by April White
“I believe you know my son, Henry.”
Archer stiffened almost imperceptibly, but I caught it, and so did Lady Grayson.
“I don’t know your son, but I did meet him for about a minute.”
Her eyes searched my face. “You made quite an impression then, as he sent a message to me immediately.”
My eyes narrowed. “And you’re only just coming now? It would have been nice to have had some royal help before Lady Elizabeth’s head was almost removed from her shoulders.”
Lady Grayson didn’t flinch, though everyone else in the room did. Even Elizabeth, and I remembered that she was still very much at her sister’s mercy.
“I am not here on the queen’s business, though I am sorry for the horror of your experience, Milady.” She said the last part to Elizabeth, who bowed her head slightly in response. Lady Grayson returned her gaze to me. “I am able to feel … disturbances … in the time stream.” She waited a moment for that to sink in. She knew the effect her words would have, and they most definitely did. “The threat began before you met my son, and it grew to something immense and dangerous.”
My voice was somewhere between a whisper and a squeak. “You can feel the changes?”
She nodded. “The threat is less now, much less, but it is not extinguished. The danger is further away in time and distance, so the ripples feel smaller. But they will still come.” Her composure cracked for just a moment as she took her next breath. “What you did here must be repeated. I know not where or when, but I believe you know why. And when you need it, you shall have whatever aid I can give.”
The fire crackled on the hearth and it was the only sound I heard besides the pounding of my own heart. “Thank you, Lady Grayson. I may take you up on that offer.”
She looked at me another long moment, then nodded. She turned to Elizabeth and dropped into a proper curtsy. “Lady Elizabeth, again, I am sorry.”
She swept from the room, and left the queen’s apartment with just one backward glance … at me. Elizabeth and Courtney followed her out to make sure the door closed behind her.
Archer moved up behind me and wrapped his arms around me in a protective cloak. I leaned back into his embrace and sighed,“I guess we’re not done.”
Ringo smiled a small, crooked smile. “Good that ye know it’s ‘we’ who’ll be doin’ what needs to be done.”
It was the first thing that made me smile since night fell. “You say that like I have a choice in the matter.”
Home
The black sheath dress my mom left out for me was lovely, and totally appropriate, but it didn’t go with my new combat boots. My concessions to today were black jeans and a black silk shirt from Archer’s wardrobe. A black teardrop pearl Elizabeth had given me was tucked down inside my shirt on a long chain. I never took it off.
I knew I’d be running tonight. The dress wouldn’t work for running.
Ava was already downstairs with her parents. I’d been home a month and I still couldn’t shake the feeling of dread every time they came to school. They found my avoidance of them puzzling and probably rude. Because in their world, everything was exactly the way it had always been.
Nothing had happened.
Aislin’s cuff had never been stolen, so they’d never accused me of stealing it, or locked me in the Seer Tower, and no one but me and Tom had heard what Philip Landers really thought of being Tom’s father.
Time had repaired itself in a way that only Archer and I remembered. I’d told Mr. Shaw and my mom what happened. And Ava and Adam knew, because I had to explain why Tom had gone with me back in time. Some people just thought Tom had run off with the Mongers like he did before. But there were people who knew he was gone. And those people were at St. Brigid’s today to remember Tom.
Even the regular kids were back at St. Brigid’s with no memory of having been banished for their safety. My mom explained it as a product of temporal inertia. The ripples had fixed themselves way back on the time stream, so by the time it got to us, everything had returned to the way it would have been if Elizabeth’s life had never been threatened. Everything except Tom. And the Mongers. They were still busy being jerks, though Domenic Morgan was just a bookkeeper, and Seth Walters was just as charming as he’d always been.
We came back to a world that made sense again, and my friends believed my crazy stories because they trusted me. Mr. Shaw made a point of talking to Archer and Ringo separately though. I think it took three retellings of the events for them to sound real.
Then Mr. Shaw took out Ringo’s stitches, gave him a smallpox booster shot, and I took him home.
Ringo wouldn’t let me go to his flat with him. He just hugged me fiercely, told me to take care of his brother, and sauntered away. If he had run I would have run with him, because when he turned away from me there were tears in his eyes. But his walk was a man’s walk. Even at sixteen, Ringo had seen and done more than most men ever did. And as a man, he had my respect.
My heart still hurt with how much I missed him. When Archer and I ran in the woods around St. Brigid’s we both imagined him with us, laughing, taunting us for being slow or clumsy or loud. We didn’t talk about him, or wonder about his relationship with Charlie. We knew we’d see him again.
I slid down the bannister just for the practice, then took the long way around at top speed. I avoided the Seer Tower, the empty third floor wing where I had taught Tom the key trick, and the east attics where we escaped. Guilt is a useless emotion, but I wasn’t done indulging it where Tom was concerned. Not yet.
I knocked on Mr. Shaw’s door and his gruff voice invited me in.
“Mom said you wanted to see me?”
“Close the door.”
I did as he said and then took a seat in front of his desk, touching my father’s microscope as I went by the bookshelf. As usual.
“Philip Landers wants an investigation into Tom’s disappearance.”
“Why is there a memorial tonight if he doesn’t believe he’s dead?”
“He believes it. We all believe it. But Tom’s mother doesn’t and he’s humoring her.”
I snorted in disgust. “What, he’s looking for a body now?”
He leveled his gaze on me. “Why, are you going to find them one?”
I looked back, unblinking. “Sure. Are you fine with me going back to search for him?”
He sighed. I’d been extra prickly since we got back, and to his credit, he hadn’t told me to grow the hell up and quit brooding. I knew I deserved it though, and I softened the edges.
“Archer and I are researching with Mom and Miss Rogers. If there’s another mention of Wilder anywhere in history, we intend to find it.”
“And if you find him again, what then?”
I looked at Mr. Shaw and knew that the conversations Archer and I had been going around and around on were something he should hear too.
“We know he’s taking skills from Descendants through their blood. And he seems to be tracking down powerful ones, because the queen of England would not have been a low-profile kill. So we’re using the genealogy to piece together a historical map of the more famous Shifters. We figure Wilder’s ego will send him to the ones he’s read about in history books, so we’ve also borrowed whatever we can find on Shifter family trees from Miss Simpson. But we don’t know how far Wilder can Clock, for example, or how restricted he is. He took Mom’s blood, but he doesn’t seem limited to focusing his travel with our family’s necklace like she is. I’m not limited by that either, which makes me wonder if there’s something in my mixed blood that opened up different skills for me.”
Mr. Shaw absorbed it all with intense concentration. “Technically, Wilder is a mixed-blood now too.”
My eyes widened, and then narrowed again thoughtfully. “This summer, when my internship with Professor Singh is done, Archer and I will be working out of Elian Manor. Mostly because of Millicent’s library and the keep, but also just to piss her off.” That got a startled laugh from M
r. Shaw. “Any chance you’ll be dating Mom enough to be around and help us?”
The look he shot me was an odd mix of grateful and happy. “Perhaps I can dust off my powers of persuasion enough to convince her, but why don’t you tell me if the offer still stands after I say what I called you in to say.”
Hammer time. I raised an eyebrow. “The offer stands. Say whatever you need to.”
I could tell he didn’t believe me. “I don’t want you to go to the memorial this evening.” He watched me carefully, but my expression didn’t change, so he continued. “As I said, Phillip Landers will be there, and as you know, probably better than any of us, he’s a mess of unpredictable anger. It’s starting to find a focus on you, and that concerns me.” He went on quickly before I could interrupt, probably because he could see on my face I was going to. “Also, the Monger kids will be back today. Miss Simpson could only justify a suspension for their first offense, and even that almost got shot down by the Council. There’s a chance their uncle could be the one bringing them back.”
Awesome. Seth Walters was one of my very favorite people on the planet. It always gave me the warm fuzzies when he was around, and based on Mr. Shaw’s expression, I wasn’t the only one who thought he was only slightly less nasty than a port-a-potty at a Burning Man festival.
The only reason I didn’t protest was that Mr. Shaw seemed genuinely worried. “The hunt for mixed-bloods hasn’t gone away, Saira. Your escapade with the genealogy didn’t help matters with the Mongers, and even though it didn’t technically happen, the incident you described with the Armans and their heirloom indicates a serious fracture of the Descendant Families is in the works. You are starting to look like the eye of the storm, my dear, and it worries me. I’d like you to please consider not putting yourself in their sights unnecessarily.”
I got up from the chair and Mr. Shaw rose at the same time. I went around his desk and kissed him on the cheek. “If you get a chance, could you tell Ava and Adam what you said so they don’t yell at me?”
The Bear looked startled, and then grateful, and I loved him for it.
“Also, I’m looking for sword-fighting lessons. Know anyone who can teach me?”
“I’m sure Devereux knows swords.” Mr. Shaw’s voice was gruff and I knew I’d made him happy.
“Yeah, but he doesn’t want to accidentally cut me.” Mr. Shaw’s expression turned serious and I couldn’t resist the tease. “Not because he can’t control his bloodlust; a century’s a long time to practice. No, he’s afraid I’d take his head off, and apparently he can’t come back from that.”
The sun had just set, and the torches they’d lit for Tom’s memorial were like giant candles in the conservatory. Archer silently joined me on the roof where we could see down into the glass room. I leaned back against him comfortably.
“Shaw told me not to go.”
“He’s probably right.”
We looked down at the solemn gathering below. Ava and Adam stood with their parents. A beautiful, dark-haired, bronze-skinned woman I thought must be Tom’s mother was next to Camille Arman, and Phillip Landers stood a little apart from all of them. My mom was there with Mr. Shaw, and Millicent Elian, wearing a bad-smell-sneer, held herself stiffly next to Miss Simpson. The rest of the staff of St. Brigid’s and most of the students were also there, and I thought Tom might have been surprised to see so many people come out to remember him.
“Is that Aislin’s cuff on Camille’s arm?”
I nodded. “Kind of appropriate that she wore it, considering Tom’s the one who stole it.”
Below us, Adam was speaking, but his voice was muffled so I couldn’t hear what he talked about.
Archer’s voice was soft in my ear, and it made shivers run down my skin. The good kind. The kind that made him mine.
“What would you have said if you’d been there?”
He wrapped his arms around me and I melted into them. I thought about the words I’d choose. “The first time I saw Tom he tried to kill me. The last time I saw him, he saved my life. And in-between we were friends.”
“Perfect.”
We sat in silence while Adam finished. Then Mr. Landers got up to speak and I tensed at the sight of him. I would probably always be bitter.
“Even though time fixed itself and no one else remembers what he said, I will. And so will Tom.”
Archer turned me around to look at him. “You believe he’s still alive?”
I shook my head. “No, but I think you can’t un-ring a bell like that. Maybe it was the reason Tom had that weird smile on his face when Wilder took him. He looked kind of, I don’t know, satisfied.”
Below us, it was Miss Simpson’s turn to speak, and I thought I caught the slightest glance up just before she did. Of course she knew we were there. She knew everything.
“I don’t think I ever told you the prophesy Miss Simpson told me.”
He shook his head and nuzzled my ear. His touch made my toes curl and did very funny things to my stomach. “What was it?”
I replayed her words in my head, then spoke them out loud.
“The Dream remains for none to see,
And time of War is what shall be.
Unless the child, Death by her side,
Can choose the path to turn the tide.”
Archer had stilled while I spoke, and then it seemed like he finally breathed again. “I guess you’re stuck with me then.”
“Huh? I mean besides the fact that I’m crazy in love with you, and you’re probably more stuck with me than the other way around, how do you figure?”
His eyes were beautiful in the moonlight, and the way he looked at me made me feel like I was the loveliest thing he’d ever seen.
“You’re the child, right?”
“If you believe their prophecies, yeah, probably.”
“Then you need death by your side. That’s me, minus the cape and the scythe, and, you know, the skull face.” He grinned and I kissed him.
With all my heart.
Because I knew I’d chosen my fate.
And it was Archer Devereux.
The End
The Tower as it looked in 1554
Adapted from a photo of a scale model of the Tower.
Photo by Onofre_Bouvila
Map and History
The best explanation I’ve heard about authors is that we’re people who make sh*& up. And I do. All the time. Just ask my kids. But it’s much more fun to weave my imaginary people in and around actual historical facts. In Tempting Fate, the fact upon which Elizabeth Tudor’s story was originally built is that Lord John Brydges, Lord Lieutenant of the Tower at the time Elizabeth was imprisoned there, did, in fact, refuse to execute Elizabeth despite an unsigned order from the Queen to do so. This, in my opinion, makes him a smart man with a strong self-preservation instinct and an interesting moral code, especially given his personal politics.
The Wyatt Rebellion did happen, and it finally gave Elizabeth’s political enemies the ammunition to have her imprisoned. Thomas Wyatt was beheaded on April 11, 1554, while Elizabeth was held in the Tower. Apparently, before they led him to the scaffold, he dropped to his knees, and declared her innocent of any participation or knowledge of his plans.
Historical mysteries are the temptation I can’t resist, and draw me in the way tunnels, castles and secret places do. When researching Elizabeth Tudor’s imprisonment in the Tower of London, I stumbled across a couple of intriguing little mysteries which I’ve woven into the story.
For example, nearly all available online documents, websites, and blogs state that Elizabeth Tudor was held in the Bell Tower. Unfortunately, the chambers of Bell Tower, one up and one down, are inaccessible to the public because the only way in is through the Lord Lieutenant’s Lodgings, otherwise known as the Queen’s House in honor of the current queen (it was the King’s House when her father was on the throne). As I wasn’t able to see the Bell Tower rooms in person, a very kind historian at the Tower Archives sent me a draw
ing of both rooms in the Bell Tower.
Based on that drawing, the rooms in the Bell Tower seemed much too small to have held someone of Elizabeth’s status, so I did a little digging and found a more obscure theory that Elizabeth was likely held in the queen’s apartments in the now demolished Royal Residence (Queen’s House vs. queen’s apartments – one can see the potential for confusion). In Tudor times, the apartments had been renovated for Anne Boleyn’s coronation as Henry VIII’s queen, and three years later she stayed in them before her execution. Lady Jane Grey lived in the queen’s apartments for the eleven days she was England’s queen, before she was imprisoned, and ultimately executed. It is also known that despite Mary Tudor’s hatred of Elizabeth’s mother, Anne Boleyn, Mary always treated her sister as the royal daughter of their father. I believe Mary would have had Elizabeth imprisoned with several of her attendants in the queen’s apartments, a large enough space to house them all, as befitting her rank of king’s daughter.
Another mystery is what happened to Mary Stuart’s (Mary Queen of Scots) black pearls. Mary Stuart and Elizabeth Tudor were first cousins and despite their political differences, they shared a love of all things bright and shiny. There are six stunning strands of black pearls draped around Elizabeth’s neck in the Armada Portrait, which she apparently bought for 12,000 crowns from Mary Stuart, via Scottish agents, while her cousin was a prisoner of grudge-holding Scottish lords. The pearls were likely inherited by James I after Elizabeth I’s death, and his daughter was said to have been a collector of jewels. But the pearls have since disappeared from records, and even the Jewel House guards at the Tower of London had never heard of them. It’s possible they could be in Queen Elizabeth II’s private jewel collection, but there have been no sightings of the pearls since the mid-seventeenth century.
The Armada Portrait c. 1588