Rosamund placed her hand on Bess’s shoulder and planted her in her chair. “You sit. You are not a serving maid here, Bess, but a member of a ring of spies.”
Bess exhaled and pressed her cheek against the warrior’s fingers. “I know that. But we should still make her feel at ease. She is quite distressed.”
“I’ve noticed.” Every candle in the room had been burning higher since Catherine entered. And having known Catherine since even before her time on the Black Council, Rosamund knew that her talent was for the element of earth. She must be nervous indeed to affect the flames so.
“Come now, Catherine. You can’t have found anything that troubling over the course of so few days!”
Catherine’s lips pressed together. “But I have. And it was not only over the last few days. My spies have been moving for months.”
“Months?” Bess gasped. “But why?”
“We elementals are better at detecting shifting sentiments upon the air,” Catherine replied. “Since I came to the Black Council, I have always kept a bird or two circling. I would always know what is being said of the queen.”
Rosamund drank and refilled her cup. “And what is being said?”
“At first, that the queen was frivolous. Changeable. That she did not listen to her advisers, which in truth, she does not often.”
“The queen follows her own mind,” Rosamund snapped.
“Yes. In everything. And it has not gone unnoticed. The people, and the Black Council, have become accustomed to war queens, who command raids and battle and leave the governance to those better suited to it. Elsabet has taken some of that back.”
“Is that not her right as queen?” Bess asked.
“Whether it is her right or not, it has embittered the council. I suspect that someone has been planting rumors amongst the people of the queen’s foolishness. I even suspect that the king-consort may have a role to play, driving her to jealous outbursts in public.”
“To what end?” Rosamund asked. “To make her unpopular?”
“To undermine her. I do not know, truly, what their aims are. But I fear for the queen’s reputation and the recklessness of those whom I suspect.”
“Out with it, then. Whom do you suspect?”
Catherine’s delicate features pinched together. Her complexion was just a bit too tan to ever show a flush, but had she been only a little lighter, Rosamund was sure her whole face would have appeared bright red. “I am using measured words,” she said, speaking slowly as if Rosamund were hard of understanding, “because I am not sure. But if I am right, then I am also sure that there is no limit to how far these people will go.”
“What people?” Bess leaned forward and grasped Catherine by the hands. When Catherine still hesitated, Rosamund slammed her fist down, rattling the cups.
“What people? Enough games. We came to you. You know we can be trusted.”
Catherine drained her whiskey and set the empty cup aside. “Last night, two of my spies were in the king-consort’s party of an evening.”
Bess’s eyes widened. “Your spies lay with the king-consort?”
“Many of my spies have lain with the king-consort,” Catherine said. “I keep many comely spies.”
“Unimportant,” said Rosamund. “What did they see?”
“They retired with him in an inn, seemingly for the night. Once there, he proceeded to get them more and more intoxicated on ale until they fell asleep. One of them awoke when he crept from the room, and followed him.”
“Where did he go?”
“Not far. Another room. The girl was able to spy inside and able to listen. According to her, what was taking place inside the room was unmistakable.” Catherine paused so the three of them could trade sour expressions. “She waited, hidden, until nearly dawn, when the king-consort and his paramour left. The woman was dressed commonly, but my girl swears that beneath the common serving clothes was none other than Francesca Arron.”
Bess sank back in her chair. “A member of her own Black Council.”
Rosamund sank back as well and ran her hand roughly across her face. “And a foolish member at that. Francesca Arron will lose her head for this and for what? A good-looking boy?”
Bess’s eyes widened. “Rosamund, you don’t think that Elsabet will have her executed?”
“Francesca is a member of her own Black Council, as you said. The queen cannot let it stand.”
“Unless it could be kept secret—quiet—if perhaps Francesca would beg forgiveness and swear to stay away from the king-consort—”
“You are both missing the point!” Catherine Howe pushed away from the table, and every candle flared. “If Francesca Arron is involved, it is not about one good-looking boy! She is only using him to further her own ends!”
“And what would those be?” Bess asked.
“I do not know,” Catherine replied gravely.
“It doesn’t matter.” Rosamund poured whiskey up to the rim of her cup. “Elsabet is the Queen Crowned, and there is nothing Francesca Arron or anyone else can do about that. And whatever her plans may have been, we have found her out. We’ll go to Elsabet. Surround her with loyalists. You and I, Bess and Gilbert. And I will be ready to arrest Francesca as soon as our queen gives the order.”
Catherine looked at Rosamund curiously. “You are Elsabet’s friend. Are you not afraid?”
Rosamund bared her teeth and snorted. “What is there to fear? She’s the queen. It’s not as if they can kill her.”
THE VOLROY
Francesca Arron waited in the shadows of the Volroy until the painter finally emerged from his audience with the queen. It was late, near dusk, and his serene face was lit by candles and torches. It was clear to anyone watching how besotted he was with her. How pleased he was that she was pleased with him. He was so transparent and unguarded. A poisoner ought to have a more natural ability for subterfuge.
“Young master Denton.”
The boy looked up and smiled, a dazzling smile in a mediocre face, beneath hair as dark as soiled straw. “Mistress Arron.”
“I thought that was you,” she said, and stepped out. “I was almost unsure. You have spent so much time at the castle of late that you seem practically a different person. If not for the pigment stains and oils beneath your fingernails, I might have missed you completely.”
Jonathan glanced at his fingers and hid them behind his hip. “Is there something I can do for you, mistress?”
“Perhaps you could escort me to my carriage. It is late, and we are both leaving. . . .”
“Of course.” He bowed and waited for her to walk a half step ahead.
“All this time you are spending with our queen cannot leave you much time for painting.”
“But that is why I’m here. To update the queen on my progress.”
“And what of the night spent in her chamber?” She laughed lightly at the look upon his face. “Word travels quickly.” Francesca squared her shoulders and tossed her light blond braid. Her strides were long when she walked, and he was a bit winded by the time they neared the gates and the waiting carriages. It was a wonder he could keep pace with Elsabet, whose legs and strides were even longer.
“Well then, good evening, Jonathan. I imagine I will be seeing much more of you, now that the queen has decided to keep you as a new pet.”
“A new pet?”
She watched carefully for a flash of malice in his eyes, but she could detect none. So perhaps he was more skilled at concealment than she had given him credit for.
“Of course. Ruling is such a strain upon the queen’s person. She often seeks diversion. I hope you had not thought it something more.”
Jonathan’s smile faltered. “Are you trying to say you would prefer I spent less time here?”
“Not I,” she said. “Were it up to me, Queen Elsabet could take her meals with you in her lap. But some question your suitability as a queen’s companion.”