Chapter Ten
“Bye! Goodbye!”
I’m on my tiptoes with Theo in my arms, waving Henry off as his royal retinue departs for Buckinghamshire.
The morning sun is beating down on me, and my forest green headpiece greedily absorbs the heat, making my scalp sweat.
I should be doing a better job of looking heartbroken, but there’s an undeniable lightness in my chest as I watch Henry’s carriage move farther and farther away from the palace.
Lady Rochford is standing beside me as it seems like a hundred mounted horses ride out behind Henry’s carriage, with another hundred in the front.
“Where are we off to, then?” she asks me. “More embroidery, I presume?”
The sounds of Henry’s Thanksgiving Day parade begin to quell as most of his entourage has left the yard, and a sense of freedom washes over me as I turn to Lady Rochford. “Yes, I would like to embroider, but I just have something I need to do first. Alone.”
A dignified eyebrow lifts in question as I pass Theo over into her not-cuddly arms. “What could you possibly need to do on your own?”
“Matthias! Please, open up!” I’ve been pounding on his door for almost a minute when the alleged astrologer finally swings it open. His hair is more askew than usual, and his eyes are noticeably bloodshot. “Are you drunk?” I ask.
“I’m always a little drunk.” He leans his shoulder against the door, fumbling a step when it opens wider.
I sniff the air between us. “You smell like a music festival.”
“Well, you’re two days early. I was going to bathe before I saw you.”
I scrunch my eyes. “Why don’t I believe you?”
“Because I’m lying,” he admits. “Come in, come in. Let’s have a talk.”
He moves aside and I enter the room. I don’t know if the space is slightly cleaner than the last time or if I’m just getting used to it, but I have a feeling it’s the latter. His raven in the corner bites at the cage like it’s just itching to peck my face off.
“I’m pretty sure your bird hates me,” I tell him, moving to the center of the room to sit on the less dirty high-backed chair.
“Sorry. I’ve trained her to root out time-traveling abominations.”
“I should have assumed.” Matthias sits down in the chair across from me. He’s smiling and saying nothing as he rests his hands in his lap. I don’t know if I’m about to get good news or bad news.
“So,” I prompt him. “Did you find anything?”
For a second his eyes are totally blank until he says, “Ah, you mean about how to send you home. Yes and no.”
I wait for him to elaborate. He doesn’t.
“What does that mean?”
He sits forward in his chair, rubbing his hands together. “It means yes, I did find something, and no, because I’m not quite certain how we can use it to bring Catherine back or to send you forward.”
I open my mouth to speak but then stop myself. “I’m going to need more details than that.”
Matthias gets up to grab a bottle of wine from a nearby table.
He sniffs it, makes a sour face, then pours himself a glass.
“What I found was a passage in a text that focused on the matter of souls. Souls coming, souls going, and the possibility of controlling the destiny of a soul.” I inch forward as he goes on.
“You see, the more I think of it, the more I’m convinced that what happened to you didn’t happen by chance.
I believe that Catherine’s spirit must have somehow chosen to send you here. ”
I sit back in my chair. The surface is sticky, but I can’t bring myself to care. “No,” I tell him.
Matthias takes a sip of his wine, almost gags, then swallows it down. “No?”
“No, that makes no sense. Why would Catherine choose to send me back? I don’t fit here. I hate it here.”
“Well,” Matthias says, returning to his seat, “alternatively, Catherine might have sent you back to punish you. Maybe she saw you in the palace in the future and didn’t like you.”
I give him a glare, and he goes on. “Or maybe it was just the path of least resistance. Your spirit is more bendy than most.”
“You can sense that?”
“Of course not,” he scoffs. “The mist told me.”
“Fantastic.” I’m the one to get up now, putting my hands on my hips as I begin to pace. “You’re telling me that there is no way for us to bring Catherine back? I thought you said you found something.”
Matthias’s gaze turns slightly optimistic. “Yes, I did read a passage that suggests that summoning a spirit can be done . . .”
“That’s great!”
“The issue being, we would need a piece of Catherine’s soul in order for it to work.”
I’m cursed. My mom didn’t invite an old witch to my christening after I was born and because of that, I was cursed in my crib as a baby. That or Matthias is right, and Catherine Howard is actually trying to kill me.
“Her soul?” I repeat for clarification. “We need a piece of Catherine’s soul?”
“Correct. Or something connected to her soul.”
I cover my face in my hands to stop myself from screaming. When I lower them back down, my eyes are raging. “What the hell, Matthias?”
His affronted gaze shoots right back at me. “Why am I the one taking all the blame? I’m doing the best I can here.”
I inhale a ragged breath and close my eyes. I know this isn’t his fault. I just want to go home. I at least need to have hope that I can get home. When I open my eyes back up, Matthias is watching me with a curious flicker in his gaze.
“Wait,” he says quietly. “I just realized . . . you never told me your name. What is it?”
My throat instantly turns tight. I hadn’t realized just how badly I needed someone to ask me that question until I heard the words.
“It’s Lily,” I answer. Matthias smiles. He even chuckles a bit. “Why is that funny?”
He shrugs. “It just suits you, is all. You remind me of a lily of the valley.”
“It’s my mom’s favorite flower.”
Matthias chuckles again. “It’s quite poisonous, isn’t it?”
“Just a little. And only when ingested.” I move over to look at one of his tables, picking up and perusing a scroll that appears to be written in Latin.
“What was your mother like?” he asks.
I accidently squeeze the paper at his question, crinkling it along the edges before I place it back onto the table.
I’ve done a good job of not thinking about my mother here, afraid I’d instantly break down.
Picturing her now, it doesn’t hurt like I thought it would. Instead, I feel safe and calmer.
“She’s tall,” I tell Matthias. “Taller than most women. And she loves the ocean. She can identify seashells within ten seconds of looking at them.” I glance down at my empty hands, half expecting to find one there.
“She has freckles on her nose, and all around it, too. Her hands are uncommonly soft, and no matter what she’s doing, she smells like lilacs and library books. ”
I think about crying then, but sadness isn’t the only thing that can bring tears. Love can, too.
“You’re lucky you have such vivid memories,” Matthias says. “I hardly remember my mother at all.”
I’m about to ask him what he does remember about her, but he downs his drink and throws the cup into the fire. Whatever emotions he’s feeling, I want to give him the time and space to sort through them. I turn away and walk to the windows, noticing a long row of tents set up in the distance.
When I hear Matthias approaching, I ask, “What’s going on over there? By the base of that hill?”
He stands at the window a few feet away, opening it up and gazing out. “Those are the revels. Still going on, it seems.”
I move closer to the glass in front of me for a better look. “What are the revels?”
“Music, jugglers, games of chance. I lost a fair bit of coin there yesterday.” Matthias closes his window and faces me. “You wouldn’t happen to have any I could borrow, would you? My debts have been stacking up as of late.”
I look back at him with a wry stare. “I will steal every jewel in this palace and drop it on your doorstep if you help me get back home.”
“I need more time,” he says, moving deeper into the room.
“I haven’t given up hope. In the meantime, look inside yourself and see if any bits of Catherine are still in there.
Maybe she’s just as trapped as you are.” I look down at my stomach before cynically glancing back up.
“Or if you have any theories,” he continues, “feel free to keep testing them. Not that I don’t work well under pressure, but I’m not exactly the most dependable person, so to speak. ”
“Not even with the mist?” I tease.
Matthias smirks. “The mist likes to deceive me sometimes.”
I offer him a quick smile and head over to the door. My hand is reaching for the handle when I twist back around. “The king is gone for a month. I’ll check on you again in a few days.”
He makes a scrunched-up face. “You see, I’m feeling the pressure that we just talked about.”
“Oh, are you? Are you feeling the pressure, Matthias? Show of hands, which one of us is meant to get their head chopped off in a public forum after being forced to marry a jealous erratic king?” I raise my hand. Matthias half raises his, then lowers it back down. “Look at that, just me.”
“Anne of Cleves was much nicer than you are,” he says, shifting to pour out more wine but finding it empty. “Maybe I can find a ritual to bring her back instead.”
“Whatever it takes,” I tell him.
I’ve just stepped into the hallway when Matthias walks up to the door himself. “Farewell, Your Majesty! I look forward to your next visit!”
Then he slams the door in my face.
When I get back to my sitting room, about ten ladies are engaged in reading or embroidery. I sit down next to Lady Rochford, who is nestled off to the side, absorbed with a book. I don’t say anything right away, and she’s completely at ease in the silence.
My leg is bouncing up and down. After my talk with Matthias, I’m feeling restless. I miss my family, and I need to let off steam.
“Can we get a drink?” I ask her.
Lady Rochford doesn’t look up. “I’ll call an attendant in a moment.”
“Not here,” I explain. “We should go out.”
She snaps the book closed. “What do you mean by out?”
“I want to see the revels.”
She exhales an amused laugh. “That’s impossible. The crowds are too rough, and I will not risk your safety in such a way.”
I turn to her with a pleading stare. “Jane, I need to get out of here. Just for an hour or two. Just for tonight. Please.”
She sighs at my request and pinches the bridge of her nose. “If we do sneak out tonight, Catherine, you have to promise that it will be just you and me. Under no circumstances are you to invite anyone else.”
“About that . . .” I say, dragging the words out. “I think we should invite a few more people.”
When she twists to face me, her brow is so furrowed that I think I might be aging her. “I truly miss Anne of Cleves.”
I nod in empathy. “I think we all miss Anne of Cleves.”