Page 6 of The Court of Venus

“At what, exactly?”

“Something you can’t learn from books, Mouse: other people. Do you think it’s easy to manage the king? Do you think I spend my days in leisure? No. I tell him when to wake and when to shit, when to eat, what to dictate to his secretaries. I tell him who watches him from the corner of her eye just so, in a way that might catch him. ‘Does she desire me?’ he’ll ask, and I will lie and say, ‘Yes, oh yes, Your Majesty’ because kings must be lied to. And the new queen, too, every single Guildford—my spies tell me every word they say. All of these are pieces I move around, a little to the right, up toward center. Do you truly think you could do what I do?”

I opened and closed my mouth, then opened it again. He used the opportunity to take his cup back.

“Tell me what has happened since I left,” I said. “Tell me exactly. Only piecemeal gossip reached me in the north.”

His voice was strained, his frown deepening. “Well, you had been sent off to the Staffords. And then—” He broke off.

And then Hal went riding and dropped dead in the woods. The very rooms we sat in finished the sentence for him.

“Queen Gertrude was past her time. Sheets white each month,” he continued. “There would be no more heirs from her, and so the king had her executed. False charges, of course.” He waved a hand. “When the king married Eleanor Guildford, Prospero promised she would give him a strapping, healthy boy. A new son to replace Hal. He chose the wedding date himself because he saw it would be auspicious.” Roland clicked his tongue. “He chose wrong.”

“Why did you return from Lionesse?”

A shrug. “Prospero summoned me after Eleanor became queen. I thought it strange. He finally wanted me back, after all this time? But he said I’d learned enough, that it was time to come home. So I did.”

He fingered his neck, as if remembering the blade I’d pressed against it. “The king is like a hound. Steering him elsewhere when he’s already caught a scent is impossible. Still, for weeks I whispered in the king’s ear, I begged him to save Prospero and Eleanor’s lives. I said, ‘You’ll have a new son, Your Majesty. Just be patient. These things take time.’ I was on my knees. Do you truly think I was not devastated by this?”

“How could I know what you felt? I wasn’t near you.”

He tapped a finger against his chin thoughtfully, candlelight gilding his hair and lashes. “Hal and I, we ignored you.”

I must have made a sound of protest, because he held out his hand. “When we pushed you away, you pressed even closer.” He laughed quietly. “Do you remember the day you were Oswyn?”

I stared into my lap. Of course I remembered. I saw a boy in the stables and took on his likeness, so they’d let me play with them. At first, no one in the palace suspected. Why would they? Only Moonborn magicians could shift their appearance as I could. I called myself Oswyn. And for a few glorious hours, I ran beside them, my lungs close to bursting, climbed trees with them, strung a longbow. Only Roland discovered the ruse by suppertime.

“It was your eyes that gave you away. You always had trouble with them.”

I sighed. “Prospero always said eyes were the most difficult bit.”

As I studied him over the rim of the cup, he grinned. He liked the attention and seemed to expand. Gone was the ruler who coolly surveyed his courtiers, gone the chiseled marble of his beauty. The mask slipped away, just for a moment. He was familiar to me again, the boy I once knew.

“Tell me, will you swear an oath to serve another family?” he asked.

I would avoid it for as long as possible. But untethered magicians were fires to be contained. Some were of the opinion that their magic use should be forbidden entirely. “I earn enough in a year to live comfortably. For now. Gregory invested well.”

“Ah.” He understood I had invested Gregory’s money well. “And was he a good man?”

“No,” I admitted. “But he’s dead. Speaking of dead men, where is the king now?”

He was mid-sip and nearly spit out his wine. Coughs wracked him. Once he’d swallowed and gathered his breath, he whispered, very quietly, “Not quite dead. Nearly, though.”

I kept my face neutral as a wave of shock rolled through me. I gestured out to the hall.

“Yes, the entire court suspects. And if he dies today, the crown will pass on to Fulke Roet.”

Fulke, the king’s scowling nephew. He was never invited to play with Hal or Roland either. He had the flaxen hair and wan complexion of his mother, the emperor of Bastian’s sister, who doted on him completely. None of the rugged Roet look of his father, the king’s late brother. Always ill—his gray eyes rheumy. Always complaining of cold or discomfort, a tail of servants following behind him as he whined.

“Fulke parades a new mistress around court every other week,” Roland said. “Though he cares for none of them. He has a score of spies. And he’s put his own Jupiter in the queen’s coronation tournament, hoping to impress the king. He openly despises me.” He drew his finger across his neck again.

“Dramatics,” I scoffed. “King Richard still lives, and he has his new queen. You must still hope she’ll have a son. And the regency of her son would fall to you until he’s of age, I assume?”

Roland blinked. Within him, there was a cold sweep of fear. “Yes,” he said slowly, hesitantly. “But the Guildfords are aware of this, too. They think I’m far too close to Queen Cecily. You’d suppose, after I single-handedly put Cecily on the throne, they’d be grateful.” He swirled his wine around again. “After the king had Eleanor tried for treason, the Guildfords fell from favor. I saved them. Me alone. I said, ‘Your Majesty, what of Eleanor’s pretty little cousin, Cecily Guildford? See how her eyes shine when you enter a room? See how she leans forward when she curtseys, just to be near you? Reward them for their loyalty, marry another Guildford girl.’” He snorted, then tossed the wine into his mouth, swallowing roughly.

“You’re very frightened.”

“How perceptive you are,” he said coolly. More wine fountained from the carafe, and this time Roland rose to fetch me my own cup. He slid it to me across the table. “What are you frightened of?” he asked. His stare penetrated so deep, I glanced around the room.