“Would this love of yours have given her own limning—her token of highest love and affection—to another?” I ask. “That seems rather cruel, if she loved you at all.”
“She has most certainly given that token to another. She made sure I knew of it so I would abandon hope of ever regaining her favor,” he says, looking me dead in the eye. “Caesar, after all, requires his tribute.”
Fagin places a hand on my shoulder and smiles widely at Sir Thomas. “Pardon, monsieur, if I may have a word with my daughter, please. I require her assistance in a matter of some urgency.”
“Of course, madam.” He bows his head and then addresses me. “If you’re certain you no longer require my services, then I will leave you in your mother’s kind and beautiful hands.” He kisses Fagin’s hand and then mine. He hesitates before leaving and gives me a long, deliberate look. “Before I go in search of drunken oblivion, there is one thing. May I trust your discretion, mademoiselle, to not discuss what has passed between us with anyone? There are those who would—” he tilts his chin toward his chest and runs his tongue over his top lip, “misinterpret my meaning.”
“Have no fear, Sir Thomas, you may count on my discretion.”
He blinks several times, takes a deep breath and nods. With a quick bow, he leaves us in search of a bottle.
“That was an interesting conversation,” Fagin says, taking my elbow. “Does it mean what I think it means?”
“I think so. If Anne really gave her portrait miniature to the king in Wyatt’s presence, just to make sure he knew she’s a lost cause, that means the locket which was in Anne’s possession earlier this evening has changed hands. Since the king isn’t wearing it, there’s a strong possibility that it’s in his chambers right now.”
Nico’s voice cuts in. “It’s nine forty-five. If the king retires at eleven, it means you have a little over an hour to go through both his outer privy chamber and his bedchamber. That’s a lot of ground to cover.”
“How many guards outside his apartments?” I ask. I’m already nonchalantly moving toward the exit.
“Two guards posted. Both looking rather bored,” he says.
“I need help with them. Get your Renaissance clothes on, Nico, and bring a couple of sedative hypos. We need to put these guys to sleep for a while.”
“Trevor still slaving in the kitchen?” Fagin asks.
“Yep. In for a penny, in for a pound, I guess.”
“Good. Send her a message to bring more food up to the great hall. I’ll keep her here in the room with me so I can keep an eye on both her and the royals. I’ll let you know when Anne and Henry are on their way back.”
“Roger that,” Nico says.
“You don’t have much time.” Fagin pulls me into a hug. “Be careful.”
My arms wrap around her in a fierce, quick squeeze. It’s the first time she’s hugged me in months. When I pull out of the embrace, I flash her a beaming smile. “Hey. It’s me.”
Chapter 18
The party in the great hall fades into faint echoes as I stride through the long gallery. The corridor is empty except for a stray pair of lovers, their silhouettes visible in the shadows of an alcove. I doubt they’re paying attention to me as I make my way to the rendezvous point with Nico. Still, I’m careful to survey my surroundings as I head to the stairs leading up to the king’s privy chambers.
A figure in black clothing—the ubiquitous Tudor men’s gown and hose—emerges from the circular tower that houses the privy stair. I slow my steps, waiting for the newcomer to reveal themselves.
“It’s me,” Nico says, waving me forward. “No guards on the staircase. There are two men playing cards in the page’s chambers next to the king’s apartments.”
“Got the hypos?” I ask, quickly closing the gap between us.
He extends his arm and hands me a small silver-colored cylinder. It has a sleek, ergonomic shape, designed to fit the contours of a human hand, and it snaps into a square head. A phial of light blue liquid is inserted into the hollow of its base. A control button within thumb’s reach initiates a blast of high-pressure air that penetrates skin, delivering the drug into subcutaneous tissues, arteries, and muscles.
“What’s in this cocktail?” I ask.
“Diazepam with a midazolam chaser. Knocks the subject out fast with a bit of amnesia on the side to boot. They won’t remember the truck that’s about to hit them.”
I nod. “How many doses do we have?”
“Couple dozen per hypo unit. Unless we have to knock out every courtier in the building, we’re good to go.”
“Let’s get to it.” I step ahead of him, but he pulls me back to his side.
“Hang on. There are no surveillance cameras in the king’s private chambers. Once we dispose of the guards, we’ll have to clear the rooms the old-fashioned way. Stay behind me, follow my directions, and once we know there’s no one else inside, I’ll be out of your way fast as I can.”
I touch the tips of two fingers to the corner of my eyebrow in salute. “Aye, sir.”
His mouth twists into an amused smirk. “Even salutes look sarcastic on you.”
“Just my natural charm and appeal, I guess. Lead on.”
Nico is smooth as silk ascending the staircase; I can’t hear his footfalls and I’m right behind him. On the final turn at the top of the staircase is a small landing. The door to the page’s chamber is open, allowing a narrow glimpse into the room. Firelight flickers against the part of the wall I can see, bathing the entryway in an orange glow.
I can’t see the occupants, but there’s laughter and the heavy thunk of pewter tankards against the card table.
Nico makes a small circle with his right hand before pointing to the side of the arched door frame where he wants me to move; it mirrors his position
