Chapter Eighteen #3
The recordkeeping was as base as Roland had said.
The Lionesse were clearly more interested in documenting purchases of clothing, furniture, and jewelry than important dates in their history.
There was no recorded year for the marriage of the king and queen, or the births of their children.
No birth date for Queen Charlotte, at least not in the scrolls I’d collected.
What I managed to find, after hours of looking, Roland having drifted into sleep on the floor, were expenditures listed on an old ledger—rows and rows of purchases for a very expensive event.
My eyes glazed over as I read them, until—
Philippe V Rex—coronation robe, ermine
Philippe V Rex—staff, inlaid rubies
Philippe V Rex—ring, sapphire, diamond, gold band
These were coronation purchases for King Philippe. Ninety years ago. I ripped this page out, and Roland woke at the sound, blinking rapidly as he took in his surroundings. His mouth was slightly ajar, one side of his hair sticking up.
When I dropped the list onto the floor beside him, I said, “Your proof. If these records are to be believed, King Philippe was coronated before he was even born. He is meant to be eighty-two this year, is he not?”
He lifted his head from the cradle of his arms. A smile curled on his lips as he read. “We’ll play her games tomorrow night, set her in the proper mood, then confront her with this.”
He rolled up the parchment and tapped it gently against my nose. After that, a strange, heavy silence settled between us as we traversed the library stacks. I thought of breaking it but didn’t know what to say. Roland was never quiet.
Finally, he sighed and spun on his heel. “Before, I lost my head entirely and—”
“No. You haven’t,” I promised. I nodded to the folded paper in his hands, his potential salvation. “Not yet.”
Devil’s hour. His mind raced in the other room. No matter how I tried to focus on The Legend of Oberon, the sentences faded shortly after I read them.
His torments invaded. My pulse quickened, my heart thudded in my chest, and I worried it would burst through my rib cage from the fear. What had he done all of these years—endured his relentless thoughts all night, unable to fall asleep?
I padded over to his chamber. There must have been a dozen taper candles lit, a single groom lying on a pallet beneath the glow. I tapped him on the shoulder and beckoned him outside. The boy looked so relieved that he might rest at last, he scurried off without a backward glance.
A slender Moon had emerged, its faint silver trail glistening over the waves. I set my own candle on Roland’s trunk and saw one of his eyes open, though he didn’t move his head.
“Taking pity on me?” he said into his pillow.
“On myself. Why are so many candles lit?”
“My thoughts run too wild in the dark.”
He shifted over to make room for me on the bed.
His linen shirt was unbuttoned to his navel, his chest shining with sweat.
It was almost as if we had drifted into the past. It could be ten years ago, when Hal and I would crawl onto his bed.
Hal, whispering stories to him of Oberon and Armel.
Rising to his knees, he’d pretend to wield King Armel’s moonlight blade and stab me in the shoulder with it.
That always drew a laugh from Roland. My magic would ease him to sleep after that, or silence might be enough.
Our presence alone, a reminder he was loved.
I offered to put him to sleep as I used to.
But Roland shook his head. “Not yet. Will you show me my mother first? You swore it on the boat.”
“Of course.” He closed his eyes again. I helped him sift through his memories, bringing forth the clarity he wanted: his mother’s face, with her long forehead and widow’s peak.
She had blond hair and warm brown eyes—and so would he, I thought, if he hadn’t been blessed by Venus.
We uncovered her rich, soothing voice. Her elegant posture and long limbs, the way she maintained a room, straightening anything askew. More traits he’d inherited.
“Thank you, Mouse.” Turning to fix the pillows behind his head—he needed five to be comfortable—he asked, “What of your mother? Where is she?”
I rolled over onto my side, facing him. He did the same. “Dead,” I whispered.
“The sweat?”
“Childbirth.”
“Father?”
“Probably dead.”
“Mine too. Mother always assumed he was her client, but she couldn’t be sure. I understand now why you clung to Prospero more than I did. You were so young when you came to court.” He smiled as he remembered it. “A little wet scrap. Did you call him ‘Father’ when we were not there?”
“Yes,” I admitted. “I did.”
“And I killed him. You must despise me.” Our eyes met. “Don’t you?”
I broke away to fetch him a cloth and soak it in water from his basin. I rested it against his forehead. “Do you want me to despise you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“You’re the only one brave enough to.” He sighed, limned in flickering candlelight. His head tipped back, water from the cloth dripping over his face, collecting in the seam of his lips. “Come back here.” With his eyes, he pointed to the bed.
I settled cautiously on the edge.
“Do you know why Hal and I really called you Mouse?”
I shook my head.
“We thought it was amusing because you were so—enormous. So powerful. You were everywhere. I hated you for it, for being Prospero’s favorite. His to discover. And Hal agreed to hate you too, because I did.”
I dragged myself closer to him, so I was sitting beside his knees, and removed the washcloth from his forehead. He watched me but said nothing else.
“You’re exhausted,” I said. “Let me help you sleep.”
I got up again to twist the washcloth into the basin, then climbed back into bed beside him.
We both turned over onto our sides, like before.
I remembered he liked when I traced his features.
How it calmed him. So I brushed my fingertips along his cheekbones, around to the divot in his chin and the bow of his mouth, back up to his nose.
He sighed and told me how nice it felt. “Keep doing that.”
“This?”