Page 36 of The Court of Venus

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.

Nine

There is no prison as well fortified as the Archimago Tomb: It bows to one man’s cruelty. Constructed under King Charlemagne VI, it served as a royal residence until he was overthrown by his Saturn magician, Archimago. Locking his king inside until he died of hunger, he built cells around his skeleton. Archimago stowed his enemies there, drawing a boundary around the perimeter that allowed none to depart unless he wished it. Later, after Archimago’s death, the boundary was manipulated to respond to the acting king’s will.

—THOMAS FEYDON, A HISTORY OF MAGIC IN ALVION

The afternoon sun was so bright, I scowled at it. Roland and I met in his privy gardens, him lounging in dappled light, tying grass knots, me in the scant shade. We could be mistaken for idle, thoughtless courtiers.

“Do you remember what he looks like?” Roland whispered. “He had the birthmark—”

I nodded. “On his left ear.”

“Right. Do you require a mirror?”

“One would help.”

“There’s one in the king’s chambers.” As I made to stand, he held up a finger. He wanted to know how the Guildford meeting went first.

The talk of an assassination attempt he expected, but he was surprised they’d tried to pair him against Miranda in the tournament. It was a bold move. Bolder than he’d expected. “They mentioned jousting? You’re sure?”

“Confident, aren’t you?”

He only grinned, tossing a knot into my lap.

“And the next round of the tournament?”

“Wyatt let slip it will be a battle of wit. The Guildfords have none whatsoever, while I have plenty,” he said. “And they have no magician competing. My thanks for that.”

“They also mentioned an inquiry into Hal’s death.”

“Yes, well, it was supposedly not very illuminating.” He ran his fingers along the blades of grass beneath him, brightening their color. “All the witnesses remembered what he was doing that morning, but no one saw him in the woods.”