The Prince of Lies (Night's Masque, #3)(80)

Kit soon caught Mal and pulled him down onto his knees so that he could touch his face. Now, here was a dilemma: would Kit remember that his uncle was clean-shaven, or should Mal give him a clue? Kit chewed his bottom lip for a moment.

“Father,” he said at last and pulled the hat off, grinning.

“How did you know?”

“I heard your sword scrape on the floor when you knelt down.”

Mal laughed. “You knew all along? So why all the face-patting?”

Kit said nothing, only threw himself into Mal’s arms. Mal hugged him back, tears pricking his eyes.

“I missed you too, son.”





CHAPTER XXI



King Robert spared no expense on his mother’s funeral, perhaps not wanting to be thought ungracious for having to wait so long for his throne. The horses drawing the hearse were draped in black velvet decorated with embroidered plaques of the royal arms, as was the lead coffin in which the late queen’s body lay. Lady Frances Grey, as wife of the preeminent peer of the realm, led the procession of mourners along the short route from Whitehall Palace to Westminster Abbey. The surrounding houses were packed with onlookers leaning out of doors and windows, some even perched on the rooftops clinging to the gutter, and all weeping and sighing as if their own mother were in the coffin passing below. The funeral service was plainer than the Queen herself might have preferred, but no one could accuse it of lacking dignity, and the coffin was at last laid to rest in the vault of her father King Henry, until such time as a fitting monument could be constructed.

In the weeks that followed, Mal plotted the rescue of his son. The coronation procession would no doubt start from the Tower of London as was traditional, which meant a brief period of them all being lodged there together: himself, Sandy, Coby and Kit. Tempting as it was to make use of that proximity, he knew that the Tower guard would be more watchful than usual with so many important guests under their protection. No, it was at the banquet after the ceremony that their best chance lay. Everyone’s guard would be down, and they could slip away together unnoticed. All he had to do was arrange for a swift boat to be waiting to take them downriver to Deptford and they could be on a skrayling ship to Sark before they were even missed.

And from there, who knew? Perhaps even as far as the New World. That was the one place the guisers would never follow them.



By the day of the coronation the Queen’s household was as restless as Coby had ever known it. Or perhaps it was her own impatience to be out of the Tower and putting Mal’s plan into action. Quite what his plan was she did not know, and he had refused to tell her, saying it was better she did not know in case Olivia caught a glimpse of her dreams. The thought of that woman poking around in her mind made Coby shudder, and she readily agreed to Mal’s terms. All she knew was that he and Sandy would make their move at the coronation feast, and that she was to stay as close to Kit as possible. Were they planning to spirit her away, as Sandy had done to Mal from these very apartments ten years ago? It seemed unlikely with so many guisers around, but perhaps Mal was relying on the skraylings to back him up for once.

“Lady Catlyn?”

“Hmm? Oh, sorry!”

Coby finished lacing up the back of Queen Juliana’s gown and stepped out of the way of the other ladies-in-waiting. As the lowliest of the Queen’s attendants she got all the least popular tasks, particularly once the other ladies found out how good she was at mending.

“Why so serious?” Lady Derby whispered, nudging her in the ribs.

“A little tired, that’s all,” Coby lied.

“Not long now,” her companion replied, as if reading her thoughts. “I shall be so glad to get out of this dreary old place. The traitors and the ravens are welcome to it.”

The Queen stepped into her shoes, then the two of them knelt to restore the folds of her skirts to their former neatness.

“It’s traditional,” Coby said as they resumed their places at a discreet distance. Every English king since King William’s day had started his coronation procession from the Tower.

“I heard a most alarming rumour about these apartments,” Lady Derby whispered, glancing about the bedchamber. “They say the skrayling ambassador slept in this very room. In that very bed.”

Coby suppressed a smile. Not in that bed, or so her husband had told her. The ambassador was not accustomed to English fashions, and had preferred the servant’s bed on the floor. “So I believe.”

“Were you here for the ambassador’s arrival?”

“Alas, no.” Another lie. She was hardly about to confess to masquerading as a boy, apprenticed to a theatre company. “It was before… before Sir Maliverny and I met.”

Just saying his name brought back the pain of their separation. Only a few more hours, and his promise would be put to the test.

“Hard to believe it was ten years ago,” Lady Derby said. “I wasn’t at court then, of course, being but a girl.”

They watched in silence as other ladies draped heavy ropes of pearl about the Queen’s neck and fastened an elaborate standing collar of gauze and lace and beadwork to the back of her gown. Diamonds and gold thread winked in the sunlight reflecting off the Thames. Coby found herself unconsciously smoothing her gown, and clasped her hands in front of her. After so many weeks in drab black it was a relief to be wearing pale colours again, even if she couldn’t help fretting about soiling the fine silk. Old habits died hard.