Chantress Alchemy (2 page)

“Where?”

“To the high cliffs.” They were only a little way down the shore, and their tumbled rocks and shallow clefts would shield us from view. “I may need to work some magic, too. But I want us hidden before I start.”

Accepting this, Norrie followed my lead, but her run soon slowed to a hobble. We were nowhere near the cliffs when the sea shrieked at my back. Turning, I saw two riders and their mounts picking their way down the track that led to the shore—and to us.

We needed to take cover. I pulled Norrie with me behind the only shelter available: a mass of spars and driftwood, not yet swept out by the tides.

Too late. They had seen us. One soldier sounded his horn, another raised his spear.

My mouth went dry.
Chantress-hunters
.

“Lucy,” Norrie quavered, “should we try to get to the caves?”

“No.” Even the closest caves were too far away. “We’ll make our stand here.”

Only my magic could save us now. But to work it, I knew I must quiet my terror. Magic might be in my Chantress blood, but casting a song-spell required all my attention. It couldn’t be accomplished through rote recitation, for Wild Magic, like nature itself, was never quite the same twice. The time of day, the weather, the direction of the wind, even the emotions inside me: all of these subtly affected the song I needed to sing. And if I missed those subtleties—whether through carelessness or panic—the magic could go terribly wrong.

I bent my ears to the sea’s songs. Yet the more I told myself to keep calm, the more fear barraged me. I had schooled myself for a moment such as this, but practice was one thing, a real battle another. And even in practice, it was easy to make mistakes.

The horn blasted again, distracting me. More and more riders were gathering on the shore. Were they about to charge?

Listen
, I told myself.
Forget everything else and listen.

Despite the blood pounding in my ears, I could hear songs shimmering in the sea. The most insistent one promised a great wave to knock them down. Tempting music indeed. But could
I control such a potent song? Did I have enough experience?

Doubting my strength, I fell back on a tune I’d sung before, one that often lingered along these coasts, a blurred melody of mist and fog. It was a weaker magic than the song for calling up waves, but I was sure—almost sure—it was in my grasp.

As the men galloped toward us, hooves thudding on sand, I started to sing. The salty air thickened between us.

A shout went up from the riders, and they checked their horses.

Pressing my advantage, I let the song swell in my throat and grow stronger. What Norrie made of this as she shivered beside me, I don’t know.
Eerie
was a word she’d once used about my singing.
Unearthly. Fair gives me the chills.

Yet if my singing was unearthly, the sea mist I conjured up was real. Wet and gray as sodden wool, it was impossible to see through. By the time the last phrases poured out of me, it covered the riders completely.

Inside the clammy cloud, armor clanged and horses whinnied. Men shouted in blind panic.

“Help!”

“Halt!”

“Chantress magic! God save us!”

It was a strong spell; I could tell that much. With luck, we could get well away before it faded.

But in my triumph, I hung on too long to the final note of the song. The fog kept billowing out, and though I stopped the moment I realized what was happening, an instant later it swamped Norrie and me. I almost choked in dismay. We were
as blinded as the soldiers were now—which was no rescue at all.

“Lucy?” Norrie’s voice was soft and afraid.

“Here.” I groped for her hand.

Before I could find it, however, a voice shouted out from the fog. “Chantress, put an end to this magic! We come in peace, in the King’s name.”

I was not at all reassured. Who knew if the man was speaking the truth?

“My lady Chantress, I beg of you: listen.” Another man spoke this time, and his voice sounded familiar. Was it Rowan Knollys, head of the King’s guard?

I bit my lip. If it really was Knollys, then perhaps we were safe after all.

“King Henry sent us here.” Yes, it was unmistakably Knollys who spoke. “I promise on my sacred honor: no harm will come to you. We carry his ring as a sign.”

I let out my breath. The ring was a token the King and I had devised beforehand, so that I would know whom to trust. Perhaps it was time to sing the mist down.

Remembering those spears, however, I decided to take precautions.

“Put down your weapons,” I called out.

A slight pause.

“Must we, sir?” a shaky voice asked.

“Yes,” Knollys ordered. “Drop them to the ground, men. Spears and swords both.”

Through the fog, I heard swords sliding from scabbards and armaments thudding on the sand.

“There, Chantress,” said Knollys. “We’ve done as you asked. Now sing us out of this blasted fog of yours, before every last bit of our armor rusts.”

I stifled a laugh. That was Knollys, all right.

“Give me a moment,” I called back. I breathed in the mist, letting its music circle around me until I was certain I had the song I needed. Closing my eyes, I sang it out loud.

It was a complex song, one that drew on the water’s own longing to return to the sea, but I could tell I had chosen the right strain. The foggy air thinned and streamed into the ocean. I saw Norrie first, and moved to her side so that I could protect her if need be. Then, in the swirling gloom, more faces: Knollys foremost among them, his battle-scarred cheeks rough and red under his helmet, his chestnut mustache bristling. Behind him, his men sat in disarray on their horses, regarding me with a mix of wonder and terror.

One look at their awed faces told me I had the upper hand here. I could afford to let the mist go completely. I sang one last phrase to finish my work, careful this time not to linger at the end. The air cleared.

“Thank you, my lady.” Knollys dismounted his bay charger and came toward me, bearing the ring. “I must say, we hoped for a better reception.”

“You would have done better to come without so many men and arms, then.” I nodded at the spears and swords scattered on the sand. “All that, for me?”

He shook his head. “Say, rather, for your safety and ours. It is a dangerous time.”

“You were aiming those spears at
me.
”

“I am sorry, my lady. The King is anxious for your welfare, and we had orders not only to find you, but to capture anyone we found here who was behaving in a suspicious manner.” The red of his cheeks deepened. “I’m afraid we did not recognize you until you started singing.”

Knollys’s embarrassed gaze made me flush too. The last time he and his men had seen me, I’d been at court, attired in silken robes fit for a queen, with my hair elegantly coiffed. Now I was wearing my oldest clothes, water-stained at the hem and darned where they’d snagged on driftwood—and my hair had sprung free from its coil, its black tangles whipping on the wind.

No wonder they’d failed to recognize me.

But really, what did it matter? I was here to work, not to be a figure of fashion. Given the choice between a new song-spell and new skirts, I’d pick the song-spell any day.

“The ring, my lady.” Knollys offered the gold circle to me.

Forgetting about my appearance, I held the ring up to the light, the better to see the rose etched in its amethyst stone. No doubt about it: this was the King’s ring. I showed it to Norrie, who was still looking askance at the scattered horses and the men dismounting to collect their swords and spears.

“I still don’t understand why you’re here,” I said to Knollys.

“I am here because the King wishes to see you,” Knollys said. “Pack your belongings as quickly as you can. We must leave within the hour.”

I felt the blood drain from my face. “You intend to take us to London?”

“To Greenwich Palace, rather,” Knollys said. “The King has held court there since Christmas.”

I knew nothing about Greenwich Palace except that it was a few miles outside London, but if the Court was gathered there, then it was the last place I wanted to be. After Scargrave’s downfall last year, I had spent a few weeks at the King’s side, and I had been shocked by the naked ambition of his courtiers. Half of them seemed to hate me—and most of the others had been desperate for me to do magic for them. To make matters worse, my magic had been at its lowest ebb then. To be so powerless, and to have to hide it, had been the stuff of nightmares.

Since then, I’d heard that there had been changes at Court, that some of the King’s old advisers had been cast off, and that new men had risen in their place. But still . . .

I can’t face them. Not yet. Not now. Not until I’m certain I have the power to deal with them.

“I regret that I must refuse,” I said to Knollys. “Please tell the King I appreciate his invitation, but I shall remain here.”

Knollys’s stance changed, and I saw why he was regarded as a fearsome leader of men. “My lady Chantress, you misunderstand. This is not a request. It is a direct command from your King.” His flinty voice brooked no dissent. “I am to bring you back with me, and you will attend His Majesty at Greenwich.”

So much for thinking I was safe with Knollys! I would have summoned up another mist then, if only I could have been sure of it. I was tired, though, and cold to my marrow, and I was not certain I could pull off such a song twice. And if I lost myself in the fog again, what then?

Perhaps the wish showed in my face, however, for Knollys’s next words were more conciliatory. “My lady, the King does not act for idle reasons. He wishes you to come in part so that he may safeguard you. As I have said, these are dangerous times. Enemies are working against King Henry, and they may target you as well.”

Norrie and I exchanged glances of surprise and alarm. I remembered the sea’s song of danger. Was this what it meant? Not Knollys and his men . . . but something even more daunting?

“Who are these enemies?” I asked.

When Knollys didn’t immediately answer, Norrie said, “Have there been more riots?”

Riots? This was news to me. “Who’s rioting?”

“Didn’t you hear what the King’s men said when they last delivered our supplies?” Norrie asked me. “Bread’s more than twice the price it was last year, and wheat’s in short supply everywhere. There’ve been riots in some places.”

I vaguely remembered the delivery, but not the conversation. My mind had been on my magic the whole time they’d been talking. “Is that why you’re here?” I asked Knollys.

“I’m not at liberty to say,” Knollys said. “The King himself will explain when he sees you.”

Behind him the men were regrouping.

“We must leave right away,” Knollys urged. “If we hurry, we can reach the King’s hunting lodge at Letheringham by nightfall. After that, I judge it will take us four days to reach Greenwich.”

I glanced over my shoulder at the gray curve of the sea beyond the bluff. Whatever Knollys said, this place felt safe to me. It was the world beyond—including the Court at Greenwich—that felt dangerous.

But perhaps that was just an illusion.

Certainly Norrie seemed to think it was. Close at my side, she murmured, “Lucy, I know you don’t want to go. But I really think we must. We’ll be safer with the King.”

I bit my lip. How could I stay if it meant exposing Norrie to attack?

And there was the King to consider too. It was through his grace and favor that I had been granted this refuge. When it came down to it, I could ill afford to displease him. And I genuinely wanted to help him if I could. Henry was only a couple of years
older than I was, and in the brief time I’d known him, he’d struck me as determined and brave, with a keen sense of honor. Saddled with the task of setting the kingdom to rights, he was intent on doing his duty. If he was in danger, I ought to help him, both for his sake and the country’s.

Next to that, how much did it matter that the very notion of Greenwich Palace filled me with dread?

I turned to Knollys, the frozen wind thrashing at my cape. “Will I be able to return here?”

“As soon as the danger is over,” Knollys assured me. “The King gives you his word.”

That was something. And I supposed it was something, too, that I’d managed to sing up the sea mist under pressure and disarm the King’s men.

You’re stronger than you think
, Norrie had said. Perhaps I was more prepared to face the world of court intrigue than I’d feared.

“My lady,” Knollys said. “We await your answer.”

“Very well,” I said. “We will go with you to the King.”

†    †    †

Three-quarters of an hour to pack, that was all Knollys allowed us. “And less would be better.”

“We’ll have to move fast,” Norrie huffed as we heaved ourselves up to the loft. “You’ll need your court clothes, of course—the ones you wore last year. I’m not sure they’ll fit any better than what you’ve got on now, but at least they’re not patched and
stained like your work clothes are.” She opened the trunk at the foot of my bed. “Put on the blue wool, and I’ll pack the mulberry silk. Quickly now!”

Shivering, I changed out of my water-stained skirts and dived into the sea-blue wool. The soft fabric warmed my skin, but even when I tightened my stays, the bodice strained to hold me. The skirts, too, were slightly too short, and the fabric pulled across my hips. It was only with difficulty that I managed to slide the precious letter from my mother into the secret pocket. I couldn’t leave that behind.

Norrie paced a circle around me. “I suppose it will do for the trip,” she said doubtfully. “But thank goodness there will be seamstresses aplenty in Greenwich Palace. You can have a whole new wardrobe made.” The thought seemed to cheer her. “No cloud without a silver lining, is there? I’ve been wanting to do something about your clothes for a while. Maybe it’s just as well we’ve been called to Court. Nothing like a change to do a body good.”

Surprised, I stopped twisting back my tangled hair. “But you were glad to leave Court behind. You said so last summer, when we came here.”