“As soon as possible. If his luck has held, he’ll be sailing over right now.”
Worse and worse.
“He made quick work of those negotiations, I must say,” the King mused. “But it’s possible there’s more to the story, something he needs to tell me in person.” The barge swayed and rocked. The King looked round. “Ah! We’ve docked.”
The master of the barge rapped on the glass door. “Lady Chantress, if you wish to disembark?”
Numbly I rose and bowed to the King. Nat could be at Whitehall any day now.
He must not find me here. That was one of the cardinal rules of the game, and so far I had never broken it. But what possible excuse can I find to leave just before the opening?
I went up the gangplank and stood between the great torches on the dock as the barge pulled away. As I waved good-bye to the King, it took all my self-control to present a cheery face.
“We’ll meet when I return?” he called out as the oarsmen sculled.
“Yes, Your Majesty.” He might not be back till midnight, but it was not unusual for us to work into the small hours as we prepared for the opening. “I’ll be waiting.” Unless I find some perfect way to vanish before then.
Once the barge was out of sight, I turned toward the looming bulk of Whitehall Palace. Built in a motley mixture of brick and timber and stone, it was almost a city within a city, boasting more than fifteen hundred rooms, all of them encircled by a high embankment that had been put up in Scargrave’s reign and never taken down. It was the King’s favorite of all the royal residences in London, a place that I usually returned to with pleasure.
But not now.
What on earth am I going to do?
The palace doors opened. I couldn’t ask for time to think; I was about to be swept up in my duties again.
As I went forward, however, I heard a flurry of female voices above and to the left of me. Caught by the note of fear in them, I looked up. The disturbance was coming from one of the Queen’s windows. As I listened, the babble of voices grew louder, and a terrible cry rent the air.
Was it Sybil? Was she in danger?
Forgetting my own problems, I broke into a run.
CHAPTER THREE
SYBIL
If Whitehall was the largest palace in Europe, it was also Europe’s biggest warren, with innumerable passageways and cul-de-sacs. Thankfully, I knew a shortcut to the Queen’s chambers, and I wound my way there as fast as I could. With me were two of the men in my command. They had been awaiting my arrival, had seen me rush into the palace, and had come to my aid.
There were no guards at the entrance to the Queen’s chambers—another sign that something was wrong. I sped up and flew through the doors.
On the other side, everything was in an uproar. The guards who should have been in front of the doors were standing awkwardly beside them. The ladies-in-waiting and maids-of-honor were buzzing around the room, some of them crying out in distress. Servants were frantically dragging all the curtains shut. One lady lay half-prostrate on the floor. And Sybil, with her exquisite face and blush-pink gown, stood like an avenging angel in the middle of the room.
“That’s quite enough,” she was saying to the lady on the floor. “Enough, I tell you. Get up.”
The lady moaned, and the sweet-faced girl beside her—whom I recognized as the King’s young cousin, Lady Clemence Grey—said, “Oh, I wish Lord Walbrook were here. He would know what to do.”
“What’s wrong?” I called out.
In all the commotion, they hadn’t noticed me before. Now they all turned and stared, even Sybil, until I started to feel quite out of place. Which in truth I was. Because of my magic, I occupied a strange position in the world. I sat in Council; I commanded my own men; I was almost an honorary man myself. In this domain, however, womanly grace and beauty were what mattered. And for that, I had the wrong manners, the wrong posture, the wrong everything.
Even my dress was unsuitable. Though well-cut and made of the finest wool, it was meant for the practicalities of a Chantress’s life. It had no bows, no jewels, no soft silken folds to flatter my neckline. I cut a sober figure next to these ornaments of the Court. I didn’t belong,