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Authors: Amy Butler Greenfield
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me.
Heart skittering, I backed away. But not quickly enough. Nat glanced up and saw me.
How must I appear, to have him look at me that way?
My cheeks throbbed. Averting my face, I darted back into the maze that was Whitehall. I thought I was well away, when I heard him call out to me.
“Lucy, wait.”
I turned. He was alone—a small mercy, that. With easy grace, he loped up to me, till we were merely a few spaces apart on the checkerboard floor of the passageway.
Trying to hide my distress, I said as calmly as I could, “So you sing. You never mentioned that.”
“It’s not really something you say to a Chantress, is it?”
It was an honest response, and if things had been different between us, it might even have made me laugh. Instead I had to look away, remembering a time when I’d been Lucy to him, not “a Chantress.”
“I owe you an apology,” Nat said.
My heart seemed to stop beating.
“I thought I was doing what was best for us both,” he went on. “I rode out into the world like a knight on a charger, willing to pay any price to prove I was worthy of you. But I didn’t stop to think about what it would cost you. I had no idea how much you were suffering. I don’t say that to excuse myself—I should have known, or guessed, or made it my business to find out. But I didn’t. You’re right. I was expecting we would come back together and have everything be the same, just better.”
I could only shake my head. “It doesn’t work that way.”
“I know,” he said quietly. “If I still thought it was that easy, I’d have come after you last night.”
So that was why he hadn’t followed me.
“What’s done is done.” Even in the dark passageway, I could see the sadness in his eyes. “We really are strangers now. Maybe something worse than strangers. It’s not what either of us intended, but it’s how it is.”
He was only speaking the truth, but something gave way inside me. I hadn’t realized that I’d still harbored a spark of hope, until it went out.
With a patter of light slippers, Lady Clemence appeared at the door. She gave me a half-fearful, half-apologetic look, but her face softened as she turned to Nat. “I’m so sorry to interrupt. It’s just that the others are insisting we sing for them again.”
“Not just now,” Nat said, but there was a gentleness as he spoke to her, and a warmth in his smile that startled me. Perhaps the admiration was not entirely one way.
“Go,” I said to Nat. “I don’t mean to keep you.”
The words were barely out of my mouth when the shouting started.
It was far louder than the cry I’d heard the night before when I’d been out on the landing—a shout that came not from one voice but dozens, perhaps even hundreds. Building to a terrible roar, it went on and on, fearful and agonized. I started running toward the commotion, and so did Nat.
Because of my ankle, Nat easily outdistanced me. When I caught up with him, he was pushing his way through a crowd of guards by the entrance that led out onto the river landing. By now it was clear that the noise was coming from the river. I followed Nat out the door.
Outside, standing on the stormy embankment, I couldn’t tell at first what was wrong. I could see only boats pulling hard for the shore and people running from the riverbank. But then, through the curtain of rain, I glimpsed a monstrous gray-green head rising out of the Thames, and a thick, coiled tail lashing behind it.
Bearing down on us was a creature straight out of myth and legend and nightmare—a sea monster.
CHAPTER TEN
HERE BE DRAGONS
Impossible to believe, and yet there it was, a sea serpent writhing in the river. Not a small snake, this, but a great eel grown to a monstrous size, its vast body longer than a man-of-war. For a moment I gaped at it. Then I started to sing, calling on the river to pull the beast down to its depths.
I thought it would work. And it almost did. But as the river swirled up against
Heart skittering, I backed away. But not quickly enough. Nat glanced up and saw me.
How must I appear, to have him look at me that way?
My cheeks throbbed. Averting my face, I darted back into the maze that was Whitehall. I thought I was well away, when I heard him call out to me.
“Lucy, wait.”
I turned. He was alone—a small mercy, that. With easy grace, he loped up to me, till we were merely a few spaces apart on the checkerboard floor of the passageway.
Trying to hide my distress, I said as calmly as I could, “So you sing. You never mentioned that.”
“It’s not really something you say to a Chantress, is it?”
It was an honest response, and if things had been different between us, it might even have made me laugh. Instead I had to look away, remembering a time when I’d been Lucy to him, not “a Chantress.”
“I owe you an apology,” Nat said.
My heart seemed to stop beating.
“I thought I was doing what was best for us both,” he went on. “I rode out into the world like a knight on a charger, willing to pay any price to prove I was worthy of you. But I didn’t stop to think about what it would cost you. I had no idea how much you were suffering. I don’t say that to excuse myself—I should have known, or guessed, or made it my business to find out. But I didn’t. You’re right. I was expecting we would come back together and have everything be the same, just better.”
I could only shake my head. “It doesn’t work that way.”
“I know,” he said quietly. “If I still thought it was that easy, I’d have come after you last night.”
So that was why he hadn’t followed me.
“What’s done is done.” Even in the dark passageway, I could see the sadness in his eyes. “We really are strangers now. Maybe something worse than strangers. It’s not what either of us intended, but it’s how it is.”
He was only speaking the truth, but something gave way inside me. I hadn’t realized that I’d still harbored a spark of hope, until it went out.
With a patter of light slippers, Lady Clemence appeared at the door. She gave me a half-fearful, half-apologetic look, but her face softened as she turned to Nat. “I’m so sorry to interrupt. It’s just that the others are insisting we sing for them again.”
“Not just now,” Nat said, but there was a gentleness as he spoke to her, and a warmth in his smile that startled me. Perhaps the admiration was not entirely one way.
“Go,” I said to Nat. “I don’t mean to keep you.”
The words were barely out of my mouth when the shouting started.
It was far louder than the cry I’d heard the night before when I’d been out on the landing—a shout that came not from one voice but dozens, perhaps even hundreds. Building to a terrible roar, it went on and on, fearful and agonized. I started running toward the commotion, and so did Nat.
Because of my ankle, Nat easily outdistanced me. When I caught up with him, he was pushing his way through a crowd of guards by the entrance that led out onto the river landing. By now it was clear that the noise was coming from the river. I followed Nat out the door.
Outside, standing on the stormy embankment, I couldn’t tell at first what was wrong. I could see only boats pulling hard for the shore and people running from the riverbank. But then, through the curtain of rain, I glimpsed a monstrous gray-green head rising out of the Thames, and a thick, coiled tail lashing behind it.
Bearing down on us was a creature straight out of myth and legend and nightmare—a sea monster.
CHAPTER TEN
HERE BE DRAGONS
Impossible to believe, and yet there it was, a sea serpent writhing in the river. Not a small snake, this, but a great eel grown to a monstrous size, its vast body longer than a man-of-war. For a moment I gaped at it. Then I started to sing, calling on the river to pull the beast down to its depths.
I thought it would work. And it almost did. But as the river swirled up against
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