take stock and count heads. And by then, we’ll be well on our way to—well, to where we’re going.”
“And where is that?”
Nat’s voice, already low, dipped still lower. “Holland, I think. At least at first. I have friends there—botanists and engineers that I’ve corresponded with, and others I met when I was there, and some merchants, too. They’re good men; I’m sure they’d help us. And I’ve picked up some of the language, which will be useful.”
“But Holland, Nat. It’s a long way to go.”
“Well, it’s not as if I can bring you back to Norfolk. That’s the first place they’ll look.”
He was right; I realized that as soon as he said it. But the truth was that Norfolk was the only place I wanted to go—to my own small home by the sea. The home that I owed to the King’s grace and favor, I thought with a sinking heart. One that he might well take away from me, if I escaped in the night mere hours after he himself had been attacked.
“We could go somewhere else on the Continent, if you’d rather,” Nat said. “In fact, we’ll almost certainly need to move around a fair amount at first, to shake off any pursuit. But I think Holland’s the best place to start.”
He was so determined, so certain. Which made it all the harder for me to clear my throat and say, “Nat, I’m not sure about this.”
He looked at me, startled. “Not sure about what?”
“About the whole plan. Not just Holland, but running away. I’m not sure it makes sense.”
“It makes perfect sense,” he said heatedly.
“But if we run now, they might suspect us of trying to murder the King.”
“They might suspect us of that anyway,” Nat said. “Especially you. That sleepwalking story is bad enough, but if Sybil tells them what really happened—”
“She won’t.”
“She might, if they put enough pressure on her. Or if that’s part of her plan.”
It was an uncomfortable thought. “But what if we go, and she tells it to everyone then? I won’t be able to defend myself, and they’ll have every reason to blame me. We’ll be outlaws, Nat. We’ll be hunted.”
“I’ll keep you safe,” Nat promised. “I swear I will. And once you’re out of here, I’ll bet anything that your magic comes back.”
“And what if it doesn’t?”
“It will,” Nat said again. “Maybe not at first, but after a while. And when it does, you’ll have other ways of staying hidden.”
“Maybe so,” I said doubtfully. “But I don’t want a life where I have to hide all the time. Where I daren’t show my face in my own country.” A new thought smote me. “And Norrie—oh, Nat, what about Norrie? I can’t leave her behind.”
“She would understand,” Nat said, but I heard the first note of uncertainty in his voice.
“I’m not sure she would. And anyway, it doesn’t matter whether she understands or not. The point is I don’t want to go without her.”
“She could follow us,” Nat suggested.
I shook my head. “If we go, she’d be the first person they’d track down. They’d never let her leave the country.”
“Maybe so,” Nat conceded. “But it wouldn’t be forever. Eventually they’ll find the real culprit, and then we could come back.”
“You think they’d have us back?” I looked at him in disbelief. He was so intent on running that he was willfully ignoring every problem that stood in the way. “If we go, we’d be leaving them in the lurch. We’d be disobeying the King. And if they don’t find the crucible in time, they’d blame us all our lives. Wrexham would have us branded traitors outright.”
“We can work all that out,” Nat said. “Wrexham’s influence won’t last forever, and neither will this alchemy craze. What’s important is that we get you out of here alive.” In the penumbra of the candle’s flame, his eyes burned. “Someone in this palace tried to do murder tonight. And that same someone might try to murder you.” His voice grew more desperate. “I have to take you somewhere safe, Lucy.”
It was impossible not to be moved by his words, and even more by the love I knew lay behind them. But I couldn’t go along with a plan that would make us outlaws for life. A plan that would leave Norrie to face old age alone. A plan that—for all Nat’s certainty—might not even get us safely to the Continent.
I set the candle on the table, stalling for time as I tried to find the right words. But what was there to say, except the plain truth?
“I can’t do it, Nat. I can’t run away.”
“Lucy—” He reached out a hand.
I wanted to take it, to feel his strong fingers against mine. Instead, I twisted my hands behind my back. “Please, Nat. Don’t ask this of me. I can’t go.”
He let his hand drop. I felt a shift in the air between us.
“You really mean it,” he said. “You won’t go.”
“I can’t.”
“You’d rather stay here than go with me.”
Did I imagine it, or was there a slight emphasis on ‘me’? “Nat, if things were different, I would go anywhere with you—”
“And yet you don’t.” His eyes were guarded now, his face pale. “Even with a murderer on the loose. Even with the Council trying to marry you off. You’d rather face all that than run away with me.” A flash of pain crossed his face. “I guess that tells me where I stand.”
“It’s not like that,” I said. “You know it isn’t.”
He was already striding toward the door.
This time I was the one who put out a hand. “Nat!”
He left without looking back.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
EVERY INCH A CHANTRESS
After Nat walked out, I stood stunned. I hadn’t seen any of it coming—not Nat’s proposal, not the argument, and not the pain in his eyes when I’d turned him down.
Was there any way to make him understand that it was his plan I was rejecting, not him? Perhaps not, but I needed to try. I ran out of the room, then stopped. Which way had he gone?
“My lady!” Margery burst in on me. “Where have you been? You must come. They want to see you.”
Her eyes snapped with anger—or was it with fear?
Pulse racing, I asked, “Who commands it?”
“The Earl of Wrexham, my lady, and the Council. They’ve ordered the guards to bring you to the East Tower for questioning.”
I stiffened. Wrexham wanted to question me? And in the East Tower, the most heavily fortified part of the palace? That couldn’t be anything but bad news.
Margery’s eyes narrowed as she regarded my disheveled nightclothes. “But you can’t go looking like that.”
I couldn’t believe it. A moment as grave as this, and her first thought was for clothes.
Before I could respond, two guards darted into the adjoining room. “There she is!”
That settled it. I had no hope of finding Nat now. I could only face Wrexham and the Council with as much confidence as I could muster. And there was some justice in that, I supposed, for wasn’t that what I had told Nat—that I must stay and demonstrate my loyalty?
It was easier said than done.
Taking a deep breath to fortify myself, I held up my hand as the guards approached me. They stopped short and looked at me uncertainly. Did they fear I would work a song-spell on them?
If only I could. . . .
I tried to disguise my lack of magic with poise. “I am going to the East Tower,” I said serenely. “Will you kindly a
ccompany me there?”
After that, the guards treated me with a measure of respect—a victory, if a small one. They even allowed me to stop in my rooms. There Margery covered my nightgown with a velvet cloak the seamstresses had hastily sewn for me that afternoon.
Perhaps it is as simple as that, I told myself. If I am bold, if I speak bravely, if I am every inch a Chantress . . . then everything will be fine.
My confidence disintegrated, however, as we reached the East Tower. Behind its thick doors, I heard Sybil’s voice raised high in distress.
What were they doing to her? And what was she telling them?
It cost me a great effort to hold my head high as the guards closed in behind me. In front of me, another set of guards opened the Tower doors.
The King, it seemed, was too injured to preside over this Council himself. Instead, it was Wrexham who was in charge. Although he did not sit on the throne, he stood on a dais just in front of it, his face full of wrath. A small throng of Council members had gathered before him, and I could just make out Sybil’s golden curls at their center.
“Chantress.” Wrexham practically spat out the word as I was ushered in.
The Council members turned, and I saw they were mostly Wrexham’s cronies. Gabriel was there, too, perhaps as a witness, but Penebrygg and Sir Samuel were absent. Were they with Sir Isaac? Or had Wrexham simply not wanted them there?
“My lords and gentlemen.” I greeted them with due decorum, standing tall in my velvet cloak. Margery’s concern about clothes had been justified, I had to admit. Even though it was the middle of the night, Wrexham was dressed in all his usual grandeur, as were the other Council members. I would not have wanted to appear before them in only my nightclothes, as Sybil did.
As the Council members parted and allowed me into their circle, I could see her plainly: the curls hanging down, the nightgown askew, the fear writ large on her face. She looked at me as if she were drowning, and I were the branch that could save her.
All my instincts yearned to help. But at the same time Nat’s question rang like a warning bell inside me: Could it have been Sybil who put the pictures in your head?
Wrexham beckoned me forward. “Our King has been attacked in the dead of night. What have you to say to that?”
“How does he fare?”
“He will recover, but that is not the point.” Wrexham did not shout, but I could hear his rage. “When the King was attacked, where were you?”
Be careful. “I do not know when the attack happened, my lord. Not exactly. If you could tell me—”
“Half past midnight or shortly thereafter, by the King’s own reckoning. And now I hear from Lord Gabriel that you and Miss Dashwood were up and about at that same hour.”
What story had Sybil told him? The truth or the lie? I must be careful, very careful, to say as little as possible till I knew. “Yes, my lord. We were.”
“And what were you doing?”
I feigned surprise. “Did Miss Dashwood not tell you?”
Wrexham stared me down. “Her account leaves a great deal to be desired. And in any case, I should like to hear it in your own words.”
I was cornered. Which story?
Behind me, I heard a sudden commotion.
“Miss Dashwood has fainted!” someone cried.
I looked back and saw Sybil pulling herself up from the floor, looking wan. She caught my eye for the barest fraction of a second, then bowed her head to Wrexham. “Forgive me, my lord. I was dizzy, and my leg fell asleep. It will not happen again.”
Fell asleep? That settled it. I turned back to Wrexham. “Miss Dashwood came to my room, my lord. She behaved strangely, and after a time I realized she was sleepwalking . . .”
I kept the tale simple, fearing that embroidery could get us into trouble.
“A most peculiar story,” Wrexham said coldly when I was done. “In all that time you saw no one? You heard nothing?”
“Nothing, my lord.”
“And you did nothing?”
The room went quiet. I straightened my shoulders. “What do you mean?”
“Exactly what I say. While you were abroad in the night, our King was attacked.”
“I would never harm the King.” I could hear my voice rising higher. I forced it down again, and lifted my chin. “How dare you even suggest such a thing?”
Wrexham’s cold eyes watched me, unmoving. No one spoke for me, not even Gabriel. Did Wrexham hold them all in the palm of his hand? Did they dare not speak against him? Or was it even worse than that—did they truly have doubts about my loyalty?
I appealed to them. “My lords, gentlemen, this is nonsense. What possible reason could I have to attack the King? Remember, please, that I am the one who restored his kingdom to him, not twelve months ago.” There was no room for modesty here; I had to fight with everything I had.
“Yes, you did,” Lord Roxburgh agreed, his beady eyes spiteful. “And look what has happened since then. The country is coming apart at the seams. The people are in open revolt.”
He was blaming me for this? “My lord, magic cannot fix everything.”
As I spoke, Wrexham’s eyes flared. “Not if it is wielded by an enemy to the Crown.”
An enemy to the Crown? Indignation choked me at first, and then—as I watched his face—fear. He was serious.
“My lords, let us not be too hasty.” Gabriel came to my defense. I turned to him, trying not to show how relieved I was to have his support.
Gabriel spread his hands wide, appealing to the whole Council. “The Chantress has pleaded innocence. Shall we not allow her a chance to show her loyalty?” He gave me a brief, earnest glance, as if to say, I’m doing all I can to help. “I know you weren’t able to find the thief when you arrived, Chantress, but by then the crime was some days old. Perhaps now, when the trail is so fresh, more can be done.” He turned to Wrexham. “Surely we must allow her to try.”
My stomach flipped. Gabriel had gone out on a limb for me—but what a limb. Now I was in greater danger than ever, for Wrexham was nodding.
“Yes,” he said. “A most excellent test.”
“My lord—” I began.
Wrexham cut me off. “No more words, Chantress. Only deeds.” His eyes glittered, hard and brilliant as the jewels in his rings. “You will use your magic, here and now, to find the King’s assassin. Otherwise, we will know you for a traitor.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
OUT OF THIN AIR
Swallowing hard, I struggled to speak. “You want me to work magic? Now?”
“Yes.” Wrexham’s face might have been chiseled from stone. Could he sense my fear?
My mind skittered here and there, trying to find a way to evade him. “My lord, it is the middle of the night—”
“Are you saying you cannot do magic at night?” Lord Roxburgh said in disbelief.
Even Sybil looked surprised.
I flushed. “No, I am not. I am only saying . . .” What could I say? Nothing about scrying, that much was clear. It was singing they wanted. Anything else would not satisfy—and might raise questions I did not want to answer. Besides, the power in scrying still frightened me, for I did not know where it came from, or what it might do.
“God’s blood, Chantress!” Wrexham shouted. “It is just as I suspected: You will not do magic—not for us, not for your King. Not even when your life depends upon it.”
My life? Did he really mean that? I looked straight at him, and saw the cold light in his eyes.
Yes, he really did.
Panicked, I said, “My lord, please understand: magic is not as simple as asking and getting.”
“It seems simple enough from where I stand,” Wrexham said. “If you value your life, you will find the assassin for us. Now.”
Fear cinched my throat. My godmother had been right. We are hunted; we are prey. I was surrounded by men who hated me, who would kill me without pity if I showed any weakness.
Even if I confessed that I had no
magic, they would never believe me. They would say I was lying, that my very denial proved me a traitor. I was well and truly trapped. I had to sing; I had to be seen to work magic. . . .
Be bold, be brave, be every inch a Chantress . . .
Through the haze of panic in my head, a rough plan started to take shape. It was a gamble, at best. But a gamble was better than nothing.
My cape swirled as I drew myself upward. “Very well. I will sing for you,” I said. “But first we must go to the room where the King was attacked. If the magic is to work, it must be done there.”
† † †
Wrexham ordered me to walk in front of him. “For your safety, Chantress,” he said, but it was like having a dagger drawn at my back.
With torches lighting our way, we trailed out of the East Tower, all of us in company. No one wanted to miss the possibility of magic. Unless perhaps it was my downfall that some of them hoped to see? Even Sybil came with us, for Wrexham was loath to let her go.
At first I did not recognize the route we traveled, but when we stopped, I saw we were in a chamber very close to the one that held Nat’s secret room. Its paneled walls shone like polished ebony against the blazing torches.
It was not a large room, and it felt even smaller when the entire company had assembled inside it. As they settled themselves, I studied the walls and windows and floor, searching for any clues I might use in my “magic.” There was little to work with.
“So, Chantress.” Even without the dais, Wrexham still towered over me. “We are here. Prove your loyalty.”
“So I shall,” I said, pretending to a confidence I did not have. “But first may I remind you: magic has its limits. No matter what you or I may wish, I cannot find the crucible out of thin air. Neither can I pluck out assassins and poisoners and present them to you on a plate.”
A murmur of dissatisfaction ran through the crowd.
I raised my voice. “It is possible, however, that by magic means I may be able to learn something of what occurred here tonight. The crime is so recent and the struggle so brutal that an impression of it may yet remain in the very fabric of the place. I will use my magic to discover what I can. May it lead us to the villain.”
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