Chapter Eight #4
Edward still slept peacefully. I wove all the memories he needed of the night, let them settle gently in his head. But my guilt weighed heavy. It was a terrible truth: I had spent my life planting seeds in the minds of men and watching them grow.
Seeking out Cecily felt instinctive, as if my body led me to her on its own, urged on by the white morning light pressing against the curtains.
Soft wind caressed my cheek from an open window, pushing and pulling on the flames in braziers. Guards appraised me at the doors of Cecily’s apartments.
“I’m here to soothe her to sleep,” I lied. “She has the—” I touched my collarbone.
“One moment.” As the left guard disappeared through the doors, the other watched me warily, grinding his teeth.
To my surprise, the other guard returned and beckoned me inside.
The queen was surrounded by her women on the floor, the fire beaten down to coals.
Joan Rockford, her face grave, was the only one to glance up at me.
Agnes Bryer combed the queen’s hair. Kitty Seton, the oldest lady-in-waiting in the room, was in the corner, petting the queen’s dog as he squirmed.
I hadn’t noticed her before—I had forgotten her entirely.
Kitty, with her darting eyes. Kitty, Alice Seton’s elder sister, the only member of her family left at court.
“Leave us,” Cecily murmured to them all.
I lowered myself to the ground, kneeling beside her. “I felt your exhaustion from my rooms, Your Majesty.”
A tear trailed down her cheek, but she caught it with her hand. This was a girl who had been taught to close every door of herself. I understood her well, because I had been taught to do the same. “Would you like wine?” she offered.
We moved to the long table, both casting wary glances at each other. She filled her cup to the brim, spilling onto the white cloth each time she raised it to her mouth. “This helps me sleep well enough,” she explained. “It helps with many things. With my courage.”
At her windows, birds flitted across the sills. She had a similar, excitable way about her even after the night’s events, making satisfied noises as she sipped her wine. It was tempting to call her silly, or vain, but I didn’t think she was either of those things.
“You’re already brave without it,” I said eventually.
“Am I? How so?”
I gestured to her neck.
She blinked, fidgeting in the bodice that was too snug on her. I waited, hoping she’d speak if I didn’t respond right away, and she did. “They say Roland is using me for his own aims. What do you think?”
I told her the truth. “Roland would never use his powers to trick someone. He’s told me so. It’s a violation to him. He would never make you love him, never make you want him. Your desires are your own.”
She snorted, then stared into her lap. “My father says peddlers on the street can make better love potions.”
“Roland has no use for love potions.”
Nodding slowly, she took a long, indulgent sip. “Yes. I see you didn’t require one either.”
I shook my head, startled. “Your Majesty, you—you misunderstand me entirely.”
“Do I? You know, I’ve read about your kind. Stories of barren women who found themselves with child after a Moonborn saw them.”
Old wives’ tales. The Moon had long been associated with fertility, but if it had magic in that realm, I’d never been able to access it. There was a current of disappointment within the queen as I explained this to her.
“I had thought … well.” She laughed to herself. “I had thought you more powerful.”
“I’ve tried before. With Prince Hal’s mother. Gertrude, the first queen. She came to me years ago and asked. I couldn’t do it, I couldn’t help.”
“I see,” Cecily said. I could tell she was less interested in me now.
Outside, there was a panicked squeal from one of the birds.
A falcon had dove and missed, its talons empty, the birds having scattered in every direction.
“I see,” she repeated, biting her lip. “Is it true magicians can have no children? Roland says so.”
It was true. We were born under a fortuitous sky, burning fast and hot, and when we died, our magic died with us.
I was very young when I learned I would never have a family of my own.
Too young to yearn for it yet. Now it was a joy I would only ever experience in the minds of others.
In quieter moments, I wondered what my life might have been like if I had emerged minutes, even seconds later.
The stars were fickle that way; infinitesimal movements, a slight shift in alignment, and a person was entirely changed.
Cecily yawned. “You said before you could help me sleep.”
She swallowed the dregs of her wine, then padded into the bedroom, lying with her hands crossed over her chest like a corpse.
Stitched into every surface was R&C. R for Richard.
R for Roland. The girl’s eyes were shut within moments, and I soothed her with memories of a young, handsome man, someone I made up but who looked a little like Hal, of a simple life with him in the country, of a father who cared more for his daughter than for his own ambition.
I knew if Roland were here, he would say that’s what she wanted most.