“Are you quite well?” Lady Tylney says. She places a hand upon Howard’s forehead, as if she were her mother when she is only ten years Howard’s senior and barren besides.
“Stop it,” Howard says, swatting her away. Tylney cowers. “Stop that too; I’m not going to hit you.”
Their eyes are all fixed on the floor. Goldfoot, woken from his slumber by her movement, nips her ear. Howard removes him from her shoulders and stands. She gathers her skirts so they fall properly, and steps right over Legh as she stalks from the room. Behind her, Goldfoot lets out a mewl of rebuke.
The gallery that forms Plythe’s spine stretches right across the Kyttle Falls. It is the polished glory of her reign, for she redesigned it herself when she was made queen. Her footsteps are crisp upon the woodenfloor. Its patterns of cedar and rosewood swirl around her, like the tumbling water beneath the palace. Like her thoughts. It is not as though she shouted at them.
She starts to run.
The ivory doors to the west courtyard open at her approach, tied by a mechanism linked to the palace’s spirit stone, which awakens at her footfall. Voda Kelaverinn’s carriage is nearly at the gatehouse.
“Stop!” she shouts, tearing down the steps and across the courtyard. Her shoes are not made for cobbles. The driver has not heard her.
“Stop!” she shouts again, raising a hand. The guards at the gatehouse spot her and step in front of the carriage.
By the time she is level with the vehicle, her curls are flying across her face and she is damp with sweat. Plythe has ever been a humid territory, and not even her fine silk and taffeta gown can withstand exertion in this climate.
“Your Majesty,” Voda Kelaverinn says, peering out at her with a frown. She steps back, not wishing him to feel uncomfortable in her presence. He opens the carriage door and steps out.
Only, once they are facing each other, Howard finds she does not know what to say. In the corner of her vision, she sees the driver shrug at the guards.
“You did not take the books,” she says eventually.
“My wish was that you would make your way through them yourself, in time.”
He folds his hands over his stomach. She fixes her gaze on the set of painted bangles that she has never seen him without: the black a symbol of his marriage; the orange, yellow and red symbols of his children.
She cannot say what she knows she must in front of the guards and driver who are watching them. To do so would be to admit to thoughts of infidelity and treason.
“Shall we take one final walk along the escarpment?” Kelvarinn says. She nods, watches as he speaks a few words to the driver and passes the man a coin for his time. She should compensate him for that.
They make their way to the edge of the courtyard, where high walls muffle some of the sound of the waterfall. They have taken many such strolls before, and Howard cannot help but notice that he keeps more distance between them than in the past. She remembers her failed kiss, his startled breath, and closes her eyes against the shame.
“I had intended my letter to comfort you, Your Majesty, but I fear it only troubles you further,” he says.
“It was a kind letter. You are very kind.”
They come to a natural halt before a gap in the wall which affords a view across the river. Howard swallows. She does not look at him when she says, “You likened me to your daughters, Voda.”
“Yes. You are of an age with my eldest.”
“The Princess Tudor is older than me.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
She places a hand on the stone sill. Is he being deliberately obtuse? The irony that she must be the one to spell this out to him.
“My husband still desires me, despite me being of an age with his daughter.”
Kelaverinn remains silent. She darts a look at him. Perhaps he is realising that it need not be a barrier, her being so much younger than him. Perhaps she could whisk him back into the palace for a farewell tryst. She turns to him fully.
“I am very beautiful, sir.”
“You are as beautiful as any young woman can be, Your Majesty.”
She swallows again. Dare she admit to her adventures before her marriage? Well, she has pushed this far.
“No man has ever turned me down when I have taken a fancy to him.”
