‘Well,’ Malantha replied, her eyes on the King from under heavy lids. ‘Our plans progress as we intended. Slowly but surely.’
Lansing spat on the rushes scattered across the floor. ‘Blood will run like rivers and the smoke of the pyres will blacken the skies. And not before time.’
‘We have more than one reason to crush them beneath our boots,’ Lethe said, glancing around his brothers and sister. ‘Cavillex will not be forgotten.’
Globelus waved a fat finger at the French monarch. ‘You are not concerned that your ally will soon be destroyed? England has long offered you support, has it not?’
‘I fear Elizabeth would not have been an ally for much longer anyway,’ the French monarch replied. ‘It is my desire to unite my country and to return to Paris to rule, but the Catholic League have been obstructive. However, I plan to renounce Protestantism shortly. That will disarm my Catholic enemies abroad and console the Papist population at home, and I will be free to complete my plans.’
A ripple of laughter ran around the table. Flushing, Henri felt the humour was at his expense, directed at his belief that what he said was in any way important. ‘Why take an interest in so small a country? I would have thought England beneath your notice,’ he said in a sharp tone that he instantly regretted.
After a moment’s silence, Malantha gave another of her shiver-inducing smiles and whispered, ‘Our plans now extend far beyond England. In the peace of our homes, we were content to see your kind as,’ she paused, searching for the correct word, ‘entertainment. Our gentle sport was viewed too harshly by the people of that foul land, and they sought to harm us. Deceive us. When all we offered was kindness. We realized, sadly, that we could no longer ignore threats made against us.’
‘The fields in which we played have become the fields in which we fight,’ Lansing added, his words laced with cruelty.
Henri wished he did not have to deal with these creatures, nor did he want to bring harm to any God-fearing man or woman at home or abroad. When he saw Lethe studying him again, however, he drove the thoughts from his mind and said quickly, ‘So France remains important in your plans?’
‘England’s defences slowly crumble,’ Malantha replied, waving one hand in the air, ‘and when they finally fall we must be prepared to move. France is perfectly sited for a speedy response.’
‘We thank you for your offer of aid,’ Lethe added, tracing one finger along the cleft in his smooth chin.
The French king poured himself another goblet of wine, knowing he must never lose control of his abilities in front of the Unseelie Court but unable to refrain from drinking. ‘I am glad to be of help,’ he said, ‘though I am sure your Scar-Crow Men would have
But this time the Unseelie Court only laughed. ‘Who are these Scar-Crow Men?’ Lethe said, sharing a glance with Malantha that he did not mind Henri seeing.
‘If I knew that, my life would be much easier.’ The King sipped his wine, the goblet hiding the contempt that played on his lips. ‘I hear whispers … rumours. It is always difficult to pick truth from such things. But I fear it is not always wise to trust anyone, even those I have known all my life.’
‘Why, you think we have agents everywhere, nudging you in the direction we require?’ Globelus said, laughing silently so his entire frame shook.
‘That cannot be,’ Henri replied. ‘For if it were true, you would not need to come here this night and everyone in Europe would be your puppets.’
A shadow crossed Globelus’ face. Lansing scowled.
‘And that tells me that if there are Scar-Crow Men, there must be some shortcomings in the plot.’ The King took his knife and sliced an apple into quarters.
Malantha’s smile grew wider, her full lips parting to reveal small, white teeth. ‘A wise man would never make assumptions,’ she said in a mellifluous tone. ‘A knife will never be cannon, but it can still steal a life.’ She clapped her hands twice. ‘Now, enjoy your meats, Henri, and sup your wine, for life’s pleasures pass quickly. For your kind. We will discuss our plans later, and draw up our treaty, and then, for a little while at least, Paris shall be ours. For now, the night has fallen and the moon is full. This is our time.’
At the end of the hall, two of the silent watchers drew fiddles from velvet sacks. Placing the instruments under their chins, they began to play a duelling melody, mournful at first. But gradually the tempo increased and the notes soared, summoning a sound that was both dark and exhilarating. Malantha rose and held out her hand for Lethe. Within a moment they were spinning around the room in each other’s arms. Two by two, the other members of the Unseelie Court joined them, until the entire hall was a whirl of dancing and the furious fiddle music rang from the beams.
Henri sat alone at the table with his goblet of wine, the fine banquet spread out before him, untouched.
As they twirled by, Lethe bent Malantha back so that her lips were close to the King’s ear. ‘Trust no one,’ she breathed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Grace’s heart beat fast as she watched the Queen’s men from the window. In the inner ward, under the glaring red lamp of the setting sun, they marched in step, back and forth, back and forth, the tramp of their black leather shoes providing a relentless background rhythm to life at Nonsuch. A bloody crimson sash fell across their burnished cuirasses, and there was blood on their minds too.
With each passing day, the young woman found the atmosphere in the palace more unbearable: suspicion, fear and doubt wrapped around them all like a shroud.
Grace hurried along the corridor, avoiding the knots of advisers and Privy Councillors who had been huddling in quiet, intense conversation everywhere for the two weeks since Will had been hauled off to Bedlam. Talk of traitors operating within the court had unnerved everyone.
Carrying a jug of fresh water for the Queen’s ablutions, Elinor approached. She nodded to Grace and gave a humourless smile, but her gaze was as sharp as a dagger. As Grace passed, she heard the maid of honour come to a halt and turn.
As she moved through the palace, Grace felt eyes upon her everywhere. A serving girl pausing with a bowl of eggs. A Privy Councillor, crow-like in his black gown, watching her with implacable beady eyes. Two knights stopping their conversation to study her as she passed.
Grace waited at the end of the corridor until Elinor’s footsteps had faded away and then she opened the small door in the panelled wall and stepped into the tight-winding back stairs. At the foot, she listened to ensure the kitchen workers had left the area before crossing the flour-sprinkled kitchen annexe that still smelled sweetly of the honey cakes that had been prepared for that evening’s meal.
Skipping to the door, she slipped out into the warm evening. A cloud of midges swirled in the sun’s last rays. Breathing deeply to ease the tightness in her chest, she smelled the lavender from the formal gardens and the rosemary and mint planted in rows just outside the kitchen door.
Dressed in his best brown doublet embroidered with patterns of green ivy, Nathaniel waited near the orange-brick garden wall, still warm from the day’s sun. He offered her a posy and bowed formally, his cheeks and large ears glowing a dull red. Grace laughed quietly and gave a small curtsy. Will’s assistant played his part well, she thought.
‘Good evening, Grace. Will you walk with me a while?’ he asked in a clear voice that carried across the gardens.
‘I will,’ she replied, ‘though I cannot be long. I still have work.’
Shoulder to shoulder, hands clasped behind their backs, they walked away from Nonsuch through the winding paths of the gardens, looking, as Grace had hoped, like two young lovers on a quiet romantic stroll. Once out of sight of the palace behind a tall row of yews, they moved quickly through the gate in the wall into the deer park.
Nathaniel’s face darkened as he offered Grace a hand over the large stones thrown across the rutted path
