Chapter Five
Five
Most magicians can kill with a single strike.
Saturnborn dissolve the boundary between the living and the dead.
Mercuryborn craft blood ciphers. Jupiterborn can enlarge any organ until it bursts.
A Venusborn makes their victim yearn for death.
A Marsborn decapitates faster than the swing of an axe.
Only those blessed by the Sun and the Moon, the two luminaries, do not have a straightforward method at their fingertips.
—PROSPERO THE ALL-KNOWING, THE CELESTIAL BODIES
Like most magicians, I was born in the gutter, only rising out of the dirt and stink through a lucky birthright.
The planets aligned perfectly the moment I began to wail: the crab constellation shining overhead, the Moon’s influence so powerful it transferred its magic to me.
A baby with ghost-white hair and milky eyes; the midwife immediately knew what I was.
As soon as she lifted me from between my mother’s legs, she shuddered and said, “Demon.”
For hours, I practiced dances I plucked from my memories at court, spinning and leaping across the floor until I was panting, cursing Roland each time I tripped.
Was it so difficult to send a note, to say: Disguise yourself as Joan when the bells ring at seven, it will be safe then, and here are the dances she would surely know, and here are some other helpful insights I’ve gathered?
But no further instruction arrived. When Bess appeared to tie me into an ivory gown and a crescent hood trimmed with pearls, I knew I’d have to improvise.
“Oh, Bess. I feel ill.” I rested my hand on my forehead. “I may stay behind and rest.”
She barely tried to tuck away her glee. “Do you need anything tonight? A warm head cloth? A bath?”
“No, no.” I waved her away. “You go on.”
She didn’t hesitate to skip out the door with only a slight bow of her head.
When she was gone, I picked up my mirror, took a deep breath, and began.
A cup of moonlight poured over the grounds, so my magic flowed easily.
The white waves cascading down my back were tugged back into my scalp.
I shrank my breasts. Lengthened my nose.
Scattered freckles across my cheeks, flushing red like Joan did, performing her hopeful, eager expression in the mirror again and again until it was believable.
I fixed my hood back over my now straw-colored hair, turned my head from side to side, adjusting her features until I was satisfied.
Shadows gathered across the palace. The drums were beating.
A long table overflowed with lit candelabras and fruit and cheeses and silver pitchers of wine.
While his court ate and drank, Roland sat in the king’s throne again, his coat and doublet both a deep oxblood.
A single garnet swung from one of his earlobes, the same color as the mask covering his cheekbones and nose.
Tonight was a disguising—one of King Richard’s favorite entertainments, though he wasn’t here to enjoy it.
Veiled courtiers kissed each other’s necks in the open, as if the entire world was a dark corner.
At the far end of the hall was a stage: a castle with three turrets and a moat boasting real swans.
Back and forth they swam, and every so often Wyatt Francis tossed them chunks of bread and giggled, a strange sound to hear from so large a man.
As soon as she noticed me, Queen Cecily touched my arm and pulled me into her circle.
I lowered my head. “Your Majesty.”
She scoffed at the formality and touched my lips. “There. Now you will be kissed tonight. Yesterday, Bess was kissed and touched my lips to pass it along. Today, I was kissed. Now, you shall be. Who would you like to ravish you?” The ladies all surveyed the mass of courtiers.
Her gaze settled on Tom, sulking in a corner. “My brother?” I revealed nothing, and so her eyes traveled again. “Hmm. How about Roland?”
A flush crept up my neck.
Cecily crooked a finger at Wyatt Francis. He skipped over from the moat, bowing when he reached us. “Yes, sweet?”
The queen jerked her chin. “Tell Joan what you just told me.”
Wyatt lowered his voice, eyes glittering mischievously with the promise of gossip. “Roland and the Moonborn left us to go off together on the hunt today. When we found them, they were very close together and looked unhappy to be caught.”
“You want her, Wyatt,” Cecily said. “You’re panting after her.”
“She has a very long, pretty neck,” he admitted.
“Wyatt always talks of necks. He says, ‘That lady has too short a neck,’ or ‘That lady’s neck reminds me of a pouch.’ Is that why you love swans, Wyatt?”
He shrugged. “They do have very long necks.”
“Roland would be angry with you if you courted her.”
“Oh, yes?” He grinned. “All the more reason.”
All of us looked to the lord chancellor, now descending from the throne to mingle with his courtiers.
Hands grasped for his. Behind him, a wake of bowed heads.
He carved his way toward us, taller than anyone else at court.
He first leaned over to kiss Wyatt on the cheek, then held out his ring.
Cecily stared up at him as she pressed her lips to the stone. “Your Grace,” she murmured.
A queen should kiss no ring but her husband’s, but she kissed his.
“We were only just saying how lovely the Moonborn girl is,” she continued sweetly, though she clutched his sleeve tight, and her eyes were probing. “Don’t you agree?”
A smirk tugged on Roland’s lips. “Far too lovely to gossip about. It could never do her justice.” My heart pounded as he bent to whisper in my ear.
“No need to thank me for the compliment. Follow Tom Guildford.” He raised his brows before continuing on his way.
The next courtier waiting to speak with him was so eager, he spilled his wine onto Roland’s doublet.
Clearly annoyed, Roland pulled the stain from the fabric with a sweep of his hand.
I flinched. Cecily had stabbed her nails into my arm. “Joan, what did he say to you?”
“He only asked where Tom was.”
Wyatt nodded to the corner, where Tom had braced his hip against the wall.
Beside him, Fulke Roet was tipped over, drink in one hand and a lute in his lap.
He looked as if his personal revel had begun at noon.
Yet I could see it was an act—his mind was clear and sharp, and whatever his plan was, he hoped the court would remember him stumbling about like a fool.
I made my excuses with the queen, then approached her brother cautiously, offering him another cup of wine. He was taken aback, but accepted the offering nonetheless. “Still trailing after my sister?”
This was the most difficult part of shapeshifting: in a stranger’s body, I participated in relationships I knew nothing about. What were Joan and Tom to each other? She was his sister’s confidante. What else?
Across the field of heads, Roland caught my eye. Emotions swirled within him—he was heartbroken. Devastated. Just as quickly, the feeling faded. His attention returned to the circle of courtiers surrounding him.
He was trying to tell me that Joan had loved Tom once, and he discarded her. Presumably, she defected to Roland soon after, to enact small revenges on the Guildford family where she could. Jilted lover was an easy role to play.
“Still avoiding me?” I snapped in what I hoped was her thin, reedy voice.
“Temper, Joan.” Tom pulled us away from Fulke, who had now started humming to himself. “What if I told you that I needed my sister brought to us tonight?” He glanced over at Roland, then back to me. “With your discretion.”
“He watches her too closely.”
“The masque will distract him. He’s been acting strange today, anyway.”
I curtseyed low. “I’ll do my utmost, then. Where will you meet?”
“The usual place.”
Unlike Tom, I knew it was a mistake to trust anyone, to spread a web too thin—it would snag on anyone sharp. I smiled coyly. “Oh, but we have so many usual places.”
He heard that as an invitation to grip my chin. I almost slapped his hand away, but Joan wouldn’t do that. Joan’s smile wouldn’t even falter. “Cecily’s chapel,” he murmured.
I nodded. “I remember it.”
The pads of his fingers traced my mouth. “What do you remember most?”
The drumbeat accelerated then. Cecily and her lady-in-waiting Agnes Bryer climbed into the castle, standing on stacked crates so they could look over the parapet.
The masque was about to begin, and I knew it well.
Only eleven maidens stood in the turrets, but there should be twelve.
I had a further role to play, didn’t I? I searched for Roland to shoot him a glare, but he’d disappeared.
With a final curtsey, I smiled at Tom as if the hand on my mouth pleased me, trying to imagine myself as a girl desperate as Joan must have been.
As he still believed her to be. Witless, trembling under his hands, shaky with love.
I weaved through the crowd and climbed into the third turret. Waved a white flag, following Cecily’s lead. We represented the twelve signs of the zodiac, waiting to be chosen by one of the seven planets, played by the gentlemen of the court.
“What a fair day!” Agnes called out to the sea of courtiers.
“Yet I see a wandering star on the horizon,” Cecily said, peering over her turret. By the windowsill, Wyatt mouthed the lines to himself.
“What’s that!” cried a maid of honor.
Roland strode from the shadows, pointing a wooden sword at the castle. “We don’t care to wander any longer, fair maidens.”
The crowd laughed, delighted.
“Stay back, Venus!” Cecily shouted.
“I’ll take them all!” said Jupiter, crawling on hands and knees through the crowd. Fulke Roet, by the slur of his voice. “Or at least four or five. The fiery signs are mine.”
“Look at each other, maidens! Such beauty. I’d have you fight amongst yourselves instead,” cried red-robed Mars, and then the men stormed the castle, and we all pretended to faint.