Page 128 of The Court of Venus

“Destiny is what we tell ourselves was meant to happen all along,” Balthasar replied calmly. “Destiny can only be so in retrospect. I say Fulke will be king, and so he will be. I’ve already told you. Saturn is moving into Gemini in a matter of days. This will be a time of great change, a new rule. The people see Fulke as the natural, rightful successor. They will never support you. If only you had an alternative. If only you had Prince Hal.” He pouted mockingly. “But alas, he is dead. He belongs to my realm. And you have lost.”

My knuckles scraped against Roland’s again. I knew what role to play. I would hang my head, avert my eyes, pretend to roll over. “We will not risk a war we cannot win,” I said with a sigh.

Roland balked slightly at the submission in my tone.

“Wise.” Balthasar nodded, tapping the pads of his fingers together. “Very wise, Bianca Mortlake. Fulke will return to Alvion, and we will send over our Mercury for agreements, of course, for his coronation as king. Yes, it will all be very smooth. You see, my friends, this is why I insisted to the emperor that ambassadors could not do the work that we could do together in such a short time. And as a gift for your cooperation, you both may remain on Fulke’s council.”

His eyes shifted slightly. He was, of course, lying.

“I am glad we could come to this understanding before more blood was spilled,” I said. “All we wanted was to remain at Redhall.”

“And what of you?” asked Roland.

“Me?” Balthasar smiled. He pressed his hand against his heart mockingly. “I want nothing at all. I am only the shadow cast behind the man.”

Rain pelted the castle. The doorway to the Guildfords’ hidden dungeon answered only to magicians, and so it welcomed Roland and me. We crept along by the light of a torch. The ceiling so low, Roland had to duck. “Do you think Archimago built this?” he asked.

“It must have been. If not him, it would have been someone who had their own enemies. Someone actively defying their king.”

“And how long until Balthasar uncovers our deception—” He leaned over my shoulder, his breath hot on my nape. “—Bianca Mortlake?”

I shoved him lightly. “As soon as the man speaks, I’d guess.”

We set our torch in the empty sconce. Groundwater crept down cool, damp walls. A stalactite dripped onto the figure curled on his bed in the first cell.

Trailing his fingers along the bars, Roland said, “Hello, Fulke.”

Fulke did not reply, only collected a wad of phlegm and spat it in Roland’s direction.

Because Fulke Roet, the real Fulke Roet, had never set foot in the Archimago Tomb. Guards had rowed Charles Guildford and a convicted murderer up the Snake in his stead. The murderer had agreed to be transformed by me, in exchange for an execution by beheading instead of fire.

Balthasar had the wrong man. It was only a matter of time before he realized it. No cell was impenetrable to a Saturn, but first he’d have to find this place, and I’d never seen it on any map of Redhall. I’d only discovered it by following Charles Guildford’s trail.

But I was not here for Fulke.

We wound deeper into the dungeon to a smaller cell carved out of crude stone. Another bed, another huddled figure. Kitty Seton’s face reddened when she saw Roland, then drained of blood when I appeared beside him. Her gaze flitted between us.

“Kind of you to visit me, Lord Chancellor. I thought I would never have the pleasure. When I was roused in the middle of the night, I was hoping it might be for another purpose. Though, of course, the entire court knew what the two of you were doing.” She smirked, but no amusement reached her eyes. “We could all hear it.”

“Do you know that to some, what occurs between two people is a private matter?” Roland muttered.

A raised eyebrow. Still, she was unfocused, on edge, whenever she spoke to Roland. Sixteen again, utterly infatuated with him. “You might have tried to be quieter, then,” she bit back.

I sat on the edge of her bed, while Roland leaned against the wooden door. She assessed us again, each of us in turn. “Why am I here? No one will tell me.”

“That’s a good question,” I said. “I tried to understand, Kitty, why you would go to the king with a lie. It became easier once I realized how deeply you despised Alice. You were more beautiful than her. You spoke more languages. You were well traveled, quick-witted. And yet, she was the king’s mistress. How that must have grated.”

Kitty laughed. “She was the king’s mistress because she opened her legs. It was not very difficult to figure. Our father chose her to parade before the king because he knew she would be willing.”

“Did you want the king for yourself?”

“That toothless old man? No. But I would have done it, if I were asked. I was never asked.”

“I believe you misremember Alice,” Roland said. “Or you see her in the light you prefer. The king loved her for many reasons, Kitty. He loved her because she made him laugh, while Gertrude was—and I’m being kind—not much of a wit. Alice challenged him and sought his opinion. Gertrude challenged him and did not care for a response at all. He was, and believe me when I say this, consumed by Alice. His moods swayed with hers. You knew that. So when you betrayed her to the king, you wanted it to be the most shocking, the most vile accusation. You wanted to be sure she would die for it.”

She only studied us calmly, revealing nothing.

“Alice did not want to marry. She had no secret lover. Those were just lies the court was told to explain her execution,” I pressed. “Your father was executed only hours after Alice. Presumably because the king believed he was aware of Alice’s betrayal and had kept it quiet. Your entire family, dead. You, the only survivor.”