Queens of Fennbirn (Three Dark Crowns 0.5)(50)

“Did you poison me, too?” he called after her. “Did you mute my gift as well as hers, without my knowing? Is that why I foresaw none of this?”

Francesca paused as if trying to decide whether to lie. Then she sighed.

“No, Gilbert, I did not poison you. In fact, I choose to think it was a sign from the Goddess that she sent you no warning. Perhaps this is”—she cocked her head—“what she meant to happen.”





THE WEST TOWER

The maid set down the tray of bread and boiled eggs. She poured the water and a steaming cup of tea. “There you are, Queen Elsabet,” she said as if the queen were a child. She set the cloth on Elsabet’s lap and even tucked her hair behind her ear. “You’re looking very pretty today. After you break your fast, we’ll brush your hair and put on a new gown.”

She began to hum, and Elsabet looked up at her as she ate. She had no appetite, but if she did not eat, then they would make her, and she lacked the energy to fight.

“You look a little bit like her,” she said, and the maid barely looked up.

“Like who?”

“Like Bess.” She did not, though, not really. Bess had been beautiful. Far more beautiful than this mouse of a girl, who had likely been chosen to serve due to her slowness of mind and lack of guile than for any true merit.

“Let’s not speak of them now, my queen. You know how upset you get.”

“Have they had the burnings yet?” Elsabet went on. “For the Dentons? Will they bring them here and burn them in the capital as I asked?”

“Queen Elsabet—”

“Tell me!”

The maid jumped and looked at her with wide eyes. Elsabet quickly smiled and sweetened her voice.

“Please. Tell me.”

“I think the Dentons were all burned together in Prynn,” she said. “That’s what they say.”

“They.” Elsabet chuckled. “Always ‘they.’”

There was a knock at the door, and the maid left eagerly to answer it. When she returned, she brought Gilbert hovering behind her.

“Here is Master Lermont to cheer you.”

The maid left them alone, and Gilbert came and embraced her, kissing her on both cheeks. “Terrorizing her as usual, I see.”

“I will never stop.”

“It was not her fault.”

“It was everyone’s fault, Gilbert. Mine. Yours. You know it’s true. That’s why you keep coming back after I heap abuses on you. Out of guilt.”

“Out of love, Elsie. Mainly out of love.”

“What use have I for love in prison?” Elsabet took a last bite of egg and wiped her mouth. Then she gestured for him to sit. “What have you brought for me? What is that under your arm?”

Gilbert grinned and took her by the hand. He led her to her bedroom and began to unroll the package he carried, unfurling it so it lay across her coverlet.

“Something I think you’ll like,” he said. “Something I smuggled in.”

Elsabet looked down and held her breath. It was Jonathan’s painting, the portrait he did of her for Midsummer, laid out in vibrant colors, bright and green, with shining fruit and the jolly faces of the little dogs.

“I recovered it at his apartment before it was ransacked and searched. It really is quite lovely. He was . . . quite talented.”

Elsabet stared at the painting and took Gilbert by the arm. What a perfect time Midsummer seemed to her now, after all that had happened. All that warmth and innocence. Looking into the painting, she could almost imagine herself back there again, with Bess at her side and Rosamund always looking out for danger.

She reached down and ran her fingers across the Volroy, whole and complete in the painting.

“He found the time to finish it,” she whispered.

“What?” Gilbert turned and looked at her. “Oh, Elsie, I meant for it to please you. I thought you might like it.”

Elsabet smiled and squeezed his arm. She wiped the tears from her cheek.

“I do like it, Gilbert. I love it.”