Chapter Twenty-One #2
Thomas pushes his shoulders back after he answers. I’m making him uncomfortable and I’m glad. Sometimes you can only truly know someone by walking side by side with them through discomfort.
“Why was it so unusual?” I ask him. “Don’t you like getting to know people?”
“Of course not,” he answers.
“But how can that be true when so many people at court like you? Anyone I mention you to is drawn to you, and none of them know why.”
“It’s because I’m handsome,” he says, tucking his hands behind his back against the stone wall. “I’m sure they secretly hate me. Or they would if they got to know me. You got to know me, and you still liked me. You were different.”
“I’m sure other people would connect with you if you would give them a chance.”
Thomas lets out a quiet sigh, still not turning to look at me. “People are more trouble than they’re worth.”
I let that sit for a moment before I speak again. “You’re not,” I end up telling him. “You’re not more trouble than you’re worth.”
Thomas turns to me, and for a brief second, I see the man behind the legendary charm.
“I think instead of building walls to protect yourself, you built a stage instead. And rather than making friends, you began to collect admirers. For whatever reason, you didn’t deem anyone safe enough . . . until me.”
Thomas remains perfectly still, with only his eyes moving. I begin to worry that I might have given the psychologist in me too much freedom with that one, so I relax my face and shrug. “But what do I know?” I end up saying. “I’m just telling you what I think.”
Thomas pushes off the wall to stand across from me. His posture isn’t very guarded, but he isn’t at ease either. “Can I tell you what I am thinking?” he asks.
I nod and he looks down the hallway before glancing back at me. “I’m thinking that I’d like to show you something.” He reaches inside his doublet packet, pulling out a small, compressed pile of papers that I know I’ve seen before.
Those are Francis’s letter.
My breath catches as I look at them. I’m afraid to move or speak too loud. “Where did you get those?” I ask him.
He casually tosses them in the air and catches them, reverting back to his autopilot playfulness. “I stole them. How else would they come into my possession?”
He tucks them under his arm and I swallow hard while trying not to focus on them too anxiously.
“And what are you planning to do with them?”
He leans back on the wall as he looks at me with a considering gaze. “I could use them against you. I was meant to be the king’s watchdog while he was away and we aren’t as close as we used to be. If I give them to him, he would forgive me for my poor performance and reward me for my loyalty.”
“I’m sure he would,” I reply quietly.
“But that would be rather boring, wouldn’t it?
” He grabs the letters from under his arm and tosses them over to me with an arcing throw.
I catch them like my life depends on it, which might actually be the case.
I look down at the papers in my hands, filled with so much relief and hope that I barely know what to think.
“Why are you giving these to me?” I hear myself ask.
Thomas takes a small step closer to me. “Because I protect the people I love.”
His L-bomb shakes me to my core, but I’m still so distracted by the letters that I don’t respond to him until he’s halfway down the hall.
“I love you, too, Thomas! In a friendship way!” My voice reaches him in the distance, prompting him to stop and turn back to me with a playful tilt to his mouth.
“No, you don’t,” he says. “But you did before you hit your head. And hopefully you will again someday. Let me know if you require any further assistance.”
Ummmm . . .
That’s as far as my brain takes me until I sense Lady Rochford beside me a minute later.
“Should I inform him of the plan?” she asks. I frantically nod while I hold up the letters between us. “Inform him,” I tell her. “I’m going to get rid of these.”
“Do it now. The rooms in this hall keep embers burning all day, and the ashes will be gone in hours.”
She sets off after Thomas, and I dart into the room closest to me. I fall to my knees in front of the hearth, unfolding each letter with shaking hands. They’re all letters from Francis, written in the same handwriting until I get to the last page.
There it is. Catherine’s story. It’s folded up more than the other papers and is written in decidedly feminine script. I can barely understand a word of it, but at the bottom, it’s signed Catherine.
A bit of her soul. This is what Matthias needs to send me home!
I throw Francis’s letters into the fire, making sure that they’re burned beyond recognition before I take off running.
I run and I run. Down and down. Through the corridors, through the servants’ hall, until I’m just outside Matthias’s door.
I don’t bother to knock, instead just flinging it open as I hold Catherine’s story up over my head.
“Matthias, I have it!” My jubilant yell turns to nothing as I focus on the room around me. It’s empty. Eerily, entirely empty.
I walk farther inside, and nothing remains. No mean bird. No mountain of books. No Matthias. The only evidence that he was ever here are the stag antlers over the fireplace. I guess he wasn’t able to hide it this time.
I hear footsteps in the hallway behind me, and I rush out to see who they belong to. A servant is passing by with a tray of bread.
“Excuse me,” I call out.
The man turns and moves toward me, and I step back inside the room. Once he joins me, his gaze jolts open in shock. He bows so low that he nearly drops his bread to the floor. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. I didn’t recognize you.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I assure him. “I’m sorry to bother you, but do you know what happened to the man who used to live here?”
He looks inside the room, still startled but growing calmer. “You mean Matthias? Creditors came looking for him this morning and he snuck off through a back stairwell. Said you could have his stag antlers.”
No. Please, please no.
“He did?” I ask softly.
The man nods. “Beg your pardon, Your Majesty, but if you don’t want them, I’d be glad to take them off you. That bollocks of an astrologer owed me three shillings.”
He walks off after another bow. I turn to look back in the room, holding Catherine’s story tight in my fingers before I gracelessly shove it into my sleeve.
Matthias is gone, and I’m well and truly on my own. No magical ritual is going to send me home. Not even a charismatic, semi-drunk astrologer is here to help me. History is out for blood and my head, and if our plan doesn’t work, then I might already be too late.
When I get back to my rooms, I’m optimistic that I can keep my spirits up, until I see the nervous look on Lady Rochford’s waiting face.
“What’s the matter?” I ask her.
“There’s something I need to tell you, Catherine.” She takes a tentative step toward me, then stops herself. “I sent a messenger to London to make contact with Simon this morning, but it seems that he never arrived.”
I look at her blankly. I try to tilt my head in question, but I’m suddenly unable to move. “What do you mean?”
She clasps her hands together in front of her, never veering from my gaze. “I mean that Simon is missing.”