Tarnish
tarnish
Katherine Longshore
VIKING
An Imprint of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
VIKING
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
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First published in the United States of America by Viking, an imprint of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 2013
Copyright © Katherine Longshore, 2013
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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA
Longshore, Katherine.
Tarnish / by Katherine Longshore.
p. cm.
Summary: “At the English court, King Henry VIII’s interest in Anne Boleyn could give her an opportunity to make a real impact in a world with few choices for women, but when poet Thomas Wyatt reveals he’s fallen for her, Anne must choose between true love and the chance to make history”—Provided by publisher.
ISBN 978-1-101-60246-1
1. Anne Boleyn, Queen, consort of Henry VIII, King of England, 1507–1536—Juvenile fiction. 2. Great Britain—History—Henry VIII, 1509–1547—Juvenile fiction. [1. Anne Boleyn, Queen, consort of Henry VIII, King of England, 1507–1536—Fiction. 2. Great Britain—History—Henry VIII, 1509–1547—Fiction. 3. Kings, queens, rulers, etc.—Fiction. 4. Sex role—Fiction. 5. Love—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.L864Tar 2013 [Fic]—dc23 2012032988
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
To my sister, Martha, because the Longshores stick together. Thank you for being the one to pick up the phone.
Contents
Greenwich Palace
1523
1
A
DEEP BREATH IS ALL IT TAKES TO ENTER A ROOM.
Or to scream.
Or both.
I stand against a wall, five strides from the great oak door of the queen’s apartments. The guard watches me sideways, pretending he’s not. Pretending he’s focused on the stairwell. The pretense fails to deceive me.
I haven’t asked to enter. Nor can I turn and walk away. Before reentering the queen’s service, I must solicit her welcome. And he knows it. I know he’s looking at my risqué French hood. At the black hair it exposes. At my misshapen little finger. I shake my sleeve to cover it.
I know he’s thinking about my family. My sister.
We stand like effigies, pretending not to stare at each other.
The walls loom, gray as the rain outside. Like the sky of England itself. Everything seems colorless and humbled, despite the layers of velvets and tapestries, the peacock plumage of courtiers and ladies. Greenwich Palace feels like my father’s disappointment made tangible.
