Chantress Fury (14 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

FINDING THE QUEEN

I didn’t dare let myself stop; if I stopped, I would cry. Instead I marched myself off to the Great Hall to talk to Sybil about the scrying. If people chose to hold up crosses when they saw me coming, I would just have to deal with it. I had work to do.

But the trouble started before I even had a chance to enter the Great Hall. Just outside the doors, half a dozen ladies-in-waiting were standing in a tight gossipy knot. When they saw me approach, they broke apart. Had the gossip been about me? Had they seen the broadside?

By the look of them, they had. Before this, they’d never been friendly, but now they were overtly hostile. I saw some of them fingering crosses. For the first time, it occurred to me to wonder who had pushed the broadside under Nat’s door.

I wasn’t going to ask; I had my pride. But I wasn’t going to retreat, either—even though they had arranged themselves so that my way forward was blocked.

I brandished my iron bracelet to prove my good faith. “I need to speak with the Queen. Do you know where she is?”

Silence. But then, from behind me, someone spoke up, shyly but with courtesy. It was Clemence. “The Queen? Why she’s in the little room around the back, where we’re keeping the supplies.”

“Thank you.” I could reach that room without going through the Great Hall—or past the line of ladies-in-waiting.

As I walked away, I heard the others chide Clemence for speaking to me. There was clearly more to her than I’d realized, a certain kindness and independence of mind that the others lacked. Was that why Nat was drawn to her? Would he turn to her now?

I knew I should feel grateful to her for helping me, but what consumed me was pain.

Sybil was counting out blankets when I came in. For a moment I almost didn’t recognize her. No longer the perfect portrait of queenly elegance, she wore heavy boots and a gown that had been ruined by the rain. Her curls were disheveled, and her neck and arms and ears were bare, save for her iron ring.

Her eyes, however, were as warm as ever—and livelier than they had been in ages.

“Lucy!” She didn’t leave her work but beckoned me over. “Joan told me you were all right, but it’s good to see you with my own eyes.”

She hugged me, then frowned anxiously. “Oh dear. What is it?”

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not,” she insisted. “Do you think I can’t tell?”

It was no use trying to hide the truth from Sybil. “I had an argument with Nat, that’s all.”

“Oh, Lucy! What about?”

“It—it doesn’t matter.” Quickly I broached the real purpose of my visit, telling her about Melisande and the scrying and what Penebrygg had said about them both.

“The wall between the worlds,” she said slowly when I was done. “That rings a bell somewhere—and the two snakes, too.”

“You recognize them?”

“Nothing so precise as that, I’m afraid. But I have this idea that Chantresses were involved in sealing some kind of wall, or widening it, or something like that. I don’t know what they did exactly, or even when, but Mama once said that the Chantresses did it to keep the Others at bay.”

“The Others? Is that what she called them?” I asked. “Not the Mothers?”

“I think she said the Others, but I’m not certain. She was talking to someone else, you see, and I just happened to overhear her. So I didn’t catch everything.”

“Did you hear her say anything else about this wall?”

“Not that I can recall,” Sybil said slowly. “Though I think . . . maybe . . . she said the sealing of the wall had something to do with Melusine.”

“With Melusine?” I was surprised. “Are you sure?”

“Well, that bit I’m really not certain about,” Sybil admitted. “And of course Mama never let the truth get in the way of a good story.”

I felt as if we were going around in circles. But then I thought to ask, “Who was your mother talking to?”

Sybil looked down, thinking hard. “Do you know, I think it was when that odd woman came to the house to heal me, the one with the sea-green eyes.”

I felt a leap of excitement. Could it have been Melisande? “Can you remember anything else?”

Sybil closed her eyes. “I think . . . I think it was the woman who was asking the questions. And she reminded my mother that if Chantress magic made something, then only Chantress magic could destroy it.” She sighed and opened her eyes. “And I’m afraid that really
is
all I remember. I wish it were more.”

“It’s a great deal,” I assured her, though I was sorry it wasn’t more too. If only Melisande hadn’t escaped! I could try describing her to Sybil, but there was no way she could identify the woman for certain without seeing her. And even then, could such a distant memory be trusted?

I looked at Sybil, who had gone back to her blankets. “The woman you saw, was she wearing a necklace like the one Melisande had today? With the two snakes?”

“If she was, I didn’t see it. She was all wrapped up.” She scribbled a note on a list, then paused. “But as I said, there’s something about those snakes that sounds familiar.” She shook her head. “How frustrating. I can’t quite place it.”

“Maybe it will come to you later. Will you find me if it does?”

“Of course—as soon as I can get away, that is. Or I’ll send Norrie. She’s planning to stay in the Great Hall with me tonight.” Sybil stretched and set down her list. “What a rock that woman is, Lucy! Honestly, she’s had the strength of ten today.”

I remembered how confident Norrie had looked when I’d seen her, calm and in charge. Of late I’d been reluctant to lean on her, fearing she was too old and frail, but it seemed I’d under­estimated her.

I’d clearly underestimated Sybil as well. Standing here in her plain clothes, busy about her work, she had a serenity and sureness I’d never seen in her before. And there was something more I saw.

“You look happy,” I said wonderingly.

Sybil looked abashed. “It sounds dreadful to say it, when people are suffering so much, but I am. I can’t tell you what a gift it is to be able to do something practical for once, something real. No one in the Great Hall cares about Court etiquette. They just want a bed and some food and a friendly word—and I can make that happen.” Her eyes crinkled in amusement. “In a way, it’s rather like my old life with Mama. I cajole supplies out of the steward; I sort out arguments; I calm the kitchen staff . . .”

It was good to see her so happy, but it was also disconcerting. “And the King? Does he know how much you’ve been doing?”

“Oh, Lucy, he’s so
proud
of me.” She gave me a glowing smile. “He’s sharing reports with me now. And we’ve talked—really talked—about what’s happening in the city and what we should do about it.”

“That’s good.” My voice sounded all wrong, but it was hard to know what to say.

“Oh, I know it won’t sound like much to you,” Sybil said. “You’re used to having Henry seek your advice. But for me, it’s new—and wonderful—to have him trust me like that.” She shook her head. “I’ve been trying so hard to be a proper queen; I didn’t want to humiliate him. But I’m starting to think I should have just been myself all along.”

A knock came at the door. Sybil gave me a quick hug. “I need to get that. But you’re welcome to stay, Lucy.”

“You’re kind to offer, but I should go.” If I stayed, she might want to talk about Nat again, and I couldn’t bear that.

The person at the door turned out to be Clemence, who blushed when she saw me. Sybil didn’t seem to notice. Warmly she drew Clemence in, and they started to discuss the ins and outs of supplies, and even to joke with each other about some of the trials of the day.

“Good night,” I said, and slipped out.

In the darkness, I let the cool rain fall onto my burning face.

What have I done?

I had been so certain I was doing the right thing in pushing Nat away. I’d taken Sybil’s unhappiness as a warning. And now Sybil’s situation was changing . . .

Was it too late to go back to Nat? To tell him that maybe I was wrong? To say that I loved him and wanted to find a way forward?

My feet made the decision for me. I found myself turning back to his rooms, first walking, then running, then racing. There was a light in his window. I bounded up the stairs and knocked on the heavy door.

No one opened it.

I knocked again, harder. “It’s Lucy,” I called through the keyhole.

Nat didn’t answer.

Maybe he isn’t there
, I told myself.
Maybe he’s asleep.

But there was another, more awful possibility that I couldn’t ignore.
Maybe he knows I’m here but he’s done with me.

I knocked twice more, so loudly that I was half-afraid I’d wake Penebrygg in the inner room, but no one came.

I forced myself to turn away. No matter how desperate I felt, I couldn’t stand there all night, not when I was needed elsewhere.

The rain lashed at me as I crossed the dark courtyard again. I wasn’t giving up, I told myself. I might have to wait until later, but I was still determined to talk to Nat, to ask for one more chance to set things right between us. Deep inside, however, I couldn’t help fearing that I’d already been given that chance—and I’d thrown it away.

Weary and aching with sadness, I set off toward the guardrooms to see Captain Knollys, hoping he might have some new clue about Melisande’s whereabouts. Much to his frustration and mine, however, Knollys had nothing to report.

“There’s no sign of Melisande anywhere,” he said. “Or of that servant of hers. And no one’s approached those rooms since we went there this morning. Whoever—or whatever—those women are, they’ve gone to ground.”

It wasn’t good news, but I knew I needed to bring it to the King anyway. It had been many hours since I’d last seen him, and he would be wondering what progress I’d made.

It took me another half hour to find where the new State Rooms were located, in temporary quarters by the tiltyard. When I arrived there, everything was in confusion. The most valuable trappings had been carried across from the old State Rooms, but the Brussels tapestries were still rolled tight, the King’s gilded throne sat forgotten in a corner, and paintings by Holbein, Raphael, and Gentileschi were stacked against the walls. Crates of documents were piled up everywhere, and mobs of clerks and secretaries were scrabbling to put them in order.

The King, haggard but alert, touched iron with me, then drew me into a small alcove filled with yet more crates, six Turkey carpets, and an ivory-inlay writing desk. “Your captive—has she been found?”

“I’m afraid not,” I said. “But my men are still doing their best to trace her. And I may have found another clue that will help us.”

“A clue?” He looked hopeful.

“Yes. Here, let me draw it for you.” With the pen and paper he offered me, I sketched out the joined snakes. “Have you ever seen anything like this before?”

“No. Not at all.” His blue eyes clouded. “Should I have?”

“Not necessarily.” I folded up the sketch and tucked it into my sleeve, trying to sound more confident than I felt. “Don’t let it worry you. I’ll work it out. But perhaps you could tell me what’s going on elsewhere? I hear there’s been another sighting of a kraken.”

“Three at least, by now,” said the King. “The only bright spot is that it seems that the attacks are slacking off elsewhere. As far as we can tell, we’re bearing the brunt of things here in London.”

Was that because our enemy was bent on destroying the country’s seat of power? Or was there another reason? I thought of how the sea serpent had honed in on my singing, how the kraken had come to just that part of the river where I had been working magic, how the river kept calling to me.

Could it be that
I
was the target?

The King was skeptical. “If you’re the target, then why aren’t all the monsters lining up outside Whitehall? And what about those mermaids that came before, and the attacks at Portsmouth?”

The Lord High Admiral huffed up to us, holding up his iron ring. “Your Majesty, if I might have a word?”

“Of course.” The King gestured for him to speak.

The Admiral coughed, glanced at me, then shook his head. “In private, Your Majesty.”