household. No matter what those ruffians flung at you—the taunts and dunking in stable troughs, the beatings and black eyes—you fought back. You never let yourself be defeated.”
“How could I?” I said, stung by this unwelcome reminder of my childhood. “If I’d shown a single instance of weakness, they would have killed me.”
“Indeed. Yet defeat can take many forms. You succumbed to a woman. God knows, there is not a man alive or dead, I wager, who has not made the same mistake. Nevertheless, you protected Elizabeth, and Kate, too; you helped save the kingdom. Unfortunately, it is most often our mistakes, not our triumphs, that define us. Do not let that happen to you.”
I did not want to hear it. I evaded his advice, because it made me recognize my morbid attachment to my self-inflicted culpability, a dismal refuge I had built around my heart, so atonement would always be out of reach. Sybilla was dead, but part of her lived in me. I had kept her memory alive to torment myself. I had to forget her if I hoped to ever find peace.
“You are wise,” I said at length. “I should not let the past cloud my future. I must focus only on finding out who now seeks harm on the queen.”
“And you must do it before Dudley finds out you misled him,” added Shelton. “He may have struck a pact with you out of fear you’d reveal his treason, but when he discovers your ploy, he will try again to destroy you. He hankers for revenge.”
“I know.” I found myself finally smiling. “I do seem to have a talent for riling him up.”
Shelton chuckled. “I have never known anyone more prone to stepping on his tail.” His mirth faded. “I still have Sybilla’s sword, the one she dropped on the bridge. I had it repaired. It is the finest Toledo steel money can buy. Beyond price. It’s yours, if you want it.”
I shook my head, reaching for the pitcher. “Keep it. I do not want anything of hers.”
Two hours and two more pitchers later, I could barely stand. The smoky room swam about me. Looking around through bleary eyes, I realized it was empty, girls sweeping up gristle and ashes from the floor while others clanked dishes in the washing tub behind the hutch. I was too drunk to ride, Nan emphatically informed me.
“You will sleep here,” she said, in a tone that brooked no argument. “The streets are no place for a law-abiding person at night, what with the riffraff and the curfew in effect.” Turning to Shelton, she said, “He can bed on the settle. Take him now before he falls flat on his face.”
As Shelton wrapped an arm like a beam of lumber around my waist, guiding me to the narrow staircase, I slurred, “My horse … Cinnabar. I left him with a boy outside…”
“I’ve already seen to it,” said Nan. “The horse and Tom are stalled out back, with plenty of feed and a brazier to keep them warm. I will check on them again before I close for the night, don’t you fret. Now, go on upstairs. You have no head for ale.”
“Or much of anything else these days, it seems,” I muttered, but I allowed Shelton to take me up to their small living quarters above the tavern, where I collapsed in a heap on the settle as he pulled off my boots, unlaced my doublet, and divested me of my breeches like a child.
Slumber overcame me within seconds of him setting a blanket over me. I feared I would dream again of Sybilla, straddling me with a knife in her fist.
Instead, I saw Elizabeth, a spaniel dying at her feet as she whispered, Do not stray far. I may have need of you.…
Chapter Eight
I left the Griffin before dawn with a sour taste in my mouth, an aching head, and repeated assurances to Nan that I would return as soon as I was able. Shelton gave me a hearty embrace and fetched Cinnabar himself. My horse seemed content, and I tossed Tom his extra coins as promised, bringing a cheerful grin to the boy’s grime-stained face.
The ride to Whitehall was quiet, the city only starting to stir to
“How could I?” I said, stung by this unwelcome reminder of my childhood. “If I’d shown a single instance of weakness, they would have killed me.”
“Indeed. Yet defeat can take many forms. You succumbed to a woman. God knows, there is not a man alive or dead, I wager, who has not made the same mistake. Nevertheless, you protected Elizabeth, and Kate, too; you helped save the kingdom. Unfortunately, it is most often our mistakes, not our triumphs, that define us. Do not let that happen to you.”
I did not want to hear it. I evaded his advice, because it made me recognize my morbid attachment to my self-inflicted culpability, a dismal refuge I had built around my heart, so atonement would always be out of reach. Sybilla was dead, but part of her lived in me. I had kept her memory alive to torment myself. I had to forget her if I hoped to ever find peace.
“You are wise,” I said at length. “I should not let the past cloud my future. I must focus only on finding out who now seeks harm on the queen.”
“And you must do it before Dudley finds out you misled him,” added Shelton. “He may have struck a pact with you out of fear you’d reveal his treason, but when he discovers your ploy, he will try again to destroy you. He hankers for revenge.”
“I know.” I found myself finally smiling. “I do seem to have a talent for riling him up.”
Shelton chuckled. “I have never known anyone more prone to stepping on his tail.” His mirth faded. “I still have Sybilla’s sword, the one she dropped on the bridge. I had it repaired. It is the finest Toledo steel money can buy. Beyond price. It’s yours, if you want it.”
I shook my head, reaching for the pitcher. “Keep it. I do not want anything of hers.”
Two hours and two more pitchers later, I could barely stand. The smoky room swam about me. Looking around through bleary eyes, I realized it was empty, girls sweeping up gristle and ashes from the floor while others clanked dishes in the washing tub behind the hutch. I was too drunk to ride, Nan emphatically informed me.
“You will sleep here,” she said, in a tone that brooked no argument. “The streets are no place for a law-abiding person at night, what with the riffraff and the curfew in effect.” Turning to Shelton, she said, “He can bed on the settle. Take him now before he falls flat on his face.”
As Shelton wrapped an arm like a beam of lumber around my waist, guiding me to the narrow staircase, I slurred, “My horse … Cinnabar. I left him with a boy outside…”
“I’ve already seen to it,” said Nan. “The horse and Tom are stalled out back, with plenty of feed and a brazier to keep them warm. I will check on them again before I close for the night, don’t you fret. Now, go on upstairs. You have no head for ale.”
“Or much of anything else these days, it seems,” I muttered, but I allowed Shelton to take me up to their small living quarters above the tavern, where I collapsed in a heap on the settle as he pulled off my boots, unlaced my doublet, and divested me of my breeches like a child.
Slumber overcame me within seconds of him setting a blanket over me. I feared I would dream again of Sybilla, straddling me with a knife in her fist.
Instead, I saw Elizabeth, a spaniel dying at her feet as she whispered, Do not stray far. I may have need of you.…
Chapter Eight
I left the Griffin before dawn with a sour taste in my mouth, an aching head, and repeated assurances to Nan that I would return as soon as I was able. Shelton gave me a hearty embrace and fetched Cinnabar himself. My horse seemed content, and I tossed Tom his extra coins as promised, bringing a cheerful grin to the boy’s grime-stained face.
The ride to Whitehall was quiet, the city only starting to stir to
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