Chapter 35
Kat
Kat returned to the Tower of London on the day of her own execution.
She had not allowed them to talk her out of it.
She had screamed and raged and shattered fine things at Richmond Palace until finally they conceded.
She submitted to Anne’s glamour and was made over to look like a plain, raven-haired young woman, but she refused to speak to her cousin, just as she had for the last several days.
Lina stayed behind, claiming she did not have the energy for Kat’s theatrics, and though Kat knew she should feel ashamed, she was just relieved that there was one fewer person she’d have to talk to on the worst day of her life.
She’d been thinking rather seriously about running up and stopping the execution, explaining it had been orchestrated by the witch Anne Boleyn and that they’d all been put under her spell.
Of course, no one would believe her, and she’d likely be sent to Bedlam to join John Lassells.
But oh, how Kat raged at Anne’s hubris, that her cousin had thought she knew everything and knew best and had talked Thomas into dying.
They could have both gotten out, Kat was certain.
If Anne had just thought it through, if she hadn’t been so shortsighted, Kat would be headed to France with Thomas right now, soon to be holed up in a beautiful chateau in the French countryside as they started their new lives together.
Instead, Kat was riding in Anna von Kleve’s carriage on a bitterly cold and gray February morning.
She sat as close to the door as she could, making sure her elbow never brushed Anne’s even as the carriage jostled down the frozen streets.
Anna and Brigid sat across from her, their expressions a mix of pity and somberness that somehow managed to irritate Kat further.
What right had they to look sad? Neither of them were about to watch the love of their life die.
They didn’t know what it was like to let someone else bear the punishment for your sins.
Torn between screaming and sobbing, Kat looked out the window just in time to see London Bridge.
There, above the gate, a traitor’s head had been tarred and impaled, a warning to all the men of England.
Kat felt the empty eye sockets staring at her, gazing down into her soul and finding it dark, crooked, and stained.
The head belonged to Francis Dereham.
Without warning, Kat threw open the door and vomited what little she’d had for her morning repast into the street.
By the time she was done, the cabin of the carriage had gone icy, and she felt a bitter surge of satisfaction for making the other women suffer along with her.
But someone had slipped a bit of candied ginger and a fresh handkerchief onto the seat beside her, and even though Kat wanted to feel all the pain of the moment, she found herself cleaning her mouth and slipping the ginger onto her tongue.
It wasn’t fair, Kat knew, to be so angry.
Anna had told her again and again the lengths that Anne and Lina had gone to just for the hope of keeping Kat safe.
She had explained how they came to the conclusion to ask Thomas for his sacrifice, had said how much it had pained Anne to know she was making that choice.
She’d extolled the bravery of all involved and begged for Kat’s forgiveness for putting her in such a difficult situation.
The worst part was, Kat saw the logic of the plan.
She knew Anne thought she was doing the right thing by saving Kat, that Thomas felt he had made a noble sacrifice in the name of love.
She recognized that, yes, death by a proper executioner would be a more humane way to go than the horror that Francis Dereham had endured.
She was even aware of the fact that her behavior had been wretched and ungrateful and cruel—an insult to everyone who was involved in her rescue.
Kat understood it all. But in the end, only one thing mattered.
Thomas would die, and she would live.
It was the same as saying the sun would carry on without the moon. That the trees would go on living without the birds. That the tides would turn and the seasons would pass, and Kat was just supposed to live, as though that weren’t the most impossible thing she could ever do.
That was why she had demanded to go today.
Not because she was strong enough to bear the death of her lover.
Not because she wanted to say a final farewell.
But because this was the end of her life—her true, real life.
Thomas would die, and everything that mattered inside Kat would die too.
And she didn’t want either of them to be alone when that moment came.
The morning unfolded like a dream edging toward a nightmare.
Their carriage stopped at the Tower, and the four women joined the throng of people headed toward the gallows.
As though it were some kind of honor, Anna was ushered to a cluster of frosty wooden benches reserved for the highest nobility.
Kat wound up tucked between Anna and Anne, though her cousin kept a good several inches between them, avoiding Kat’s eyes but somehow always watching her all the same.
It was irritating, how kind Anne had been even when Kat had called her all manner of terrible things she only half meant.
Kat wished Anne would yell back, that they could have a proper fight so that Kat could win and feel a shred of justice.
But Kat was always left disappointed, and it made it that much harder for her to go on believing she was in the right.
The wind whipped up along the Thames, roaring into the Tower Green with the fury only February could possess.
Anna had made sure Kat was dressed warmly in wool skirts and a heavy cloak, but even still Kat began to shiver.
At first, she blamed it on the cold, but soon she realized it was panic causing her limbs to shake and her heart to race.
She cast about for something else to focus on and began scanning the crowd to see if anyone had come to show their support in her supposed final hours.
Kat noticed with no surprise that her uncle Norfolk had not deigned to attend.
In fact, no Howards were to be found, likely hoping to keep out of sight before Henry decided they bore some taint of the young queen’s guilt.
They had been the ones to push the match with Henry, and now they were all too willing to wash their hands of Kat once and for all.
The dream fully tipped into a nightmare when Kat saw herself being led to the gallows by a short, balding priest. It was Thomas, of course, but the glamour was so good not even Kat could spot a sign that it was all an illusion.
Little wonder her cousin had looked so pale and peaked for the last fortnight—that amount of magick must have been terribly draining.
Good, thought the angry, frightened beast crouching in the hollow place inside Kat’s breaking heart. I hope it hurts her too.
Thomas held his spine straight, though from where Kat was sitting, she could see that his hands were trembling.
She wanted so badly to go to him, and for a second, she felt all her muscles tense as though she really would jump up and run to the platform and die beside him.
But then Thomas’s eyes found hers in the crowd, and despite all the magick and all the people and all the fear wrapped around Kat’s heart, time seemed to stop.
For a single second, she thought she could see through his glamour and he through hers. They stared at each other, never farther away than they were at that moment, but still hopelessly and irrevocably connected.
I love you, Thomas mouthed to her. What was left of Kat’s resolve shattered, all the fury that had possessed her to fight vanishing in an instant. “I love you too,” she whispered back.
Time sped up, and Kat found herself gripping Anne’s hand as the priest gave a prayer and Thomas placed his head on the bloodstained block and the executioner’s axe swung and…
Kat fainted the moment Thomas’s head struck the ground.[*]
Skip Notes
* In the years since, Anne and I have gone over this young man’s fate over and over.
Could I have helped, had I been in England at the time?
Could Anne have stretched her magick even further?
Could we have found another way to save Kat and save Thomas in the process?
There is no way to know. But at least Thomas showed us that there is courage and honor still among men.