Chapter 29
Anne
“You can’t approach her here,” Lina said, raising her voice to be heard over the music.
It was the third night of feasting now that the king and queen were both home, the third night that Anne had been forced to sit in the same room as Kat and do nothing.
“I know,” Anne grumbled, even though she’d been halfway to the royal dais, concocting an excuse to talk to the queen as she walked.
She let Lina guide her back to their table. Anne’s patience was wearing thin. Anna hadn’t been able to secure an audience with the queen yet, and there was something so frustrating about being just yards away from the person they’d come all this way to save.
On top of that, the stress of keeping up her glamour and Lina’s was starting to fray Anne’s energy and temper.
The glamour required daily upkeep with small doses of magick to feed the spell.
Anne’s fingers were cut to ribbons, and her very bones seemed to ache from the effort of keeping every detail in place.
She’d never performed such long-lasting cursework, and she wondered if there was a bottom to the well of her gift, the bottom that she had scraped the day of her execution.
What if she reached that bottom when she was standing right in front of Henry?
What if her true face appeared to him and she was caught?
It was a silly question—she knew what she would do. Grab the dagger from his waist, stab him in the heart, and then run as fast as she could.[*1]
Seeing him again in the flesh was like meeting someone in a dream—distorted and surreal.
This Henry was almost unrecognizable from the man she had been married to.
His leg was a wreck, his weight had increased dramatically, and Anne had noticed he had trouble standing and walking, especially after drinking.
That didn’t seem to slow his consumption of wine, but that at least was a familiar custom.
He had always loved his drink. His skin looked red and blotchy even under the soft firelight of the hall; his hair was combed over in a vain attempt to hide the thinning patches.
Anne began to wonder if he was truly unwell.
She knew that the magick of her curse upon his jousting wound still lingered—she could feel a pull in her chest every time Henry was near—and maybe it was responsible for the ruin of a man the king had become.
She couldn’t say the thought was upsetting.
The true disappointment from their visit—other than the fact that Kat might be headed for the Tower of London at the drop of a hat—was that Mary was the only princess in attendance for the holiday.
Elizabeth was still at Hatfield Palace, and though Anne desperately longed to see her daughter, she hardly knew what she would do if Elizabeth were here.
The interaction between Lina and Mary in the garden had broken Anne’s heart, and she was certain she couldn’t have handled the situation had the roles been reversed.
Anne rested her elbow on the table and let her hand support her tired head.
This was another fruitless evening. No further gossip had been overheard, and Kat hadn’t even danced once, let alone with the handsome young man with the dark hair Anne had determined to be Thomas Culpeper.
Kat had only looked at him once all night, but that single glance had made it clear where her cousin’s affection lay.
The hour was late, and Anna and Brigid had returned to their suite ages ago.
Anne hoped they could enjoy some quiet time alone; she had noticed they kept a careful distance from each other whenever they were in public.
Old habits had seemed to kick in the moment they all arrived at the palace.
Lina had gotten over her initial bout of nerves and become the cold, steely woman Anne remembered from their early days together.
Anne herself had taken on the role of social butterfly, introducing herself as the Frenchwoman newly in the employ of Anna von Kleve, eager to make acquaintances in the English court.
She had reintroduced herself to old friends and enemies alike, and not a single one of them had recognized her.
Anne was pleased her glamour was so powerful, but at the same time she somehow felt lonely knowing that only a single person in this room knew who she truly was.
“Let’s turn in,” Anne said to Lina. “We’re not getting anywhere tonight.”
Lina looked relieved and was on her feet before Anne could blink. Wearily, Anne followed her out of the Great Hall toward Anna’s suite. But they had only rounded the corner when they heard two women speaking—or, rather, one was yelling.
“Take this message to the queen right away!” All Anne could see was the back of the woman with the raised voice. By her dress, she was a noblewoman, and the style of the French hood over her hair placed her in her twenties or thereabouts.
She was holding out a sealed letter to a young woman in servant livery. Woman may have been a stretch—the waifish blonde was still a girl of fourteen or so. She was likely a kitchen maid, part of the staff that carried out the endless days of feasting.
“Mistress Hall—” the girl began, tone conciliatory, flinching when the noblewoman swiped at her with the letter. “I do not have the ability to get a letter to the queen. I am terribly sorry.”
Anne and Lina shared a glance and stepped into one of the recesses of the hallway to listen further.
“I have been missing my brother John Lassells for two days,” Mistress Hall seethed, standing taller until she and her shadow stretched above the girl. “I discovered he is under house arrest here in the palace for having wronged Queen Katherine. I demand to know why.”
Anne’s hackles rose—whether this Lassells character was a real threat she couldn’t be sure, but she couldn’t ignore the possibility that he knew something.
“You will have to speak to one of the queen’s ladies, or perhaps one of her secretaries,” the servant girl was saying. “I cannot help you. It is not my place.”
She hurried away, while Mistress Hall stormed in the opposite direction toward Anne and Lina.
As Anne was wont to do, she made a quick decision. Lina grabbed for her arm but was too slow; Anne stepped out of the shadows.
“Mistress Hall?” Anne beckoned the woman over, taking stock as she approached.
Mistress Hall was sharp-angled and sour-faced, her dark hair devoid of shine and her gown a year or so out of season.
She was not a wealthy woman, at least by the court’s standards, nor was she a beauty.
Her brother would be some kind of courtier, but not one important enough for Anne to know by name.
Curtsies were exchanged, and Anne didn’t give Mistress Hall a moment to question them or Lina a moment to drag her away.
“My companion and I could not help but overhear that you are seeking aid from Queen Katherine. We are ladies-in-waiting to Her Highness Anna von Kleve, the king’s sister. Perhaps we can be of help?”
Frustration gave way to something akin to hope in the other woman’s eyes.
“Yes, oh thank you, milady.” She held the wrinkled letter out to Anne.
“All my husband and I have been able to discover is that my brother is being held at the orders of the queen. I am certain it is all a misunderstanding. We knew the queen in her younger days. She would never treat my brother thusly.”
“You can think of no reason the queen would find fault with your brother?” Lina pressed. Anne felt a twinge of satisfaction—her friend was in this too.
Mistress Hall shook her head, swift enough that Anne heard her neck pop. “Certainly not, milady. He had been in the employ of Lord Cromwell but was not caught up in all of”—she waved a hand—“that. John is a righteous man who serves his kingdom and God with his whole heart.”
Anne had to hold back her scoff. If John Lassells had been tied up with Cromwell, there was no doubt he had schemes and secrets of his own.
“We will take this letter to Her Highness. She may be able to speak to the queen on the matter. Do you know where Mr. Lassells is being kept?” Anne asked.
The woman gave them directions. “God bless you, and thank you. I can’t bear the thought of my brother in danger.”
After Mistress Hall had walked away, Anne turned to Lina.
“Shall we pay a visit to Mr. Lassells?”
In a far-flung wing of the palace, the door to Lassells’s room was locked from the outside, though thankfully there were no guards posted.
After pressing her ear against the door and listening for footsteps or voices—none to be heard—Anne whispered an unlocking spell, springing the catch open.
Slowly, she eased the door back on its hinges and stepped into the darkened room, Lina behind her to close the door again.
The remnants of supper sat cold on a table at the center of the sitting room, and a fire had burned down to embers in the hearth.
There was only one other door, slightly ajar, that would lead to Lassells’s bedroom, and presumably the man himself.
But there was no time to investigate, for just as they were tiptoeing across the room, someone else knocked.
Lina moved first, tucking herself behind one of the heavy drapes framing the windows. Anne took her cue and hid behind the other side, hoping her shoes and skirts wouldn’t be visible.
From the bedroom came the sounds of waking, followed by the glow of a newly lit candle.
All the while, the person at the door knocked harder and with increasing insistence.
Anne peeked out from behind the curtain to see a young man in a rumpled tunic stagger into the sitting room and head for the door.
“Who is it?” Lassells asked peevishly. “The door is locked.”
The knob turned audibly, and a familiar voice replied, “No, it is not.”
Fool, Anne chided herself. You didn’t replace the lock.
“Archbishop Cranmer?” Lassells sounded surprised. “What are you doing here?”