The Prince of Lies (Night's Masque, #3)(56)

For long moments no one spoke.

“Do it,” Coby said softly.

Sandy knelt and whispered something in the skrayling tongue, then pressed his forehead to Kit’s own. The boy’s eyes closed, and after a while he gave a little gasp. Sandy released him, and Kit went back to playing with his toys as if nothing had happened.

Coby went to put a hand on Sandy’s arm, but he turned away and went to stand staring out of the window.

“Well, that’s that,” Mal said. “Now, no more sadness. I have not ridden all this way for only a fleeting visit. Tonight we shall have a private supper together, and tomorrow you can show me the gardens.”

“You just want to scout out secret ways into the palace,” Coby said, trying to sound petulant and failing utterly.

“There, I knew that would put a smile on your face.” He took her hands in his. “We can pretend it’s the old days, just for a while.”

She smiled up at him. “Yes, I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.”



Mal threaded his way through the maze of courtyards and passages at the rear of Richmond Palace. He had still not had a chance to talk to the spy Lady Frances had spoken of, and he knew not how long the prince would want to stay at Richmond. If the hunting was poor, Robert might leave within the week. Mal had tried to arrange a rendezvous earlier, but Princess Juliana had held him to the promise of a dance and it was nearly midnight before he could get away. Coby had her own duties when the princess retired for the night, which left him with half an hour or so to fulfil his mission.

The service buildings had fallen silent, all the servants snatching a few precious hours’ sleep before the whole great machine of court protocol started up again. The perfect time for a secret tryst. Mal slipped across another passage junction and out into a courtyard. Raindrops fell from the eaves into the hollows that millions of their predecessors had worn in the flagstones; the only other sound was the scuff and splash of Mal’s boots as the flags gave way to equally ancient cobbles.

Lost in thought he turned a corner – and found himself face to face with the one person he did not wish to meet. Olivia. The former courtesan bowed and gave him an ironic smile.

“It has been too long, Signor Catalin,” she said in that low husky voice that made the blood stir in his veins despite himself.

“Three years? I would hardly call that too long.”

She tipped her head to one side. “I suppose it is but the blink of an eye to our kind.”

Mal couldn’t help glancing around. There was no one within sight, and all the windows in the surrounding walls were closed against the autumn chill.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, perhaps a little more abruptly than he had intended. Dammit, she knew just how to get under his skin.

“I grew lonely,” she said, with a pout. “You abandoned me, if you recall. Betrayed me.”

“I had no choice.”

“There is always a choice,” she hissed. She paused, as if reconsidering. “But it matters not. Thanks to you I have found a new home, with many companions to choose from.”

Many? How many guisers were there in England? He reined in his impatience to question her. She was probably bluffing.

“I won’t let you stay here,” he said.

“Oh? And how will you get rid of me?” She folded her arms. “Expose my true sex, perhaps? That would be a scandal, a woman disguising herself as a young man for months at a time.”

She fell silent, but the unspoken threat was as clear as day. Expose “Bartolomeo” as a woman, and Olivia would denounce Coby for the same and worse.

“The skraylings still want you back,” he said. “I’m sure we can find you a safer route home this time.”

Olivia laughed. “If the skraylings were so anxious to have me, I’m sure they would have done something by now. Alas for you, I think they value their trade with England more than one poor lost soul.”

“They don’t want to see a guiser on the throne any more than I do.”

“But I’m not on the throne, am I? Besides, that was never my way, as well you know–”

Footsteps sounded behind him. Mal turned to see the source, and when he turned back, Olivia was gone. He cursed loudly, earning a startled look from the gardener’s boy whose arrival had given Olivia the means to evade him.

“Master Catlyn?” the boy whispered. “I have the report you asked for.”

Mal drew the boy aside, well away from any hiding places where they could be overheard, and listened to his recitation. The lad was illiterate, of course, but sometimes that was for the best. No written evidence to betray them.

“And you’re certain the alchemist has not been seen at Syon House this past twelvemonth?” he asked when the boy was finished.

“Aye, sir. Jennet knows all the ways in and out and the secret places–” Even in the dark, Mal could tell the boy was blushing “–and she says he’s not been there since before Michaelmas last.”

Mal thanked him and gave him a handful of money for his pains; small coins that would not draw attention in the hand of an ill-paid servant. No use in pursuing an invitation to Syon House, then. Wherever Northumberland was keeping his pet alchemist, it wasn’t at home.





CHAPTER XV