by Cynthia Hand
“Oh. I spoke to my uncles. They send their deepest condolences.”
Francis rubbed at his eyes. “They must be distressed, to know that I am now the king. I don’t think they’ve ever liked me.”
“Actually, they—”
She almost told him about what she’d overheard them saying yesterday, concerning Montgomery. About her suspicions. Her doubts.
But Francis had enough to deal with.
“They do like you,” she said, instead. “They seem quite optimistic, in fact, at the prospect of you being king. And they said I must help you, in any way I can. Which of course I will. You’re not alone, Francis. We can bear this burden together.”
She reached and took his hand. He squeezed it.
“Yes, thank you,” he said. “I don’t know what I would do without you, Mary. I really don’t.”
She twisted her wedding ring around her finger. Her uncles were cunning. They had tricked her. They had spied on her. They’d blackmailed her dearest friend. (Right then all of her anger toward Liv melted away, and Mary resolved to break off the engagement with the Norwegian lord. She needed her friend. She needed to forgive her.) But the question remained: would her uncles stoop to regicide?
She bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. Yes. Yes, they most certainly would. The mention of Montgomery could not be a coincidence.
Her uncles had arranged for the king to be murdered.
All for her.
TWENTY-THREE
Ari
“Papa,” Ari said, gently touching Nostradamus’s shoulder. “Papa, wake up.”
Her father opened his eyes. “Galileo?”
Sigh. “It’s still just Aristotle, Papa. You have to get up now. It’s time to leave.”
“Leave?” Nostradamus’s bushy white eyebrows furrowed. “But I’m quite comfortable here, thank you.”
“Queen Catherine has expelled us from the palace. You remember, Papa? And now all our bags are packed, and we’re ready to go back to Mama and the house.”
If they were still at the house, which the crown had always paid for.
If they couldn’t stay there, she didn’t know where they’d go. There wasn’t a lot of available, affordable housing for a famous ex-prognosticator, his failure of a daughter, wife, and five other children. Ari had heard that Calais was nice this time of year.
Nostradamus sat up. “I told you, Catherine cannot expel us if she’s no longer the queen.”
Ari nodded. “Yes, but last I checked, Catherine still is the queen, Papa. So we must go.”
There was a knock at the door, and Greer slipped inside, her expression grave.
She’d been out job hunting all morning.
“Did you have any luck?” Ari asked. She gulped. She was going to miss Greer. Who else would be willing to try every single one of her potions? “Do you need me to write you a recommendation?”
The ex-assistant shook her head. “No. I—No one’s told you, have they?”
“No one’s told us what?” Ari tried to exchange glances with Nostradamus, but he just looked expectantly at Greer. “What’s happened?”
“It’s the king,” Greer said quietly. “He’s dead.”
“See?” said Nostradamus. “I told you so.”
Ari sank down onto the sacks of oats as Greer related exactly what had happened to the king. It was not good. It was also exactly as her father had predicted. Ari was a little jealous.
“Congratulations,” said Nostradamus to Greer when she’d finished speaking. “You’re hired again. Now can you make me a cup of tea?”
“Yes, sir.” Greer flashed a relieved grin. “Thank you, sir. Right away.” She started digging around in the stacks of boxes to find the teacups and a pot to boil some water in. Ari stoked up the fire, her mind reeling.
What a week she’d had. Dancing with Liv, drugging the king of France, betraying Queen Mary. Well, those last two made it seem like Ari was a villain. But she wasn’t.
She would wager there was a 99 percent chance that she wasn’t the villain of this story. Of course, that depended on Queen Catherine being the good guy, considering Ari had been working for her. And really, Ari couldn’t think of one person who would define Queen Catherine as being the good guy, not even Ari.
The ugly truth was, Ari had blinded the king, and then the king had died in a jousting competition because a splinter of wood had pierced his eye.
It felt, in some ways, like her fault.
Greer got the tea started. Ari stood over the pot, watching the water boil. She loved how a watched pot boiled. She found it comforting that some things in this world were so predictable.
“You should go to Francis,” her father said after the tea was poured.
Ari choked on a swallow of tea. “To Prince Francis? Why?”
“He’s the king now,” Nostradamus pointed out. “He could use you as an adviser and prognosticator.”
Ari’s throat closed. “But, Papa, I am not skilled at prognostication. I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Nostradamus cleared his throat. “Neither did I, when I first started. And yet, that, in itself, is another lesson to learn. Fake it until you make it. Here’s a secret, Aristotle,” he said. “I am never certain about any of my prophecies. Sometimes I’m right. Sometimes I’m wrong. Sometimes I think that whatever I say will come to pass, simply because I said it. That is the nature of the job.” He held his hand out, and Ari took it. “All you can do is your best, and pretend that your mistakes are purposeful.”
“That sounds like we’re frauds,” Ari said.
“Everyone is a fraud,” Nostradamus replied.
Ari squeezed his hand. “That’s not what I wanted to hear.”
“I know,” her father said. “No one likes the truth.”
A kitchen maid appeared at the doorway to the laboratory. She must have been new, because she addressed Ari as “Lady Aristotle.” Then she added, “The queen summons you.”
Besides the fact that Ari hadn’t gotten used to the word Lady in front of her name, she was also confused as to the rest of the request.
“Which queen?” Ari asked.
“There is only one queen now,” the servant said. “Queen Mary.”
Ari dabbed her cheeks with a towel and tried to smooth her hair. She was in no mood to deal with Queen Mary, but she desperately wanted to see Liv. Because Liv was supposed to leave today. For Norway.
“Good luck,” said Greer. “Job hunting is the worst.”
“She doesn’t require luck,” Nostradamus pronounced. “She is a Nostradame. We make our own luck. In that cauldron, right over there.” He smiled at Ari. “Go, my child.”
Ari had no choice but to obey.
Ari’s path to Queen Mary’s chambers unfortunately took her right past Queen Catherine’s chambers. There was no way to avoid it. She would just have to move quickly.
As she neared Queen Catherine’s door, she heard a crash, followed by a stream of incoherent yelling.
“This is unacceptable!” The queen’s raging carried through the heavy wooden door and echoed down the hallway. “I will not relocate. These are my rooms!”
Ari’s eyes widened. Someone had dared suggest that the queen move out of her rooms? That seemed . . . foolish. But then she remembered what her father had said, that the queen was only the queen while she was married to the king. And now the king was dead.
Queen Catherine was no longer in power.
Just then the door opened and a maid came running out. Ari caught a glimpse of broken dishes, curtains askew, and some sort of red liquid on the floor. Hopefully it was only wine. Then the queen came into view, her eyes wide and hair wild.
Ari watched as the queen (the dowager queen, is what she would be called now—the official title for the wife of a dead king) sank into the chair at her desk. All the fury seemed to leave her. She put her head into her hands and began to weep quite brokenheartedly. Ari’s breath caught. Her heart squeezed in spite of itself. She was inclined t
o dislike Catherine, considering all that had happened, but she also realized that the queen was a woman who’d just lost her husband. Granted, the queen had hated her husband. But she must have loved him once, too.
The queen let out a scream. It was mournful at first but grew into a bellow of rage. Then she swept all the contents of her desk onto the floor. (Poor Ari. This was twice now that she’d witnessed a royal temper tantrum. It was never a pretty sight.) Ari tried to slowly move back from the door.
At the movement, the queen turned swiftly and spotted Ari. “You.” Her lip curled into a derisive snarl. “What are you still doing here?”
Ari didn’t answer. She picked up her skirts and ran past the door. She didn’t look back until she reached Queen Mary’s chambers, where she stood outside the door, her fist raised, waiting for her heartbeat to slow.
“Do you wish me to knock for you?” Mary’s guard said.
“No,” Ari retorted. “I am perfectly capable of knocking. I am just taking a moment. Haven’t you ever needed a moment?”
The guard looked confused. Ari realized that she herself had never uttered those words, either. For non-ladies and non-lords, there really was no such thing as “taking a moment.” You worked all day until exhaustion took over. Rinse. Repeat.
Nevertheless Ari took her moment. Then she knocked.
Thankfully Mary’s chambers were in a much calmer and more composed state than Queen Catherine’s had been. Mary was seated in her usual place by the fire. Beside her, to Ari’s surprise, was Francis. He was gazing out the window and didn’t seem to notice Ari’s arrival. Hush was standing over the queen, her fingers deftly twisting Mary’s hair into three intertwining braids. Flem was in the corner muttering over a knitted sock.
But Ari’s eyes went straight to Liv, who was sitting on Mary’s other side doing embroidery. Ari’s breath caught at the way Liv’s hair reflected and refracted the sunlight streaming through the window. She almost expected to see a rainbow prism on the opposite wall. She couldn’t imagine a Paris court without Liv.
“Oh, good,” Queen Mary said as Ari stepped fully into the room. “You’re here.”
“Your Majesty.” Ari curtsied stiffly.
“Where have you been?” Mary asked. “Obviously I am in need of all of my ladies at such a time.”
“I’m sorry, Your Majesty. I would have been here before, but Queen Catherine has dismissed me.”
Mary frowned. “Dismissed you?”
“She has ordered me expelled from the palace.”
“She can’t do that. You’re my lady-in-waiting.”
“But—” Ari bit her lip. Queen Mary still didn’t know that Ari had come here to spy on her, that Ari had truly worked for Catherine.
“But what?” Mary asked.
“But Queen Catherine is the one who hired me to work for you.”
Mary glanced over at Francis. He was still looking out the window. Mary kept her voice low. “Catherine is no longer queen of France. I am. And I say you’re not dismissed. You work for me now, and only me. Is that clear?”
It was clear, Ari realized sharply, that Mary knew exactly why Ari had come to work for her. And it was clear that Mary expected Ari’s loyalty now. But Ari still wasn’t feeling inclined to be loyal.
“Why?” she asked. “Why should I?” Her gaze fell on Liv again, but Liv didn’t look up. She gazed at her needlework, smiling a little. She didn’t look like a person about to be shipped off to Norway.
“Perhaps I should make myself clearer,” Mary said. “None of my ladies are dismissed. And none of my ladies will be leaving my side. You are all too important to me now.”
Ari’s heart raced. She had so many questions. Wait, scratch that. She had only one big question. “So you’re not sending Lady Livingston away?”
“No,” Mary said. “I’ve informed the Duke of Shetland that he cannot marry Liv. I need my friends about me now.”
Relief poured through Ari, and she nodded. “All right. Yes, then. I will work for you. What do you need? A potion? I can make everyone a potion that will ease the grief.”
Francis got to his feet, suddenly agitated. “We’ve no need of any more blasted potions!” he exclaimed.
This was not going how Ari had hoped.
He tugged at his collar. “Lord, I can’t even breathe!” He strode forward and grabbed at Ari’s hand. “Give me a vision. Tell me what else will happen. I must know.”
“Oh, Sire, I cannot,” Ari said, struggling to free her hand, but Francis didn’t release it. “It doesn’t work that way. I’m so sorry.”
“Everyone’s sorry,” Francis said. “But sorry doesn’t help me. You could. Please. Tell me the future.”
“Francis,” Mary said slowly. “Please let go of my lady.”
But Ari had pressed her other hand (the one Francis wasn’t clutching) to her forehead. The floaty feeling came over her again. “I see a man dressed all in black armor and robes, with a black mask over his face,” she intoned. “He breathes strangely. He bears a sword made of red light. He says the force is strong with you. He wants you to know the power of the dark side. He says you have a sister.” She blinked a few times. “Oh. I don’t know what that was about. Forget I said anything.”
Francis let go of Ari’s hand, stunned by her pronouncement. She took several steps back.
Mary made Francis sit down again.
“A red sword made of light?” he scoffed. “And everyone already knows I have three sisters. What kind of fortune-teller are you?”
“It’s not an exact science,” Ari said miserably.
“I liked that one,” Liv said softly. “It’s been my favorite vision of yours so far.”
Ari beamed.
“Please, have a seat,” Mary said to Ari. “There’s a free chair next to Liv.”
This was going better than Ari had hoped. But she had just sat down next to Liv when the guard announced another visitor, and Catherine swept into the room. She was perfectly dressed and coiffed, with no trace of her earlier meltdown, her face freshly powdered and her eyes sharp as always.
The guard cleared his throat. “The dowager queen, Your Majesties.”
Catherine lifted her head regally. “You will refer to me as the Queen Mother. As I am the mother of the king.”
As her piercing gaze passed over every person in the room, Ari wished she had her invisibility potion. But Catherine ignored her (for the moment). Instead, she went directly to Francis.
“My darling boy,” she cooed. “How are you?”
“Terrible,” he answered petulantly. “What else could I be?”
Ugh, thought Ari. Royalty. As if becoming king was such a bother.
“Of course you are,” Catherine said. She licked her palm and smoothed down a flyaway curl of Francis’s hair. “But don’t you worry. Mother is here.”
Ari’d had no idea that Catherine was so maternal. Generally she preferred to leave parenting her children up to the servants, as far as Ari had seen.
“Thank you, Mother.” The tension eased from Francis’s shoulders. “Thank you for coming.” (Everybody wants their mommies during a crisis. Even kings.)
“Of course,” Catherine said. “You’re my son. My favorite offspring. My pride and joy. I will always be here for you. Whatever you need.”
Ari caught Mary, the queen of France and Scotland (and maybe one day, England) subtly rolling her eyes.
“Well now that you mention it,” Francis said. “I would really like to have a glass of warm milk. I’ve been having such trouble sleeping, of late.”
“Right away, darling.” The queen snapped her fingers at Flem, who was so startled that she dropped her knitting. “You there. Fetch the king some milk. Be quick, girl.”
“Yes, Your Maj—” Flem caught her mistake. “Your Motherliness,” she amended, and dashed out the door.
Mary sighed.
“Now I want the two of you to relax,” Catherine said. “I have come to relieve you of all of your burdens.
Leave everything to me.”
“Oh good,” said Francis.
“Which burdens?” asked Mary.
“Oh, you know, all those tiresome day-to-day chores that you needn’t be bothered with right now. You two should focus on getting each other through this tragedy, and working on your new marriage. Now more than ever, for instance, we need an heir. And I will take care of the rest—the laws that the crown must make to keep the kingdom running, and the silly things like royal proclamations and tax collections and the affairs of the royal treasury.”
Mary straightened in her chair, suddenly alert. “That sounds like you wish to be Francis’s regent,” she observed.
“Well, now that you mention it, that seems . . . wise. You two being so young and inexperienced in politics and me being, well, myself. I mean, whatever I can do to help.”
“That would be very helpful, Mother,” Francis said.
Merde. Ari felt a chill. She didn’t know whether to be terrified or awed by Catherine’s deft maneuvering of the situation. But one thing was very clear: Catherine was still clutching at power. If she could not be the queen of France, she would rule through Francis.
But Mary wasn’t having it. “That will not be necessary,” the Queen of Scots said firmly. “Francis and I will be more than able to fulfill our duties as the king and queen.”
“But—” Catherine began.
“You have served this country well for many, many, many years,” Mary interrupted. (Oh snap, say your narrators. Mary just interrupted Catherine de Medici. And called her old.) “And now it is time, we feel, for you to be allowed a much-deserved rest. In fact, I have settled on a castle in the South of France that would be perfect for you to live out your retirement.”
There was a long moment of silence. Everyone seemed to be waiting breathlessly for Catherine’s reaction. The dowager queen lowered her head as if thinking. Then she smiled.
“Of course. Whatever you deem best, my dears,” she said. “Indeed, I thought you might say that. I will take my leave, but first, I’ve brought you a gift.”
Ari cringed. If she knew Catherine (and Ari felt like she did know Catherine) this was going to be ugly.
Catherine snapped her fingers, and the maidservant she’d brought with her stepped dutifully forward, bearing a small wrapped box.