The Prince of Lies (Night's Masque, #3)(55)

“Mistress Catlyn tells me you play the lute,” Princess Juliana said, when the applause had died down.

“Alas, I have not played much these past few years, Your Highness. I would sound foolish indeed after such a fine performance.”

“You are too modest, sir, just like your wife. But never fear, I shall not press you. Music should be a cause for joy, not dread.” She beckoned to the singer. “Come, let me introduce you to my servant, Bartolomeo Pellegrino, all the way from the choir of Santa Maria Maggiore in Rome.”

The young man approached the throne and bowed curtly. Mal rose from his seat but froze on the verge of returning the courtesy. He had been right all along. Dark olive skin, full lips, and eyes the colour of jade. Olivia, brazenly disguised as a young man. Remembering himself he completed the gesture before the ladies could notice. Olivia on the other hand had not missed his hesitation. Her eyes twinkled with amusement.

“A pleasure to meet you, Signor Catalin.”

“And you. Sir.”



Coby shot her husband a look of concern. The others surely hadn’t noticed it, but after five years together there was no mistaking the tension in his voice. His expression was guarded and he did not look her way, but she saw his left hand moving where it rested on his sword hilt: two taps of his index finger, two taps of the middle finger, over and over. Enemy sighted. She got to her feet.

“Your Highness, may I beg your indulgence? My husband is no doubt weary from his ride, nor has he seen his son in many weeks, and I think Susanna will have roused Kit from his nap by now.”

“Of course, my dear.” Princess Juliana rose. “Perhaps later I will have the pleasure of a dance, sir, if you will not play?”

“I look forward to it, Your Highness.”

He held out his arm, and Coby slipped her hand around his elbow as they walked out of the room.

“I was going to warn you,” she whispered as they crossed the antechamber.

“Not here,” he replied.

She fell silent, resisting the urge to look back over her shoulder. So, Mal had instantly guessed that Bartolomeo was a spy. But how?

The walk up to her apartments felt like it lasted an age, so anxious was she for answers. She kept glancing up at her husband, but his eyes were fixed straight ahead, his face pale. Coby’s stomach roiled.



“Bad news?” she asked, the moment the outer door closed behind them.

“The worst. Our young Italian friend downstairs is none other than Olivia dalle Boccole.”

“The courtesan?” She stared at him, aghast.

“Yes. Well, not a courtesan any more, of course. But still a guiser.”

“How did she get away from Hennaq?”

“How should I know? All that matters is that she did, and she’s here.”

Sandy leapt up from the window seat. “Ilianwe, here?”

A vivid flash of memory: amber eyes gazing up at him, white petals stuck to their bare skin. Ilianwe was Olivia’s soul-name, as Erishen was Sandy’s – and his own. She had taught him dreamwalking… and much else.

“So it appears,” Mal replied, hoping his wife hadn’t noticed his discomposure. “And plotting revenge on the two of us, no doubt.”

“What do we do?” Coby asked.

“You and Kit cannot stay here,” Mal told her. “It is no longer safe.”

“The Princess of Wales will think it very strange if I leave her service so soon. She may not even permit it.”

“You are a married woman. If I say you must leave court, you must obey.”

She frowned at him.

“In law, I mean,” Mal said, putting an arm around her shoulder. She shrugged him off.

“I can be of more use to you here,” she said. “If I leave, how do we spy on Olivia? You and Sandy can hardly stay here, especially with me gone.”

“Then we will all stay here,” Sandy said.

“No,” Mal replied. “Someone has to keep an eye on Prince Henry. And we still have not discovered his amayi.”

Sandy made a noise of reluctant agreement and went to sit cross-legged on the rug near his nephew, who was stacking wooden bricks with fierce concentration.

“I shall take Kit back to London,” Mal said at last.

“What? No.” Coby crossed the room and stood between her husband and their son.

“He will be safer there, with Sandy and me, than he could possibly be here. Olivia is vastly more powerful than any of the English guisers. In any case, soon he will be old enough for schooling. You must untie his leading strings sooner or later, my love.”

“If you take him, Olivia will be suspicious. She will wonder why we are hiding him from her, and perhaps guess who he is.”

“There is one way,” Sandy said. “I have held back from it, but…”

“What?”

“I can make him forget who and what he is. He will just be another little boy, as I was.”

“You can do that?” She looked down at Kit, who had stopped his play and was watching the adults with curiosity.

“Only with one so young. His soul is barely half-awake as it is.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?” Mal said. “How could you wish your fate on anyone?”

“This is different. He is whole, unbroken. And I will be there to help him when we no longer need him to hide.”