“The seeds are gone,” Sir Samuel cried out. “The fire’s consumed them!”
As cries of consternation filled the room, Wrexham’s hand slammed into the table. “God’s blood, Chantress! Are you playing with us?”
My hands tensed into fists. “Of course not, Lord Wrexham.”
“So you say. But you were against mind-reading from the first . . . and now, suddenly, the moonbriar seeds are gone. How fortunate for you.”
The room had gone quiet again. Everyone was waiting for my answer. I glanced at the King, who looked back at me with troubled eyes. Why was he allowing Wrexham to hector me like this? Did he, too, think I was guilty?
“I told you the song sounded wrong,” I reminded him. “I told you at the start.”
The King acknowledged this with a thoughtful nod. “It’s true: you did warn us that something wasn’t right.” He looked more sure of me now. “Tell me, Chantress: Is it possible someone tampered with the seeds somehow—by magic or other means? Would that change their song?”
“I suppose so.” I didn’t have much experience in such matters, but something had clearly altered the moonbriar song.
Sir Isaac wrapped a handkerchief around the vial and set it on the table. The glass was cracked and misshapen by the heat. “Did you notice anything else that wasn’t right about the seeds, Chantress? Their appearance? Their scent?”
“They had a strange smell,” I remembered. “A bit like vinegar, only more bitter.”
“Ah!” Sir Isaac seemed intrigued. “Most unusual. So perhaps someone did tamper with them, then. It remains to be seen, however, whether the change was effected by chemical or magical means.”
“Who would do such a thing?” Wrexham demanded, swinging closer to me.
“I have no idea,” I said. Without thinking, I looked at Nat—not to accuse him, but out of a foolish instinct to seek his help when I was in trouble.
The others in the room followed my gaze.
“I see,” said the King. “He has never been happy about the existence of moonbriar, has he? And he would do almost anything to protect you.” He spoke with distress, as if the idea pained him, but also with growing conviction.
“He didn’t do it,” I said quickly, raising my voice as I saw how many others were leaping to the same conclusion. “He wouldn’t. He’s not like that.”
“Of course I wouldn’t,” Nat said hotly. “I’m not sorry the confounded seeds are gone. But I wouldn’t go behind everyone’s backs that way.”
I wished he’d left out the bit about not being sorry. But that was Nat all over: he was forthright to a fault. It was hard for him to follow his own advice to keep quiet, to be discreet.
Not that I found it easy to follow, either. I couldn’t help defending him. “He objected to my using the moonbriar seeds,” I pointed out to the Council. “Why would he have bothered to do that if he’d known the seeds were going to burn up?”
“The Chantress speaks sense.” Penebrygg’s voice was calm, but he was stroking his beard in a way he only did when very worried.
Lord Roxburgh shrugged. “Maybe Walbrook wanted to throw us off the scent.”
“But how could I have done anything to the moonbriar seeds?” Nat countered. “I don’t have a single one of the three keys, and you need them all to open the coffer.”
“We do,” Wrexham said. “But a thief wouldn’t.”
Nat’s eyes flared. “I’m not a thief.”
“You stole things from Scargrave, did you not?” Wrexham said.
“To help defeat him, yes. But that doesn’t mean I’m a thief.”
The other members of the Invisible College and I backed him up.
“He was a spy,” I said. “That’s entirely different.”
“Quite correct,” Sir Isaac confirmed. “Nat did steal on occasion, but only at the direction of the Invisible College, and only to aid the resistance.”
“A more honorable lad would be hard to find,” Penebrygg said.
“Couldn’t have succeeded without him,” Sir Samuel agreed.
Wrexham ignored us. “Once a thief, always a thief,” he said, and the meeting dissolved into shouts.
“Order,” the King cried. “Order!” When the room quieted, he said wearily, “And you wonder why it is that I do not call a full Council more often. Please let us return to our seats and try to conduct our business without breaking into a brawl.”
The Council members went back to their chairs, Nat more slowly than the rest. I sat too. Once we were settled, the King gestured across the table. “Sir Isaac, you wish to say something?”
“Only that the coffer possesses a most unusual and intricate set of locks,” Sir Isaac said. “Even if Nat could force them—and however great his skill, I’m not sure he could—the attempt would have left scratches and damaged the mechanism. And the locks show no such signs. So that, by itself, should defend him against idle accusations.”
Wrexham looked set to interrupt again, but Sir Isaac wasn’t finished. “Not only that, but Nat had no way of reaching the coffer. Aside from this meeting, it has been kept in the Treasury at all times, under guard.”
“With the crucible?” I asked.
“Yes.” The King looked at Sir Isaac. “Are you suggesting—”
“I am.” Sir Isaac tapped his fingertips together. “Whoever stole the crucible may have tampered with the moonbriar seeds too, in hopes of forestalling our efforts to find him.”
“But the keys,” the King said. “He wouldn’t have had the keys.”
“There aren’t any copies?” I asked.
“No,” the King said.
“There might be,” Sir Isaac said more slowly. “The one person who would know for certain is the man who had the coffer made: Sir Barnaby Gadding.”
The King looked alarmed. “Then we must send someone to him at once.”
“It won’t be that easy,” Sir Isaac warned. “You will remember, Your Majesty, that after Sir Barnaby was taken ill last autumn, he retreated to his estate in Devon, in the hopes of improving his health. Sadly, I had a letter less than a fortnight ago from Lady Gadding, who tells me Sir Barnaby’s condition has worsened. He lives, it seems, but he cannot speak, or even understand most questions.”
“We shall send someone to him regardless,” the King said. “If he cannot help us, perhaps Lady Gadding can, or one of his servants.”
“It sounds like a wild goose chase to me, Your Majesty,” Wrexham griped. “The guilty party is certain to be here, not in Devon. We would do better to take action here and now.”
“We cannot act without evidence.” The King, I was glad to see, was not in Wrexham’s pocket, even if he did allow him more latitude than I would have liked. “All we can do is what we’ve done so far: allow no one to leave the palace until the crucible is found and the mystery is solved.” He turned to me. “Chantress, you must remain here for now.”
“I understand,” I said, but it was a blow. I had hoped for a speedy return to Norrie and Norfolk. Instead, I had to contend with a theft, a murderer, and a Council that mistrusted me.
“The moonbriar magic has failed,” the King said, “but you must have other enchantments that can help us. I understand, for instance, that you can sing yourself invisible?”
I had once had that power, yes. But it had come to me through Proven Magic, not Wild Magic, and so it had vanished when my ruby had cracked. I was loath to explain as much, however. After my failure with the moonbriar, it would make me look very weak indeed. “That would not be the best way forward, Your Majesty,” I temporized. “You have set me a difficult problem, and I will need some time to consider how to approach it.”
The King frowned. “Very well. We shall speak more of this when you are rested from your journey. If you think of a way to aid us, come find me at once, no matter what the hour.” He cleared his throat. “And there are other matters, too, that we must speak of.”
There was a flutter of anticipation in the room.
“
But that can wait,” the King said. “My lords and gentlemen, my lady Chantress—I thank you for your counsel. For now, our business is done.”
† † †
It was not quite done, however. Not as far as Wrexham was concerned. I was one of the last to leave the Crimson Chamber, and when I did, he cornered me in the hall. “Don’t think you can run away so easily, Chantress.”
“I’m not running away.” I tried to duck around him. “I’m going to my rooms.”
But I wasn’t going anywhere, not while he was in the way. The man was built like a mountain, and he was armed. It was impossible to step around him.
I didn’t like being trapped—and my discomfort pleased him, I could see it. He almost smiled as he stood there blocking my way. It was only when his eyes caught the light that I saw the anger in them.
“A word of warning, Chantress.”
Tired out by the journey and by all I’d been forced to confront since my arrival, I tried to preempt him. “Look, I know you don’t want me here—”
“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong, Chantress. I do want you here. I want you where I can watch you. Not out gallivanting on a Norfolk beach, far from sight. Not that I haven’t found ways to watch you even there. But Greenwich is decidedly more convenient.”
“You’ve been watching me?” The mere idea made my skin prickle.
“I’ve had you watched, yes. Ever since you defeated Scargrave. And I’ve learned a great deal.”
I would not let him intimidate me. “Such as?”
“I know, for instance, that the ruby you have tucked in your bodice is cracked . . . and I know what that means.”
I forced myself to stay very still, as one does with a wild animal about to strike. If Wrexham knew about my closely guarded ruby, what other secrets had he unlocked?
Wrexham’s pale eyes never left my face. “I know this, too: You still have power—enormous power. You can call up mist; you can make it rain. By God, you held off the King’s own guard by yourself.” His mouth twisted in fury. “How dare you tell the King you cannot help him right now? How dare you tell him he must wait?”
I recoiled.
“Confess,” he hissed. “You are lying. You are shielding the thief: Walbrook.”
“No,” I said. “No, I—” How to explain myself, without getting lost again in a wrangle about Nat’s innocence, or revealing even more than Wrexham already knew about my magic? “I am not trying to shield anyone. It is just that finding the crucible isn’t as simple as you think. I need the right song, for a start. And I don’t yet have it.”
“Then find it!” He swung even closer to me, cutting off most of the light. “We need that crucible, Chantress. So find your song and sing it.” His hand flexed on the hilt of his dagger, rings bulging like carbuncles. “And don’t think you can use your magic against me. I have ways of protecting myself, believe me. I’ve dealt with your kind before, remember.”
How could I forget? I forced myself to stand straight. I must not let him see how he frightened me. I must not. I must not.
“And remember this, too.” His voice was low and full of menace. “If I had eyes and ears in Norfolk, I have even more here at Court. I am watching you every minute, every hour, every day. So do not cross me.”
CHAPTER TEN
THE SECRET ROOM
Having made his threats, Wrexham left, still fingering his dagger.
I sagged against the wall. I burned to show him that I could not be crossed either. Yet if I used magic against him, what would that lead to? Wrexham was the King’s man, and it would not be wise to displease the King. And any enchantment I worked would surely be traced back to me. It was best if I did nothing—for now.
Still, there was comfort in remembering that I had real power here, even if I didn’t choose to use it.
But what was it Wrexham had said about protecting himself? I tried to remember his exact words. I’d never heard of a way to guard against Chantress magic—unless it was by killing a Chantress or preventing her from singing, as Scargrave had done. Was that what Wrexham had meant?
Maybe. But there was so much about Chantress magic that I did not know, so much knowledge that had been lost or stolen. After his many years of Chantress-hunting, Wrexham might well know more about my kind than I did myself.
Perhaps Wrexham really could protect himself against my magic. I would have to assume, for now, that it was possible.
And assume, too, that wherever I went, he was watching me.
† † †
After the bruising encounter with Wrexham, I intended to go straight to my room, but his threats had thrown me off balance, and I took one wrong turn after another. Before I knew it, I was lost in a part of the palace I hadn’t seen before.
Going around a corner, I found myself in a frigid chamber with massive stone pillars, dimly lit by two flickering candelabras. When a hand touched my arm, I jolted around in fright.
“Sorry!” Nat whispered, releasing me. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Right then and there, I almost spilled out what Wrexham had said to me. But then I thought about how hotheaded Nat had been in the Council meeting, and how his impulsiveness had led to trouble. If I told Nat about Wrexham’s threats, would he rush off to confront the man? That would only antagonize Wrexham—and make matters worse for both Nat and me. I decided I’d better keep the Marcher Lord’s threats to myself, at least for now.
“I’ve been looking for you,” Nat said. “I couldn’t come close after the meeting. Everyone was watching.”
“I know.” I’d kept away from him for the same reason. “I saw Penebrygg pushing you out the door.”
“He wanted to say a few words to me about caution and moderation. Which I suppose were warranted,” Nat admitted. “A fine show I gave the Council, after all my advice to keep quiet. But moonbriar, of all things! I wasn’t expecting that.”
“Nor I.”
“And then the fire . . .” He cast a wary glance around the echoing room. “Look, it’s not really safe to talk here, but I know a place nearby that’s better. Will you come?”
“Of course.”
He grabbed a taper from a candelabra and guided me past the pillars into a maze of rooms. Though substantial, these rooms were not airy and graceful like some of the others I’d glimpsed in my wanderings. Lower and squatter, they had dark paneled walls and arched doorways and figures carved in stone: a hound, a hare, a woman’s face covered in leaves.
In the last of these rooms, Nat stopped short, listening. All was quiet. It felt as if we’d reached the ancient heart of the palace, the core of the labyrinth.
At last Nat walked up to a panel and fiddled with the decoration. With a muffled thump, the panel swung inward, revealing a small, hidden chamber.
“How did you find it?” I marveled. In truth I hardly needed an answer. The first time I’d ever laid eyes on Nat, he’d been coming out of a secret door. The same curiosity that made him a born scientist also had made him a born spy.
“Oh, this place is full of hideaways,” Nat said. “And I’ve had some time on my hands since we got shut up here.”
His hand touched the small of my back as he ushered me in. Even after he turned away and tugged the door shut, my whole spine tingled.
“We’ll still need to keep our voices down,” he warned me. “The walls are quite thick, and not many people come by, but there’s always a chance someone might be listening.”
I nodded and looked around in the light of the lone taper, which he’d wedged into a battered candlestick. Tiny and windowless, the secret room was almost bare, boasting only a three-legged stool and a small, iron-banded chest.
“What’s in there?” I pointed to the chest.
“Nothing much.” Nat flipped the lid open. “Another candlestick and a flint. They were here when I found the place.”
When I leaned forward to look, my sleeve brushed his. I glanced at him, and his wide hazel eyes held mine. He was so close I could fee
l his sweet breath on my cheek.
Just as I was sure he was about to kiss me, he turned away and banged the chest shut. “How are we going to get you out of this?”
I was bewildered by his sudden change of mood. “Out of this?”
“Away from this court and its dangers. That fire could have killed you.” He gave me a sharp look. “Unless maybe you sang it up on purpose? To destroy the seeds?”
“No,” I said. “It was as much of a surprise to me as to you. Something really was wrong with those seeds. I just wish I knew who tampered with them—and how, and why.”
“I wish I knew too. But the fire’s only part of it. It’s not safe for you to be here, not when the Court’s in the grip of this alchemy madness.”
I looked at him in surprise. “You think it’s madness?”
“Of course!”
“You didn’t say so at the meeting.”
“Only because I’ve said it too many times before.” Frustration darkened his eyes. “The Inner Council voted to throw me out if I brought it up again, so now I have to keep quiet. But not by choice.”
“You don’t have to keep quiet with me.”
He smiled then, though his body stayed tense. “There is that, I guess. The one silver lining to this disaster.” He let out a deep breath. “I’ve missed you, Lucy.”
It helped to hear that, but I noticed he didn’t come any closer. Was it shyness keeping him away? Well, that I could understand. I felt shy too. Although it was thrilling to be so close after our months apart, it was also unnerving. Maybe talking would help.
I sat down on the stool. “So tell me: What’s wrong with the alchemy plan? Don’t you think it will work?”
Nat shrugged. “Who’s to say? Isaac Oldville’s a genius, and he’s convinced he has the answers. But that doesn’t mean he’s right.” Keeping his voice down, he perched himself on the curved top of the chest. “People have been trying to make the Philosopher’s Stone for thousands of years, and as far as I can see, there’s no clear evidence that anyone ever has.”
“Not even—oh, what was his name? Flamel?”
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