“You knew him when he was small?” I led her over to the fire, where we pulled our chairs close.
“Long before he was King, yes. Back when he was merely Lord Henry Seymour. Our fathers were friends, and I can remember dancing with him and playing hide-and-seek when we were small. He was two years older, and I used to trail him around the gardens, asking him to pick daisies for my daisy chains.” Her eyes were bright with affection. “It must have been most dreadfully annoying, but he never said so. He was kind even then.”
Sybil and the King? It was not a pairing that could come to anything, not when the King was determined to marry as the Council directed. But still the attachment was there—at least on Sybil’s side.
“He looked dreadful today, though.” Sybil’s eyes lost some of their brightness. “Poor man. He’s hoarse as a crow, and his neck is a mass of bruises. And yet he continues to drive himself hard. The doctors told him to rest this morning, but he still insisted on meeting with Wrexham. And then a new report came in about Boudicca, and since then he’s been cloistered with his war leaders for hours at a time.”
“What report about Boudicca?”
“Oh my dear,” Sybil said. “Has no one told you? More men than ever are flocking to her banner; some say she’s assembling an army. And she’s coming closer to us every day. It’s quite alarming. Between that and the search for your Nat, the Court’s in an uproar.”
My hand tensed on the damask of the chair. “They still haven’t found him?”
“Nat? No.”
Such relief!
“That’s part of why it took me so long to see the King,” Sybil said. “When he wasn’t with the Inner Council, he was arguing with Wrexham about the best way to handle matters. And I thought it best to wait till Wrexham had gone. If he’d gotten wind of what I wanted, he’d have quashed the visit. He’s scary, Lucy. Last night, before you came in, when he was questioning me . . .” Sybil trailed off and shuddered. “I don’t want to see you married to a brute like that.”
“He’s even worse than you imagine,” I said. “That’s why I had to see you. I need your help to get away from him.”
Sybil turned wise eyes on me. “Because you’ve lost your magic?”
My breath stopped. I tried to shape a denial, but nothing came out.
Although her gaze was sympathetic, she missed nothing. “So it’s true. I thought so.”
I gave up. “How did you guess?”
“Your song. My grandmother taught me how to recognize Chantress music—and whatever you sang, it wasn’t that. And I knew you’d already seen the queen by scrying.”
“But when I sang, you looked as impressed as everyone else.”
“Did you think I would give you away?” Sybil said indignantly. “I’m a better friend than that.”
“You haven’t told anyone?”
“Of course not,” she said with fierce kindness. “I can keep a secret sometimes, you know. Especially when it’s as important as this. But how did it happen? How did you lose your magic?”
I decided I might as well tell her everything. Maybe she could help.
“It simply disappeared,” I said. “Somewhere on the journey to Greenwich, I think. Or possibly right after I arrived.” I summed up the circumstances as quickly as I could, worried that Margery might return at any moment.
When I finished, Sybil thoughtfully prodded at the carpet with her slipper. “There are only so many ways a Chantress can lose her powers, you know.”
“What are they?”
“You might have done it to yourself, singing the wrong Wild Magic. Or else someone’s done this to you, with some magic of their own.”
“Wrexham said—back when I arrived—that he had a way of protecting himself against my magic. Is that possible? Could he have done this to me?”
Sybil tucked her slippers under her chair, considering this. “With some kind of talisman, you mean?”
“Do such things really exist?”
“Maybe,” Sybil said. “Mama thought so, anyway. And it certainly would explain why Wrexham was such a good Chantress-hunter.”
“Why wouldn’t he have told Scargrave about it?” I wondered.
“Because if he had, Scargrave would have taken it,” Sybil guessed. “And I expect he wouldn’t have wanted anyone to know he had an unfair advantage.”
I clasped my arms restlessly. “So you think he’s the one who’s done this to me?”
Sybil shook her head. “I’m not sure about that. In a couple of Mama’s old books, there were stories about talismans that could protect their owners from Chantress song-spells. But their power was limited. They could only make a single person safe from Chantress magic; they couldn’t destroy a Chantress’s magic entirely. So even if Wrexham does have a talisman, I think there must be some other magic at work here—either some mistake of yours, or an enemy’s spell.”
“Then we’re back where we started,” I said, discouraged.
“Oh, it doesn’t matter which it is,” Sybil said cheerfully. “Either way, the solution is the same.”
“There’s a solution?” I was elated.
“Yes. Ordinarily the best way to fix things would be to go to another Chantress for help—”
“I can’t do that. There’s no one to go to.” My voice rose in panic. Was there no way to get my magic back?
As Sybil put her finger to her lips, a great banging and thumping came from the door.
Wrexham? Margery? Heart racing, I held my breath, but the door didn’t open. Instead, after some more insistent hammering, everything went quiet again.
Unnerved, I turned to Sybil. “What else can I do? Tell me quickly.”
“Well, that’s the wonderful thing,” Sybil said. “There’s another cure that’s said to be infallible: the Philosopher’s Stone. But you have to be the first one to touch it.”
“What?” I stared at her in consternation. “The alchemists never said any such thing—”
“That’s because they don’t know.” Sybil gave me a conspiratorial grin. “It’s a Chantress secret. I only know because my grandmother told my mother, and my mother told me. Mama always harbored the hope that if I were to touch a Philosopher’s Stone, I would find my Chantress powers; that’s why she spent so much time with alchemists. But Grandmama said it didn’t work that way. The Stone only restores power to those who had it in the first place.”
“Are you sure?”
Sybil nodded. “Grandmama explained it this way: an ordinary human who touches the Stone will find himself healed of any illness affecting his body or mind. And it’s much the same for someone with magic: if your magic has been damaged or broken, the Stone heals that, too. But for that, you have to touch it first, before anyone else has. Otherwise, the Stone won’t have enough power in it.” She looked at me anxiously. “Do you think you could do that?”
I seesawed between hope and dread. “I’ve got a fighting chance, I think. Provided we succeed in making the Stone.”
“I shouldn’t worry about that,” Sybil said. “Now that the crucible is back, Sir Isaac has everything well in hand. Or so I hear.”
“But he needs my help.” I told Sybil about his request and the reason for it. “He thinks I’m powerful, you see—and I can’t tell him how weak I am; I can’t tell him the truth. The whole experiment may fail because of me.”
Sybil frowned and twined a curl around her finger, so tight the tip turned almost purple. “What exactly did Flamel ask for?”
“A powerful woman, Sir Isaac said. Powerful and incorruptible.”
“Did Flamel say anything about her having magic?”
“No, I don’t think so. Not specifically—”
Sybil released the curl and relaxed. “Then we don’t need to worry.”
“But—”
“We don’t need to worry,” Sybil repeated. “Lucy, you’re the most powerful woman I know, and that’s true whether you have magic or not. Look at the way you’ve kept your weakness hidden. You fooled
everyone but me last night. You had those men hanging on every word you said.”
“But it was a trick,” I said. “It wasn’t real power.”
“That’s as real as it gets for most of us,” Sybil said with uncharacteristic soberness. “Most power’s an illusion, Grandmama used to say. But you need courage and strength of character to carry it off—and that, my dear, you have in spades.” She tilted her head. “Although in your case, I think you must still have a bit of magic left, given how the scrying went.”
“I tried it again,” I said, “last night. And I saw—” I looked up and stopped short.
The door between Margery’s room and my own was open a crack. Surely it had been closed earlier. Was someone there?
Without another word, I leaped for the door and yanked it open.
Behind it stood Margery.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
SURROUNDED
My hand flew to my heart. “Margery! How did you get in?”
How long had she been there? I thought frantically. And how much had she heard?
Looking less composed than usual, Margery stepped into the room. Her cheeks were pink, and wisps of hair had fallen out from her neat cap. “I came through the other door, my lady.”
“There’s another door?” I peered into the dark room. “Where? I never saw it.”
“You wouldn’t have, my lady.” Margery pointed to the far end wall. “It’s behind the tapestry there. It locks on the outside, and it’s not often used. They only opened it for me because the usual door is stuck shut. Didn’t you hear them hammering at it?”
I remembered the banging. “We didn’t know what it was.”
“The bar’s wedged fast,” Margery said. “Someone’s been summoned to fix it, but until then we have to use this door. I’m sorry if I disturbed you.”
“Oh, you didn’t disturb us,” Sybil said, rising from her place by the fire. “Why, we didn’t even hear you coming.”
“That would’ve been the tapestry, Miss Dashwood,” Margery said. “It muffles the sound. And the guards kept everything quiet. They wanted their bit of fun and laughed to think I might come upon you unawares. Although, in fact, it’s you who’ve surprised me. I was looking all over the palace for you, Miss Dashwood, without any luck, only to find you here.”
“It’s a terrible maze of a place, isn’t it?” Sybil said. “Though I believe I saw you. At least it looked like you, waiting just outside the Earl of Wrexham’s rooms.”
“Outside his rooms?” Margery shook her head sharply. “Oh no, miss. I had no call to be there.”
Sybil and I exchanged a quick glance.
“Well, never mind,” Sybil said. “I’m here, and that’s what matters.”
“Yes, miss.” Margery dipped a small curtsy. “I’ll just straighten up the room now, if you please.”
Sybil prolonged her visit for another few minutes, but it did us no good. With Margery there—twitching at the draperies, clearing crumbs from the table—we couldn’t say anything of significance. But when Sybil took her leave of me, she hinted at what was really on her mind. “I hope she didn’t hear,” she whispered in my ear.
I didn’t dare whisper back; Margery was watching me.
Had she overheard what we had said about the Philosopher’s Stone? Was she planning to report it to Wrexham? After Sybil left, it was all I could think about.
My fears increased as the hours passed, for Margery grew ever more remote and preoccupied, and her eyes kept wandering to the door. It was not until after supper, however, that she actually tried to leave.
“I must see the seamstresses again, my lady,” she said.
“Oh, please don’t go!” I clutched at my stomach. “Stay with me, please, Margery. I—I’m not feeling well.” Anything to keep her from going to Wrexham before we made the Stone.
Margery came back from the door. “You’re not well? What’s wrong?”
“Queasiness.” I passed a hand over my eyes. “And a headache.”
Margery looked alarmed. “I’ll fetch the Royal Physician.”
Now I was alarmed. “No, no. Please, Margery—I truly couldn’t bear having that man look me over. I don’t think it’s serious. It’s just that I don’t want to be alone when I’m feeling ill.”
Margery’s lips tightened. “Very well, my lady. I will stay. But why don’t you go to bed, my lady? Sleep is what you need.”
“No, no.” I stayed seated in my chair. “Lying down would only make the queasiness worse.”
Still tight-lipped, Margery brought out some mending and sat down across from me.
“I’ll help you,” I said. It was as good a way as any to keep a close watch on her.
“It’s not your place, my lady.” She stopped threading her needle and gave me a sharp look. “And I thought you said you had a headache. Sewing will only make it worse.”
“I’m not sure that’s true,” I said, but I didn’t offer again to help. Instead, I watched her work and wondered what she was thinking. As the time passed, it got harder not to yawn, harder not to lean my head against the pillows that Margery insisted on bringing to me.
“You look so tired, my lady. And it’s growing late. Really, you ought to go to bed.”
“No, no,” I said. “I’ll feel better if I stay upright.”
Even if I hadn’t been determined to keep watch over Margery, I couldn’t have slept. I had too much on my mind. Besides Margery, there was so much else to worry about: the Great Work and the Stone and Wrexham and Nat . . .
. . . and yet somehow I fell asleep anyway, right there in my chair. The next thing I knew, someone was shaking me awake.
I blinked sleepily. “Margery?”
“She’s not here,” a man said roughly. “You must get up, Chantress.”
“Margery’s gone?”
Snapping awake, I saw Rowan Knollys and four guards standing before me. Candlelight gleamed on their pikes and illuminated the clock behind them. It was half past three.
“The King and the Earl of Wrexham wish to see you,” Knollys said. “You must come at once.”
The King and Wrexham? I shrank back in my chair. Margery must have betrayed me. “No. I—I cannot.”
“My lady Chantress, you must. They await you downstairs.” Knollys raised the candle higher. “We are here to escort you.”
Even as I flinched, four of the men came and surrounded me. It was true: I had no choice but to go with them. I wrapped myself in my velvet cloak, and they marched me off.
At first, as we tramped through grand rooms of state and down dim gilded staircases, I could hear only the sound of their boots. But when we neared the Great Hall, my heart slammed into my throat, for I could hear Wrexham shouting.
“The woman is a traitor, Your Majesty. She deserves to die!”
There was no time to think, no chance to run. The doors to the Great Hall stood open. Propelled by the guards, I flew straight through them. Torches blazed everywhere. The guards halted and fanned out.
I stood alone before the dais where Wrexham and the King awaited me. They stood shoulder to shoulder, like comrades in battle, although only Wrexham was dressed in armor. Margery was nowhere to be seen.
The King motioned me forward. Willing myself to be strong, I stepped onto the dais.
“My lady Chantress,” the King said hoarsely, “we have been waiting for you.”
Whatever Margery and Wrexham had said about me, I was determined to stand up for myself. “I have done nothing wrong, Your Majesty. I swear it.”
I saw surprise in the King’s face. “No one suggested you had.”
Next to him, Wrexham narrowed his eyes, but spoke no words of accusation.
Was my secret safe, then? Was this about something else entirely? “Then why have I been brought here?”
“Because we have an enemy at our throats.” Wrexham spat the name out: “Boudicca.”
Not me. That was all I could think at first, with relief so powerful it overwhelmed everything.
Margery must have kept her own counsel after all. Or perhaps she hadn’t overheard anything in the first place.
The King was speaking to me.
“Lord Wrexham’s scouts report that she has been using black magic against us,” he was saying. “They say also that she aims at the throne.”
“Black magic?” I was startled. “Are you sure?”
“Do you doubt my scouts?” Wrexham growled. “They say whole villages empty out and follow her as she passes—as if she were the Devil, and they were dancing to her tune. And she’s used her magic to creep up on us too. There was much fog along the river today, perfect cover for their crossing. An hour ago, our scouts spied her only two miles from here—with over three thousand men.”
Proof of magic? Not to me. Hunger and desperation might account for the followers, and fog was hardly unknown on these reaches of the Thames.
The King looked a little doubtful too.
“Do you have any other evidence of magic?” I asked Wrexham. I was wary of setting off his temper, but I hoped he would keep himself in check in front of the King.
“What more do you need?” Wrexham’s armored fist clenched. “We ought to have crushed her right at the start.” He turned to the King. “But better late than never, Your Majesty. Now that you’ve given me leave, I’ll give her the beating she deserves. Her magic will be no match for my strength.”
“You must not be the first to attack, Wrexham,” the King rasped out. “I don’t doubt your courage or your skill, but I meant what I said. Perhaps there is still a possibility of parley.”
“Parley? At this stage, when she has us nearly surrounded?” Wrexham could barely restrain his temper. “Your Majesty, this is a war—”
“We cannot be sure of that,” the King said, his words ragged but emphatic. “Lady Chantress, is there anything you can do to bring Boudicca to the table?”
As he and Wrexham looked to me for an answer, Sir Isaac mounted the dais and joined us.
“Not at such a distance,” I temporized.
“If you were closer, perhaps,” the King suggested.
“There is no time for that, Your Majesty.” Sir Isaac still looked rather white and drawn, but his hands had a firm grip on the metal box that held Flamel’s papers. “It is almost time to begin the Great Work. We cannot spare her.”
Chantress Alchemy Page 20
