Perfect Shadows (44 page)

When I woke I was in my own chamber, my bath steaming before the
fire, but the sounds of voices drew me to the outer room. I drew on a heavy
dressing gown and pushed the door open. Rhys, with Eden behind him, waited on
one side of Richard’s bed, and Sylvana sat on the other, stroking the boy’s
forehead and muttering low in her throat in no language that I knew. She smiled
and nodded over at him, but never paused in her invocation.

When she had done she leaned down and kissed the sleeper’s
eyelids and lips, gathering his damaged hands into her own strong and
work-hardened ones. “Richard, Richard,” she called to him and he woke, confused
but unafraid. Sylvana began to remove the bandages from his hands, and the
improvement was striking. The bruising was reduced to a faint greenish stain
under the skin, and the places where the bones had broken through the skin were
healed over. The scarring was considerable, but should fade with time. She
moved to his feet and removed those bandages with similar results, then turned
him to examine his back. The skin was renewing there as well, but still looked
tender and inflamed. He winced as she smoothed a white salve over the wounds
and dressed them in clean linen before pulling an old and worn shirt over his
head. Richard gave a little sigh of relief as the anesthetic salve eased the
burning itch. He smiled tentatively at me, and I crossed to the bed, taking the
seat that Sylvana had vacated. She gathered up her gear and left the room, signaling
the others to follow. Rhys kissed his brother’s forehead, and smiled, then fled
without speaking. I waited, then took one of Richard’s hands gently in mine.

“Well, Richard,” I began, at a loss for what to say next. There
was a light scratching at the door, and Rózsa slipped in. She was dressed
soberly in green wool so dark it looked black in the candlelight, doublet and
venetians, and a plain white linen band. She spoke over her shoulder and
Sylvana followed her back into the room.

“Welcome to our family, Richard,” Rózsa said, and slipped a ring
bearing the amethyst intaglio onto his finger then bent and kissed him on the
lips. “Now, it is time for you to feed, to speed your healing, and enter upon
your new life. Sylvana will stay with you, and we will leave you alone for now.
Kryštof and I have much to discuss,” she added, drawing me back into my room.
As I closed the door I saw Sylvana shyly sit beside Richard on the bed, smiling
at him.

“Do you think that Sylvana is the best choice? He is yet
inclined to fear women, after all,” I inquired, to cover the unexpected surge
of jealousy I felt.

“Yes, since he knows her, and she is comforting to him. This is
going to be difficult for him, Kit. It is not so much now that he fears women
as that he fears the carnal act itself. I do not know how that conflict will
resolve itself finally. We are such sensual creatures, after all,” she added,
not looking at me. She wandered over to my bath and dipped her fingers in the
water. “Your bath is getting cold,” she said.

“Rózsa, are you trying to tell me something?” I asked as I
dropped my robe to the floor and stepped into the tub. The water was cooler
than I liked it, but still hot enough if I hurried. Rózsa watched me with
appreciation for a moment, then abruptly told me of her adventure with Libby. I
sat dumbfounded for a time, then laughed. “Well, why I should be surprised? She
is a beguiling little thing, after all. Have you seen her again?”

“Yes, every night. She is desperate over Hal’s arrest, terrified
that he will be executed, and she wants to see you, Kit. I will stay with
Richard tonight, if you wish. I confess that I have fed from her, though but
very little,” she smiled at the memory.

I rose from the tub and took the towel she handed me, thinking
about it while I dried and dressed myself, and decided to go. We crossed back
through the chamber where Richard rested quietly, his head on Sylvana’s
shoulder. She opened her eyes and laid a finger to her lips, nodding slightly,
to let us know that all was well. Rózsa settled into the bedside chair, and I
closed the door behind me. Richard would do little these first days but feed
and sleep, and since he had both been aware of the exchange and had no injury
to his brain, there had been no need to bind him. Given the extent of his other
injuries, it would have been nearly impossible anyway.

I found both Drury House and Essex House, not far away, in a
state of confusion. I was shown into Libby’s parlor by a sullen and frightened
servant, and left to wait. The woman who entered a few minutes later, however,
was not Libby.

Lady Rich was dressed in the height of fashion. The closed
partlet, proper for a married woman, was so sheer that it exposed her breasts,
the long pointed stomacher pressed into the flounces covering the wide drum-farthingale,
from which the rich brocade of her skirts hung to within a few inches of the
floor, showing off her ankles in their embroidered silk stockings and her small
feet in their spangled slippers. Her coloring was darker than Libby’s, her hair
a rich dark auburn and threaded with large pearls, and her face was made up in
the pink and white mask that was in vogue, her painted mouth like a crimson
wound. I found myself carefully guarding my expression, to conceal both the
start of recognition and the revulsion her appearance induced in me. “My lady?”

“I am sorry, your Highness, but Lady Southampton is indisposed,
and cannot see you. I shall give her your greetings and regrets, of course.”
Her eyes glittered like a cat’s against the kohl that outlined them, and she
appeared to examine her shining nails, while watching me through her eyelashes.
I stood for a second looking at her impassively, then I was at her side,
attempting to pass by her, through the door at her back to find Libby, and to
learn for myself what state she was in. Lady Rich shoved me away with
surprising strength, and I caught her wrist, holding it in a grip that would
not loosen, twist as she might. “You dare not lay hands on me!” she shouted,
her voice shrill.

“But you see that I do,” I said calmly. “Your star is fallen,
Lady Rich, and you and your family shall need all the friends that you can
find.”

“You were never Robin’s friend!” she spat, and I let her go, but
placed myself between her and the door.

“That is true, but none of my shaping, my lady. I have done
nothing to cause any hurt to your brother, though he could not say the same of
me and mine! But this has nothing to do with my purpose here. I have long been
a friend to Hal, and it is for care of him that I am here.” I wondered suddenly
if Libby had told her friend of her intimacy with me, and gave an inward sigh
of regret when the woman’s next words indicated that she had.

“Ah, but a far better friend to his wife! And if he should hear
of that? What price friendship then? Oh, I know precisely what sort of
friendship you shared with Hal, and it could bring great trouble to you both if
it became well known, yes? And don’t think that I won’t use what I know if you
thwart me, your highness.” Lady Rich smiled and moved closer towards me,
smoothing the crumpled ruff at her wrist. “There is no reason that we shouldn’t
befriends. You see,” she purred, “I’ve not called the grooms, even though you
have mauled me most unmercifully.”

“What is it you wish of me, my lady?” I asked tonelessly,
standing perfectly still as she flowed up against me.

“Only what you have given so freely to others! Libby told such
tales of you that I thought to sample your marvels for myself. Kiss me!” She
was Lettice Knollys’ true daughter, with her mother’s sensual nature as well as
her lack of morals, both in full measure. She turned her face up to mine, her
painted mouth redder than blood on snow, and closed her eyes. I wondered idly
what Sir Philip Sidney would think of his Stella, had he lived to see her now,
as I caught both of her hands in one of mine, crushing her against the
paneling. I lowered my lips to her throat, piercing the blue vein throbbing
there and tasting of her, pulling her blood into my mouth and letting my
pleasure spill into her for only a few seconds before pushing away from her.
She stared up at me, her eyes languid, a moan of protest welling in her throat
as she tried to move back closer. I caught her chin in my hand and forced her
to look into my face, pinning her with my gaze. I murmured to her and her eyes
glazed as she nodded to my words, then I pushed her against the paneling again,
lowering her gently to the floor as her knees gave away. I knelt beside her,
and slapped her smartly on the cheek, and she snapped awake, glaring about her
in confusion. “What do you mean, slapping me!”

“Forgive me, my lady, but your emotions overcame you, and you
fainted. I meant only to bring you out of your swoon.”

“Call the footman, or someone, you barbarian!” she snapped,
holding a hand to her insulted cheek.

“An it please you, my lady,” I answered indifferently, but with
inward satisfaction, as she was unmistakably acting upon my suggestion that she
found me unappealing.

“Wait, I pray you, your Highness. You must forgive my ill temper;
I am half distracted with fear for my brother. I do not even remember the
subject on which we spoke.”

“Your brother, my lady,” I began but was interrupted by the door
slamming back as Libby tripped into the room.

“Are you in here, Penny? Oh, there you are—Kryštof! What are you
doing here? Did he try to ravish you, Penny? I should advise you let him!” As I
helped Lady Rich to her feet, Libby collapsed giggling on the settle, and I
realized that she was drunk. “I am glad that you are here! I have been longing
to see you. Stay with me tonight: I am so afraid of being alone,” and she burst
into tears. Penelope sat beside her, drawing her into her arms and letting her
cry, completing the ruin of the open ruff she wore. I dropped to one knee
before them, taking one of Libby’s hands and holding it until she looked at me.

“You are not alone, Elizabeth. You have an older friend here
than I, and I cannot stay. I will see the Queen, and try to persuade her to be
lenient with him, but do not hope too much.” Libby nodded and tears still
dropped to her gown as I leant forward and softly kissed her brow. “And you, my
lady, I fear should not hope at all, though I do promise you that I shall do
nothing to your brother’s hurt.” Lady Rich turned her dark eyes on me; she made
no reply but looked at me thoughtfully as I rose and left the room.

It was too late to go to the Queen that night and I returned to
Chelsey, and sat until dawn in Richard’s room, watching the boy’s sleep deepen
into the day trance before seeking my own rest.

The Queen was at Whitehall, and granted me an audience when I
sent her the talismanic ring. She was in a foul temper, and glared from the
mask of paint she wore like a stage Medusa as I knelt before her to plead for
my friend. Her mouth, set in a grim line, turned down as she listened.

“Think you that I will slay the eaglet and spare that viper? I
know full well where the plotting took place, my lord, as do you!” She smacked
her fist into the palm of the other hand, cursing as a sharp ring bezel cut her
finger. Gently I took her hand, turning it to examine the wound, and brought it
to my lips. I kissed her fingers, letting the coagulants in my spittle staunch
the bleeding before she could call for a servant and declare my audience at an
end. Her other hand dropped to my hair, seemingly without her volition, and she
stroked the soft locks, letting them run through her fingers.

“Where were you, or another such prince, when I was young and
had need to marry?” she mused, and I lifted my maimed face to hers.

“There were princes a-plenty, your Majesty, but you had another
Robin then, and a truer one,” I said quietly. I recalled the sight of her in
Canterbury in my youth, riding in procession, and realized that the vision of
the divine Zenocrate in my
Tamburlaine
had had its birth there, with the
beautiful and regal young woman on the white horse, the glitter of her robes
less rich than the red-gold hair spilling down her back and floating on the
warm Kentish breeze.

“The Earl of Southampton has not the wit to lay such a plot,
your Majesty. He is young and a fool, but if you will kill all the fools in
England it will be a lonely land indeed.” She stared at me for a second, when a
sound behind me drew her eyes away. I rose and turned to face Cecil, who had
entered in time to catch my words. He looked careworn and faded, lines
beginning to set around his mouth and eyes. Of all the council he was the only
one willing to pursue the necessary course in this affair, although he too knew
the risk that in her grief the queen would blame him for the death of her
erstwhile favorite, and retaliate.

“He is quite correct, your Majesty, and I come to add my voice
to his plea for leniency to Southampton. The Earl of Essex is a man sly and
vain, shallow and treacherous, yet stalwart and high-spirited withal,” he added
quickly at the flash of her eyes. He swallowed, then continued. “If you let him
live, even in prison, it will be seen as a sign of your dotage, and no one will
be able to drive back the vultures and kites that will descend upon England
then. There will be nothing left but dry bones stripped clean of the last scrap
of flesh. By letting the minion live, in prison, certainly, and for the rest of
his life, you may show your charity and forgiveness at no risk to your crown.
This disaffection and rebellion, fomented in the private discontent of a few,
is not like the Hydra, to grow a new head when one is lopped off.” Elizabeth
glared at the minister for a minute or two, then turned to me once more.