Chantress Alchemy (31 page)

“Do you know her?”

“No, but I’d like to meet her. I remember her sister well: she was Sybil’s nursemaid, just as I was yours, and she was kind to me that summer at Dashwood Hall.” She set down her cup, and I saw again how tired she was.

“Time for you to rest,” I said. “You’re to take my bed.”

She started to protest.

“You must,” I said. “Margery and I will make up a pallet for me later.”

“But you won’t be comfortable—”

“I’ll be fine. Truth to tell, I was planning to dance all night anyway.”

At that, she chuckled. “Very well, lamb. You do that. And I’ll take your bed and be grateful for it.” She laid her gnarled hand on mine. “Give that Nat a hug from me.”

I smiled. “I will.”

†    †    †

Later that evening, with Norrie safely tucked in bed, I went down to the birthday dance. Even on the stairs, I could hear the harmony of viol and flute and bass. My feet tapped in time to their beat; I was eager to dance.

When I finally reached the Great Hall, I found an enormous crowd had already gathered there. I could only just wedge my way in—and for once no one looked at me, even though I was the Chantress. Instead, people were craning their necks toward the center of the room. I obligingly craned mine too, hoping to glimpse whatever it was they were gazing at.

At first I saw nothing except the backs and heads of the people in front of me, but I caught the whisper of gossip here and there through the music.

“. . . might break off the negotiations . . .”

“. . . heard him say he won’t marry a girl he’s never seen . . .”

“. . . the third time he’s danced with her . . .”

“The fourth, old chap, and the night’s hardly begun!”

“. . . can’t say I blame him. A beauty like that . . .”

The crowd shifted, and through a gap I saw what had attracted so much attention: King Henry, dancing a stately minuet with Sybil. She was laughing, and he was clearly entranced.

Watching them, I missed Nat so much I could hardly breathe.

As the crowd jostled forward again, I scanned the room for him.

“Chantress?” Gabriel was at my elbow, aglow with exuberance. “What a pleasure to find you here. I’ve only just returned.”

That caught my attention. “Returned? From where?”

“Visiting my estate. Didn’t you hear? The King has restored it all to me.” Gabriel paused. “That is, not precisely to me, not yet—he’ll hold it in trust until I’m twenty-one. But I have his word that it will all come to me then, and he’ll make good the part that Wrexham lost.

“And, of course, it’s you I must thank for Wrexham’s fall,” he went on, bowing to me. His eyes, as he rose, were merry and just the slightest bit teasing. “Perhaps it is you who should be called Chief Alchemist.”

“No,” was all I said.

Something about the way I said it, however, made him push back his tawny hair and look down at me, contrite. “I’m sorry, Chantress. I shouldn’t be making jokes about it, not to you. Believe me, I had no idea Sir Isaac meant to harm you. If I had, I swear I would have put a stop to it. You know that, don’t you?”

“I do.” After all, Nat had made it clear that Gabriel hadn’t understood what he’d been copying.

“Then all’s well between us?”

His eyes would have melted a heart considerably more hardened than mine. “Yes,” I said. “All’s well.”

Gabriel gave me a brilliant smile and bent his head close. “You really are the most extraordinary woman, you know,” he whispered. “Come dance with me.”

I almost let him take my hand. But then I spotted Nat on the wide steps by the door. He was scanning the packed room, his sober expression entirely at odds with the general joyous mood. Was he looking for me?

“Excuse me,” I said to Gabriel, and plunged into the crowd. But I was only halfway across, still trapped in a sea of people, when I saw Nat turn and leave.

I caught up with him on the dim landing of a quiet staircase, just as he was about to disappear down it. “Nat, wait. It’s me.”

“Lucy!” His eyes widened as I stopped just short of him, below a small alcove filled with white hyacinths. “I couldn’t find you. You look . . .” He shook his head as if words failed him.

It didn’t matter. His eyes had said enough. Happiness flooded through me.

“It’s good to see you too,” I said softly. He’d dressed with unusual care, not in the showy fashions that Gabriel favored, but in fine black cloth that fit well over his shoulders, and snowy linen that set off his dark hair and the shadows and angles of his face. The only incongruous notes were his boots. Although they
were carefully polished, most men wore something less sturdy for dancing. But what did I care? He was here.

“I’m afraid I can’t stay,” he said.

My happiness faded. “You can’t? But Norrie said—”

“That I wanted to see you? Yes. I thought I should tell you in person . . .”

I held my breath.

His eyes flickered back toward the Great Hall. The players had struck up a new dance. “I was wrong about Sybil.”

It wasn’t what I’d expected him to say. “Sybil?”

“I misjudged her,” he said. “She’s been a good friend to you. I see that now.”

“I’m glad.” I wasn’t sure where this conversation was going. “So you approve of the match? Between Sybil and the King?”

“If the King proposes, I wish them joy,” he said, yet his eyes looked doubtful.

“But . . . ?” I prompted.

“I’m not sure he will.”

“He might,” I said, thinking of what I’d said to the King about precedents. “He just might.”

Nat shrugged. “Even if he does, it’s an unequal match.”

“Unequal how?” I demanded.

“Because he’s royal, and she’s not.”

“Only by accident. When they met, as children, they moved in the same circles; their fathers were friends.”

“They knew each other as children?” He took this in. “Well, perhaps that will make things easier between them.”

“Of course it will.”

He shook his head. “You underestimate the obstacles. To be King is to be far removed from anyone, to have worries and cares and powers that cannot be shared. And there will be objections to the match, you can be sure of that. In the face of so much opposition, it’s hard to make a marriage succeed.”

I leaned back against the wall. “Are we talking about the King and Sybil?” I asked slowly. “Or are we talking about us?”

His cheeks darkened then, but he met the question head-on. “What is there to say about us, except that we face even more obstacles?”

“What obstacles?” I felt brazen speaking so plainly, but I had to make him see. “I’ve spoken to the King, Nat. I’ve told him I won’t allow the Council to decide my future, and he’s agreed.”

“So I heard.”

“You’ve heard?” I pushed away from the wall. “The King told you?”

“Yes. And so did Penebrygg.”

“Oh.” Hot humiliation washed over me. He’d known all this time that I was free, and he hadn’t acted on it. I didn’t feel brazen anymore.

“Lucy, don’t look like that. Please.” Nat started toward me, then stopped himself.

He was mere inches from me, but it might as well have been a hundred miles. The staircase was silent as a tomb, and the scent of hyacinths was overpowering.

“You’ve had a change of heart?” It was hard to speak, but I had to know.

“Lucy, my heart hasn’t changed one whit.”

My breath quickened. “Then why—?”

“Because it won’t work.” His hazel eyes were full of pain. “Surely you can see that as well as I can.”

“I don’t see any such thing. Who cares what other people think?”

“It’s not that,” he said. “It’s the mismatch between us.”

“What mismatch?”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you work magic,” he said. “I’d forgotten just how powerful you are. And you’re becoming more powerful all the time. And I—well, let’s face it: I’m just an ordinary person.”

I started to protest, but he put up his hand. “Don’t misunderstand me. I’m glad that you could save yourself, gladder than you can imagine. Because even with my best efforts, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t protect you. I can’t give you what you need. That’s the long and short of it.”

“How do you define need?” I countered. “You keep me grounded, Nat. You listen to me. You’re someone I can trust absolutely.” I leaned toward him, so that our lips almost touched. “You’re all that to me—and more.”

He almost gave in; I saw it in his eyes. But there was something else there too: the same despair I’d seen when he’d given me the snowdrop.
A man who wants what he cannot have.

He stepped back.

“Nat?” I said, suddenly afraid.

“I wish it were that simple,” he said. “But it’s not. That night when we quarreled—when you wouldn’t run away—it’s stayed with me.”

“Because I said no? Nat—”

“Because you were
right
to say no. I had nothing to offer you. Nothing, at least, that you truly needed. I had no position, no standing, no wealth. I wanted to protect you, but I couldn’t. And that has to change.”

“I don’t care about money or power.” How could I make him understand? “You have yourself. That’s enough for me.”

“It wasn’t enough that night,” he said quietly. “And I learned something from it: If we’re to have any hope of a future together, I need to prove myself. As things stand, I have no right to court any woman, let alone you. That’s why I’m going away.”

A cold draft blew down my spine. “Away?” I echoed faintly.

“I’ve accepted a commission as the King’s envoy. I’ll be traveling all over the kingdom and on the Continent as well—wherever I need to go to end this famine and reduce the odds of another one following it. I don’t know if I can succeed. But I’m going to try.”

I couldn’t deny it was a worthy goal. All I could think, however, was that he was leaving me. As steadily as I could, I said, “But you’ll write, of course. We can write to each other. And surely you’ll be at Court sometimes. We can see each other then.”

“Lucy, no.” He was gentle but unyielding. “I meant what I said: I have to do this on my own. Otherwise, whatever I achieve, people will say it came from you, from your power. I came here to say good-bye. I leave tonight for Holland.”

Good-bye? I grabbed at my skirts—my beautiful, useless skirts. “You don’t need to do this. You really don’t.”

“Lucy, I do. I need to stand on my own two feet. It’s the only way forward.”

That was all he said, but the desperate certainty in his voice silenced me. His mind was made up. I bit back the pleas and arguments that crowded onto my tongue. They wouldn’t change anything, except to make the parting more bitter.

But I couldn’t help asking one question. “Tell me this: If I didn’t have magic, would you stay?”

He was silent for a long moment.

“That’s not a fair question,” he said at last. “You
do
have magic. It’s part of who you are. To wish it away would be like wishing
you
away.” He touched his hand to my face. “And whatever happens between us, I will never do that.”

I closed my eyes. Willing myself not to cry, I pressed my hand over his and felt his strong, cool fingers against my hot cheek. When he kissed me, I held on even tighter.

“I love you,” he said.

And I love you
, I wanted to say, but my voice had deserted me. Instead, I did what only love could make me do: I let his hand go.

When I opened my eyes, he was walking away. I watched him stride down the stairs and swing out the door. And then I was alone, with only my music and my magic to comfort me.

Chantress Alchemy
, like
Chantress
before it, is set in an alternate seventeenth-century England where magic is possible. Yet some of the most fantastical elements of the story are true.

Calendar houses, for instance, are rare but real. One of the best—Knole, home of the Sackville-Wests—inspired the Greenwich Palace that appears in this book. The real Greenwich Palace was a simpler affair and no longer exists, but you can still get a wonderful view of the site (now home to the Old Royal Naval College) from the top of Greenwich Hill.

Though alchemy had its detractors in the seventeenth century, it also had its disciples, including a number of eminent scientists (some of them members of the real-life Invisible College). Isaac Newton, for example, wrote more than a million words about alchemy, much of it in secret cipher. While alchemists disagreed about the exact nature and powers of the Philosopher’s Stone, some did indeed describe the Stone as a red powder or liquid, as King Henry does in this book.

Although we tend to think of alchemists as male, legend has it that some key early practitioners were women, including Pernelle Flamel. In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, we have good evidence that women such as Sophie Brahe, Lady Margaret Clifford, and Anna Maria Zieglerin were practicing alchemy either on their own or alongside men.

While there was no leader named Boudicca in seventeenth-century England, that part of the story is inspired by Britain’s long history of rebellion and civil protest. As the Inner Council notes in
Chantress Alchemy
, the Peasants’ Revolt of 1381, led by Wat Tyler, is part of that history. Other events include the Pilgrimage of Grace, the unrest caused by the Holy Maid of Kent, and, of course, the revolt of the real Boudicca (also called Boudica and Boadicea) in Roman times.

Believe it or not, potatoes really were a miracle food in this period. In
Chantress Alchemy
, I credit Nat with seeing their potential, but in the real world the first ruler to fully grasp this was Frederick the Great, King of Prussia, in the eighteenth century. He pushed his country to plant the newfangled crop so that he would have a better-fed populace to power his army. It is in no small part due to potatoes that Prussia was able to turn itself from a motley backwater into a great military power.

The first
Chantress
book took years to write, but this one came together in a whirlwind. I am so grateful to the wonderful writers who read the entire draft at short notice and offered comments: Jo Wyton, Nancy Werlin, Teri Terry, Paula Harrison, Kristina Cliff-Evans, and Kit Sturtevant. I was also lucky to have Nicki Thornton, Penny Schenk, Sally Poyton, and Nick Cross critique several early chapters. Warmest thanks to all the other people who encouraged me along the way, particularly the great crew at BIC-WriMo and the writers on retreat with me at KW-UK, SCBWI-BI, and the SAS’s Winter Warmer at Folly Farm. I also send a huge thank-you to all the readers and bloggers who’ve supported
Chantress
, and to all the fans who’ve asked what happens next!