Page 75 of The Queen’s Witch

“I would never seek to harm you or yours, my queen. I wish only to serve you.”

“In return for what?”

“For willing attendance at a further ceremony next Sa—Next All Saints’ Eve. It will occur in the palace, and will be brief and harm no one. You must only witness what transpires.”

“Another ceremony? To what end?”

“To both our advantages. But I cannot tell you more until the day. And in return, my magicks are at your use.”

Why did she consent? Because the date was so far off? Because, consummate schemer that she was, she could keep me as a general keeps back part of his army until needed as reinforcements? Because she could agree now but dispose of me before next October? Because she feared denying me?

No, not that last. Her brief moment of fearing my powers was over.

“Very well,” said the queen of England. “We have another bargain. We will trust each other.”

We smiled, both lying with curving lips.

The twelve days of Christmas were and were not the same as my previous Yuletide at court. The Lord of Misrule staged his revelries, the kitchens prepared gargantuan feasts, the common people were allowed to witness the king dining, the musicians played and the court danced and the wine and ale flowed. But every moment, even the youngest and giddiest courtiers were aware of larger matters: the Dowager Princess Katherine close to death in her imprisonment at Kimbolton Castle. The Lady Mary gravely ill. The constant executions of those who would not recognize Henry as head of the Church. Above all, that the king was attentive to the queen, but there was little warmth in his attentions.

Anne was often absent from the revelries, choosing to stay in the nursery, for Princess Elizabeth was at court. On one occasion the king paraded the appealing little girl up and down the great hall, showing her off. But even as he did so, his gaze darted around the room, gauging the court’s reactions to this sign of favor to a girl child. Was he preparing to force acceptance of a future queen if there should be no future king? Elizabeth, two years old, laughed and preened. No doubt of her parentage; she had Henry’s red hair, his blue eyes, his vitality.

But it was Anne who spent most time with the princess. When I accompanied her to the nursery, she became a different person: simpler, warmer, as Grandmother had been during my childhood. Her devotion to Elizabeth was genuine, not expedient. Almost it made me like her.

On New Year’s Day, the traditional alms were given to the poor who thronged the palace gates. Nobles, merchants, bishops sent their costly gifts to the king. The king and queen made their own gifts, most publicly.

But not all gifting was public.

Anne, tired from her pregnancy, slept after dinner. I slipped from the palace for fresh air, even though it was so cold that frost rimed the gardens. Trees and bushes sparkled in the late afternoon sun. I took a brisk turn along a path edged with tall shrubbery, my boots crunching the frozen grass, when I heard the king’s voice on the other side of the hedge.

“. . . to give you this apart from other eyes.”

The rustle of stiff cloth, and then, “Oh, Your Majesty, it is lovely!”

“Not as lovely as you, my Jane!”

Bodies shifting.

“Do not, I pray you! And I am sorry, but I cannot accept this. I am a virtuous woman, Your Majesty, and will remain so until my father makes for me an honorable marriage. I must safeguard my reputation.”

Silence. I held my breath, even as Jane Seymour must be holding hers.

“I know you to be virtuous, my Jane. And I love you all the more for it. This bauble is yours, but I will keep it for you until such time as you feel free to claim it.”

“Your Majesty is too good to me.”

“Nothing is too good for you. Oh . . . Jane!”

Oh, Anne!

The years had changed everything, and nothing.

Carefully, lifting each foot and setting it down slowly, I backed away from the shrubbery. When I could, I moved behind a large frozen bush shaped by gardeners’ art like a lion, each branch brittle with frost, and there I waited until I saw Mistress Seymour and the king return to the palace. It was not a long wait, but although they were wrapped in furs, I wore only a thin wool cloak but dared not attempt a warming spell here. I knew nothing of Mistress Seymour—what if she, like Anne, possessed untapped ability and sensed something “unholy” about me? I must get close enough to find out, but not when she stood alone with the king.

By the time I gained warmth near the kitchen hearth, my feet felt like ice. A page found me. “The queen desires your presence.”

Anne, querulous in pregnancy, went on desiring my presence. Princess Elizabeth remained at court. And as fickle courtiers divided their time between Jane Seymour and the queen, Anne spent even more time with her daughter, playing with her and teaching her. Elizabeth was not only beautiful and lively but also astonishingly quick to learn. We were both in the nursery, Elizabeth finally near to sleep on her mother’s lap, when Lady Lee bustled in and, against all protocol, motioned for Anne to come with her.

Anne, jealous of precedence even with kin, snapped, “What is it, Meg? Can you not see I am occupied?”