Read Online The Queen's Vow: A Novel of Isabella of Castile by C. W. Gortner - Free Book Online Page A

said we received their rents.” He hit his chest with his fist. “I said no, let them fend for themselves; but I was outnumbered by those cowards on the Council.”
    I felt heat rush into my cheeks and turned from his contemptuous face. Beatriz arched her brow at me, as if to say these were matters we could not possibly understand. But I understood. I remembered what my mother had said of the grandees’ unquenchable greed and of my half brother’s willingness to do anything to keep them at bay. She had not exaggerated; evidently, the kingdom had been given over to them.
    Never had Arévalo seemed as distant as it did in that instant. I almostcried out in relief when I finally caught sight of the dusky eastern ridges of the Sierra de Guadarrama in the distance, framing Segovia’s sunset-lit spires. The city lay draped in hill-cuddled splendor behind fortified walls, carved by the Eresma and Clamores rivers, and guarded by the proud alcazar on its promontory. As we approached one of the five city gates, I saw scaffolding covering the thrust of the alcazar’s oblong keep, the Torre de Homenaje.
    Villena said, “My lord the archbishop has prepared lodgings for you in the
casa real
near the alcazar.” He sighed with dramatic weariness. “With the king’s habitual restoration projects and the grandees’ retinues, I regret there is no extra room in the castle itself.”
    I hid my relief, even as I noticed Beatriz’s pursed lips, betraying disappointment that we’d not lodge in the very center of the court. I was tired from the journey and my troubled thoughts. Unlike her, I preferred to collect my thoughts in a place apart, before we were thrust into court life.
    We entered the clamor of a city twice as large as Ávila and three times as populated. The streets were narrow, cobblestoned or mud-packed; the ringing of our horses’ shoes echoed against the close-set buildings as Beatriz and I rode behind Alfonso. Villena, Girón, Chacón, and the retainers surrounded us. The smells of horse droppings, smoke, cooking food, foul tanneries, and forgers mingled in the dense air; it took all my concentration to keep Canela from prancing nervously at the din of shouting passersby. The retainers opened a path before us, using halberds to disperse anyone who impeded our way. Some of the townsfolk stopped to stare as we rode past, whispering to each other behind their hands.
    What were they saying, I wondered; what did they see? An adolescent girl whose hair was coming loose under her veil and a young boy, the grit of the country under his nails—that’s what they must see: two innocents, brought into a world where they did not belong.
    I glanced at Villena. He rode with ease, his gold-edged cloak wrapped about him, his chin lifted as if to avoid the stench of the street. As though he sensed my scrutiny he turned his pale yellow stare to me. We rode under a stone-lace Mudéjar gateway into the royal palace, where Carrillo waited in the courtyard, a frown worrying his brow.
    “You’re late,” he said as we dismounted. “His Majesty has asked that the infantes attend him tonight.” He gave me a hasty smile. “My dear, you must be quick. We’re expected in the alcazar within the hour.”
    “I hope we have time to bathe,” I whispered to Beatriz. She started to whisper back when a thin man of medium stature emerged from the palace. He wore a simple black velvet doublet of mid-length and impeccable cut, slightly flared at the waist to show off his elegant legs in embroidered hose. Bowing before us, he spoke in a courtier’s modulated voice. “I am Andrés de Cabrera, governor of the alcazar of Segovia. I have the honor of escorting Your Highness to her apartments.”
    He immediately made me feel at ease. With his solemn features, receding hairline, and deep-set brown eyes, he reminded me of Pedro de Bobadilla, Beatriz’s father, though Andrés de Cabrera was many years younger. Beatriz also reacted to his presence, her face