Chapter Fourteen
Fourteen
Alvion law states that any royal court of inquiry must have a Sunborn or Mercuryborn magician present, to determine the legitimacy of what is said under oath. For a Sunborn can discern truth from lies, and a Mercuryborn can determine if there is something unspoken or withheld.
—THOMAS FEYDON, A HISTORY OF MAGIC IN ALVION
Roland’s mouth dropped open. “You cannot be me.”
“For all your power, your reputation—how little you understand women. She’s desperate to win your favor, so she’ll talk.”
He sighed, scratching his neck. “If only I wasn’t so beautiful and didn’t inspire such fascination.” He peeked at me from beneath a strand of his hair, as if to see whether I would agree. Instead I began casting about inside his wardrobe.
He herded me away. “What are you doing?”
“If I’m to be you, I need your clothes. Where is that purple coat you always wear?”
Again he blocked me, and I danced around him. “Do you have a better plan?”
He leaned against one of the wooden posts of his bed, drumming his fingers against his leg. “Well, no. But why can’t I go myself?”
“Only I can see her memory of the inquiry.”
“Hmm.” He fiddled with the red embroidered hangings, threaded with his initials.
“You won’t get too curious in my body, will you?
” A smile flickered, his head tipped to the side as he studied me.
“How do you plan to get her talking? Kitty likes flattery, and you’re not particularly skilled at that.
No, you ought to have information for her in exchange.
That’s what she’ll want. Then get out of there quickly. ”
“Show me,” I said.
His eyes widened. “What?”
“Show me what to do. Pretend I’m her.”
I needed to get this exactly right: Roland’s particular expressions, the weight of his gaze, the silken quality of his voice. He tipped forward. “Show you what, exactly?”
“You stay there. I’ll go to the bed.”
He burst out laughing, then bit his lip. “Wouldn’t I knock on the door first?”
“Oh, yes.” I pointed to the doorway that led to his privy chamber. “Stand there.”
He shrugged off his heavy coat, draping it carefully over his chair, then undid the ties of his doublet.
I shifted so I wore Kitty’s face, changing nothing else about my appearance. He grimaced when he noticed my features. “Don’t do that. Just—just look like yourself, please.”
“Yes, all right.” I lay back, wondering what ladies-in-waiting like Kitty Seton would do when they were alone with a man. There was hardly any light in the bedchamber. Only flickering candles, the dying fire, the wavering smoke. I said his name slowly, savoring it. “I hoped you’d come.”
His mouth twitched. “I believe she would say something to the effect of ‘I was expecting you earlier.’ She was always rather demanding.”
“Is it important to say exactly what she would in this exercise?”
“I suppose not. Go on.” He gestured for me to continue.
“I was expecting you earlier. The entire banquet, you didn’t so much as glance at me.”
He crossed the room and sat beside me on the bed, and then my head was in his hands and he was pushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “I was being watched,” he murmured.
“By Cecily?”
“By everyone.” He lowered his lips to my neck, hovering there as my heart thundered.
How low his voice became; the intensity in it changed. He was fully awake. Like a nocturnal creature I’d never seen walk at night. Was this what it was like, to be under the light of his attention? I’d long imagined how it might feel but never understood the force of it.
I closed my eyes. “May I ask—”
“Shh.” Finally, his lips pressed against my throat, and I caught my own moan before releasing it. He smiled against my skin. “My very favorite thing is when you listen.”
I didn’t realize my mouth was wide open until I snapped it shut.
Roland was at the very height of his powers on this bed.
He knew how to use his eyes effectively, how to tug on a woman.
His breath was hot and sweet, his hands assured on my body.
His lips traveled along my collarbone, along the chain I’d wrapped around his lance.
When he took the necklace in his mouth and tugged, my eyes shot open.
“Roland,” I said, and he laughed roughly, dropping it from between his lips.
He folded a strand of hair into my hood. A shrug. “I thought you were here to learn.”
“I am,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “You may continue.”
“As long as you’re ready.”
“I am.”
His smile turned feral. “Excellent.” He brushed my earring with his fingertip, watching as it swayed by my neck.
“I could use you in my employ, Kitty. You’re sharper than all of my councilors.
” He murmured this against my skin, just beneath my earlobe.
Little leaps of pleasure traveled down my spine.
“I knew if I sought you out, you, and you alone, would be able to help me. You listen when others don’t. ”
Somehow, I lost myself in his voice, unsure if beneath his words to Kitty Seton, he was really speaking to me.
My mind fluttered against his. There was curiosity, excitement. And to my relief—no disgust. We were trading knowledge, he and I. He knew what made fresh desire course through me—what sounds, what touches—and I knew he was enjoying this as much as I was.
“So all it takes is mere flattery?” I asked softly. “If she had any sense, she would be able to resist such temptation.”
He frowned. “Shall I try harder, then?”
“I believe it is my turn.” I pushed him down onto the sheets. He lifted his hands above his head, blinking up at me in surprise. “You will be Kitty now. I’ve absorbed your instruction. Tell me what I’m doing well, and what I’m doing wrong.”
He nodded, mouth parting slightly. “I will certainly tell you what you’re doing wrong.”
I climbed over him, my knees catching on my gown, my necklace swinging in front of his face, and I swept away my embarrassment, my pride, relinquishing myself entirely to the play we were performing. Yet we both knew I’d never do anything like this with the real Kitty, so why were we pretending?
My teeth scraped his neck. I resisted licking up a trail of sweat. “I thought of you every day.”
“Lower your voice.”
“I thought of you every day,” I repeated.
Beneath me, his breath hitched. “Only you could understand the machinations of my court. Only you can see the vipers hiding within men.” Pushing the hair from his forehead, I started to trace the lines of his face.
The cut of his cheekbones, the fine length of his nose.
He made a low, satisfied noise. “In what manner did you think of me?”
“Just like this. Neither of us with true power over the other. We would always be wrestling for it. Confiding in one another just enough to gain a little trust, and withholding what we could.” I stroked his chin. “Trading secrets.”
“Look her in the eyes.”
I fixed my gaze to his. My thumb swept across his lips. When I parted them, his eyes were suddenly very wide. All dark pupil.
He raised a hand to my hip and squeezed, pulling me closer. We breathed each other’s hot air. “What secret do you have to trade?”
“I believe Prince Hal was murdered.”
He flipped me over, his knee bracing my thighs apart, then tore his stare from mine. He slid off me. “Good enough. I’m convinced you won’t embarrass me at present. You know, you remind me of the king’s fool. All your balls and schemes in the air.”
“Yes, and if I drop one ball, I always have another.” I fixed the square bodice of my gown so it sat just above my breasts, then centered the pendant he’d tugged on with his teeth, turning my face to hide my flush.
He pulled out coats from his wardrobe in various shades for me to choose from, draped heavy chains and jewels around my neck, hooked a single pearl through my earlobe.
Finally, when he was satisfied, we stood before his mirror as twins. “The king simply cannot behead me,” he muttered, circling me so he could inspect every angle of himself.
Wearing his clothing, wielding his beauty, I felt myself expand in height and power. As if I were born to rule. As if it were my divine, star-given right.
I allowed myself this: a moment to swagger down the halls, swinging my arms as a lord chancellor would.
My pink hair, unburdened by a headdress.
I didn’t skitter around the edges of the palace; I walked right through.
Every guard bowed to me. Every door ushered me in.
Roland must be drunk from moving through the world this way.
I skimmed through every fluttering consciousness until I found Kitty’s mind.
If I concentrated, I felt a brute, deliriously happy force beside her—some sort of dog.
Cecily had a spaniel she carried around everywhere, and I supposed it had been handed over to Kitty for the day.
I wrinkled my nose and followed the distinct trail to the queen’s chambers.
When I knocked, the guards didn’t hesitate to push the doors open.
Kitty’s gaze snapped up from the book she was writing in, the little spaniel squirming in her lap.
She was surrounded by other women—stitching, paging through their Books of Hours, playing cards. They all burned when they looked at me.
“Where is Her Majesty?” I asked.
“Taking a turn around the gardens with the king,” said Joan Rockford. “He needs fresh air.”
“Good. I’d like a private word with Kitty.” I spun with my hands knit behind my back, as I’d seen Roland do, and tossed her a mischievous smile.
Without the cake of powder, she looked older than her twenty-eight years. There were faint lines on her forehead, around her mouth. She pursed her thin lips, waving the other ladies away. With a flash they were gone, their white gowns fluttering in their wake as they turned the corner.