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Authors: Amy Butler Greenfield
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after she’d seen me limping. I’d drunk the tea to placate her, and because I’d been desperate for sleep.
“But the King was going to hold a meeting.” I waved away the chocolate that she was trying to press on me now. “I was expected to be there.”
“He was told you were indisposed, my lady,” the maidservant said. “The others urged him to let you rest.”
The others? Did that mean Nat? Had he been hoping to spare himself the embarrassment of seeing me after last night’s debacle? Did he think we could continue to avoid each other at Court?
If so, he had another think coming. I wasn’t going to play that game any longer. Not when he thought of us as strangers.
“His Majesty sent his sympathies,” the maidservant added, “and asked if you would follow him to Whitehall as soon as you’re able.”
I threw back my covers. “I’ll go right now.”
Now turned out not to be possible. My ankle was only mildly sprained, but it needed wrapping, which slowed me down, and the captain of the pinnace had to make his own preparations. When we finally did set sail, the weather was foul. Rain sluiced down without any letup, delaying our progress.
I hoped the sky would begin to clear by the time we reached Whitehall, but it was pouring there, too. After the pinnace deposited me on the covered landing, I looked back at the Thames. The rain was so heavy, it made London’s houses and wharves and towers look gray and washed-out, like a city of watery shadows. Shivering, I covered my head with my cloak hood and hurried inside.
Rowan Knollys met me as I came in. “Chantress, we didn’t look for you so soon. I heard you were unwell?”
“It’s nothing to worry about, only a sore ankle.” I pushed back my hood and shook off the raindrops. “Where is the King? Meeting with the Council?”
“The meeting is over, but I believe he’s in the State Rooms.”
“I’ll go straight there then, and I’ll meet you in the guardrooms afterward.”
There was nothing straight about Whitehall, however, and that included the path to the State Rooms. Catching sight of myself in a gilded mirror along the way, I decided I would go to my rooms first after all. The trip upriver had left me bedraggled and windblown, and I wanted to be as composed as possible when I saw the King, especially if Nat happened to be with him.
Several twists and turns later, I heard the sound of singing. I halted in my tracks, immediately on guard; the incident with the mermaid had made me vigilant. But then I heard a burst of laughter, and when it tapered off, a duet began—a tenor and soprano singing one of the new Italian love songs that were all the rage. I drew a sigh of relief. This was innocent enough.
The music was coming from a room around the corner—a large room near the Queen’s chambers, where the younger set at Court could sometimes be found larking about. My route would take me past it, and I was curious and just a little wistful as I approached. Being a Chantress left little time for larks. Even when I was at Court, I rarely joined in, and every time I did the result was awkwardness. The ladies-in-waiting, the courtiers—everyone knew I didn’t really belong there. And they were right. Forced to choose between Court capers and the demands of my magic, I’d have chosen the magic every time.
Still, I slowed as I came toward the open door. It was beautiful singing, by any standard, full of pleasing harmonies, plaintive and passionate by turns. Yet when I glanced through the door to see the singers, I had a shock. The tenor was Nat.
I didn’t even know he could sing.
His partner was Lady Clemence. She’s been besotted with him for months , Sybil had said. And there were other women there too. Now that the song was ending, at least half a dozen ladies-in-waiting were crowding around Nat, buzzing like bees around honeycomb. They all appeared to be on very friendly terms with him, and he with them.
The only stranger here was
“But the King was going to hold a meeting.” I waved away the chocolate that she was trying to press on me now. “I was expected to be there.”
“He was told you were indisposed, my lady,” the maidservant said. “The others urged him to let you rest.”
The others? Did that mean Nat? Had he been hoping to spare himself the embarrassment of seeing me after last night’s debacle? Did he think we could continue to avoid each other at Court?
If so, he had another think coming. I wasn’t going to play that game any longer. Not when he thought of us as strangers.
“His Majesty sent his sympathies,” the maidservant added, “and asked if you would follow him to Whitehall as soon as you’re able.”
I threw back my covers. “I’ll go right now.”
Now turned out not to be possible. My ankle was only mildly sprained, but it needed wrapping, which slowed me down, and the captain of the pinnace had to make his own preparations. When we finally did set sail, the weather was foul. Rain sluiced down without any letup, delaying our progress.
I hoped the sky would begin to clear by the time we reached Whitehall, but it was pouring there, too. After the pinnace deposited me on the covered landing, I looked back at the Thames. The rain was so heavy, it made London’s houses and wharves and towers look gray and washed-out, like a city of watery shadows. Shivering, I covered my head with my cloak hood and hurried inside.
Rowan Knollys met me as I came in. “Chantress, we didn’t look for you so soon. I heard you were unwell?”
“It’s nothing to worry about, only a sore ankle.” I pushed back my hood and shook off the raindrops. “Where is the King? Meeting with the Council?”
“The meeting is over, but I believe he’s in the State Rooms.”
“I’ll go straight there then, and I’ll meet you in the guardrooms afterward.”
There was nothing straight about Whitehall, however, and that included the path to the State Rooms. Catching sight of myself in a gilded mirror along the way, I decided I would go to my rooms first after all. The trip upriver had left me bedraggled and windblown, and I wanted to be as composed as possible when I saw the King, especially if Nat happened to be with him.
Several twists and turns later, I heard the sound of singing. I halted in my tracks, immediately on guard; the incident with the mermaid had made me vigilant. But then I heard a burst of laughter, and when it tapered off, a duet began—a tenor and soprano singing one of the new Italian love songs that were all the rage. I drew a sigh of relief. This was innocent enough.
The music was coming from a room around the corner—a large room near the Queen’s chambers, where the younger set at Court could sometimes be found larking about. My route would take me past it, and I was curious and just a little wistful as I approached. Being a Chantress left little time for larks. Even when I was at Court, I rarely joined in, and every time I did the result was awkwardness. The ladies-in-waiting, the courtiers—everyone knew I didn’t really belong there. And they were right. Forced to choose between Court capers and the demands of my magic, I’d have chosen the magic every time.
Still, I slowed as I came toward the open door. It was beautiful singing, by any standard, full of pleasing harmonies, plaintive and passionate by turns. Yet when I glanced through the door to see the singers, I had a shock. The tenor was Nat.
I didn’t even know he could sing.
His partner was Lady Clemence. She’s been besotted with him for months , Sybil had said. And there were other women there too. Now that the song was ending, at least half a dozen ladies-in-waiting were crowding around Nat, buzzing like bees around honeycomb. They all appeared to be on very friendly terms with him, and he with them.
The only stranger here was
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