The Prince of Lies (Night's Masque, #3)(53)

“So you’re going to sail all the way to the New World? In this old tub?”

“No need,” said Ned. “We can take him to Sark. Plenty of skraylings there, and it’s close to home for us.”

“You planned this all along, didn’t you?” He stormed out of the cabin, swearing in the mix of French and Arabic common on board their vessel. Ned didn’t need to understand either language to get the gist of it.

“You think it’s safe to go back to England?” Gabriel said.

“I don’t know, but it’s worth a try. Maybe Mal’s been able to get us a pardon by now. It’s not like he can write to us and tell us.”

“What about the guisers?”

“Fuck the guisers. I reckon if I’m going to die, I want to die among friends, with beer in my belly and you–” he pulled Gabriel closer “–in my bed. Fat chance of either at sea.”

“I can wait a few weeks longer,” Gabriel replied, brushing his lips against Ned’s brow. “Good work, my love.”





CHAPTER XIV



Though he had not given up his fight against the guisers, Mal was far more circumspect over the next few months. He put all his energies into re-establishing his reputation as a gentleman of leisure, content to spend the long, hot summer days playing bowls, and the evenings drinking and trying not to lose too much of his modest fortune at cards. He was aided in the latter by a few tricks taught to him by Ned. Not cheating as such – he had no wish to throw his life away in a duel – but enough to give him an edge over his less sharp-eyed companions.

The main purpose of all these pleasures, however, was to gain as much intelligence on the men surrounding princes Robert and Arthur as possible. If zealots like the Huntsmen were of no use as allies, perhaps he could find others who were more reasonable: men who despised politicking and falsehood and would gladly see conspirators rooted out for no other reason. Alas, such men were as rare at court as hen’s teeth. Here every smile concealed a hidden purpose: manipulation, seduction, betrayal. Though perhaps his enemies thought the same of him.

As summer turned to autumn, Prince Robert’s thoughts turned to hunting. Mal was overjoyed when he was invited to accompany the prince to Richmond. The park attached to the palace was well-supplied with fallow deer, fat by now from summer grazing and more interested in the rut than in avoiding humans. The prospect put Robert in such a jovial mood that Mal was able to contrive an invitation for Sandy, whom he knew would be anxious to see Kit again. Thus a fine September day found the twins riding side-by-side in the prince’s retinue, so alike in their matched habits that all the court commented on it. How he could use such confusion to his advantage, Mal was not certain, but at the very least it might make it easier to slip away and meet his informant.

“There!” Mal pointed westwards down the road, to where the towers of Richmond Palace rose above the trees. The midday sun, barely halfway to its zenith at this time of year, flashed on the gilded domes topping the towers, and he had to shade his eyes to see it clearly. “Can’t be more than a mile now.”

His heart lifted at the thought of seeing his wife and son again, and it was all he could do not to steer Hector out of line and kick him into a gallop. That would be an unforgivable discourtesy, however, so he contented himself with imagining his family’s delighted faces when he arrived.

After a few moments he realised that Sandy was no longer riding at his side. He glanced back down the line to see his brother some yards behind. Sandy had reined his mount to a halt and was staring at the palace, heedless of the other riders’ curses as they manoeuvred around him. Mal turned Hector’s head and trotted back along the line.

“What’s the matter?”

When Sandy did not answer, Mal looked back at the palace, and realisation dawned. The room where they had both been held by Suffolk had looked eastwards towards a very similar prospect. To Sandy, the sight of those towers meant only one thing: pain.

“We can go back to London if you’d like,” he said, reaching out a gloved hand.

“No. I have to see Kit.”

“Come on, then. We’re getting in everyone’s way.”

Without any outward prompting from its rider, Sandy’s horse resumed its steady walk as if it had never stopped. Mal’s hands tightened involuntarily on the reins and Hector tossed his head.

“Sorry, boy.” He could hardly take his brother to task in public, but using magic here, surrounded by potential enemies? He would have to have words with Sandy when they were alone together.

“I think I should stay,” Sandy said, “when you go back to London.”

“I’m not sure that’s wise.” Not wise at all. “Won’t it bring back too many painful memories, being within sight of Ferrymead House?”

“Painful, yes, but happy also. It is here I was reunited with my amayi.”

“Well. Good. But how are we to explain it? It’s one thing for us to visit as part of the prince’s retinue, but this is the princess’s household. Men who linger here once their business is done are likely to become the subject of scurrilous gossip.”

Sandy frowned. “I am Kiiren’s amayi, and Kit’s uncle. They cannot keep me from him.”

“Why are you so anxious all of a sudden? I thought you said Kit would be safe from the guisers now that he’s old enough to wear a spirit-guard.” As safe as any other member of our family, at any rate.