The Queen's Viper Page 10

  Clare tapped Viper on the shoulder and gained her full attention. The girl waved her hands and fingers in the air at the same time as she said, “I can’t read lips when your head is turned. Would you please repeat yourself?” Viper glanced at the girl sideways, trying not to see too deeply into her eyes.

  Mouse burst into the room. “Mistress! You did it. Thank you!”

  “Dr. Thorton?” Clare screwed her face up at the man she knew as her psychiatrist.

  “Ah, yes. Clare. I am. Rather, I was.” He fumbled over his sign language, and then for his handkerchief to clean his glasses. Dhillon grinned at the recovering young woman from over Mouse’s shoulder. “There isn’t enough time to explain at present,” Mouse said. “I’d like you to come with us. You’ll be quite safe, I assure you.”

  “I know.” Clare smiled with instant acceptance. She reached for Viper’s arm. “I’m safe wherever she goes. Oh! Are you bleeding?” she asked Viper.

  Black liquid oozed like hot tar from wounds on Viper’s left forearm and palm.

  10: Hampton Court Prison

  July 15th, 1558.

  Hampton Court Palace, south-west of London.

  Built by an archbishop, Hampton Place was grand enough for an emperor. Reminders of the king who would be a god haunted the buildings. The leisure complexes, expansive kitchens and recreational gardens of the palace echoed the ego of King Henry VIII’s robust years. A giant astrological clock on Queen Anne’s gate, held aloft over an arch joining two octagonal towers, reminded passersby that mortality claimed everyone, royals and servants alike.

  “Except me,” Viper mused with delight as she passed beneath the entryway made of red-veneered clay bricks. A cast plaster square with the entwined letters A and H for Elizabeth’s parents, Anne and Henry, decorated the peak of the arch above her. In 1536, King Henry had ordered Anne’s execution by decapitation. Ten years and four wives later, the self-styled god died of natural causes. Now his daughters lived at the palace, one a queen, and the other her prisoner.

  Viper rushed across the cobblestones of the inner courtyard to the Great Hall. The room’s oak hammerbeam ceiling felt overbearing despite the bright sunlight of the warm summer afternoon streaming through high, arched windows. Wearing only a white linen tunic, black hose, and simple leather shoes, Viper was underdressed for the most important space in the palace. Too often, she kept watch here, at the end of the row of tapestries, while Elizabeth daydreamed for as long as she dared at her mother’s initials and heraldic falcon still carved in the dark beams.

  The immortal wondered what tortured Elizabeth the most, the damp and derelict conditions of her confinement in the Woodstock Gate House, or facing these remembrances of the mother torn from her when Elizabeth was three years old. Either way, Viper was sure Queen Mary knew that restoring Elizabeth to Court was another form of torment for the princess.

  Four years ago, Queen Mary married Prince Phillip II, the future Monarch of Spain. In the following year, 1555, Mary’s belly swelled and her monthly bleeding stopped. Catholics rejoiced that their queen would have an heir. Regardless of Viper’s words of patience, Elizabeth fretted about her own claim to the Throne of England.

  After nearly one year of imprisonment at Woodstock, Queen Mary had ordered Elizabeth to London for a secret interrogation. Bolstered by Viper’s promise, Elizabeth swore faithfulness to her half-sister. Placated but not forgiving, Mary re-legitimized Elizabeth as a royal and coerced Elizabeth to stay at Court for the imminent birth. Mary wanted her sister to see the child who would deny Elizabeth the Crown. The queen had Parliament name her husband as Crown Regent should she die in childbirth, further distancing Elizabeth from her claim on the throne. Mary actively sought a contract with a non-English royal who would marry Elizabeth and remove the princess from the country. Upon Viper’s advice, Elizabeth refused to marry a foreign Noble.

  However, the much anticipated Catholic baby did not arrive. Queen Mary’s belly flattened and she had no choice but to admit her error in believing herself pregnant.

  Queen Mary gave Elizabeth the bare courtesy required for a royal, even when she released her sister from Court to live at Hatfield, her childhood home. Elizabeth was never free from Mary's tight grasp. The queen still treated her half-sister as a potential Protestant saboteur. Mary had neither stripped Elizabeth of her fragile royal status, nor repaired her relationship with her sister.

  Now, once again hoping for the birth of a royal child, Mary confined Elizabeth to a disused Banqueting House at Hampton Palace. Foul-smelling effluent from the great house of easement, a large toileting room in the palace that twenty-eight lesser courtiers could use at a time, neared the Banqueting House that was set apart from the main building. Viper’s stomach roiled at the mere thought of the odor.

  The immortal kept her word, remaining Elizabeth’s secret and constant companion, even when Queen Mary granted her half-sister a small retinue, including Lady Ashley, Elizabeth’s governess. When the immortal and Elizabeth were alone, they often quarreled about whether or not Viper should hasten Mary’s fate. Viper lacked Elizabeth’s sense of urgency. The Daoine Tor became bored with Elizabeth’s impatience over her sister’s continued rule these last years. Viper felt the burden of responsibly for Elizabeth’s well-being most acutely when the temperamental princess ignored her out of spite.

  Today was another one of those days. Last night, Viper and Elizabeth had argued over the princess’ future. Elizabeth abruptly stopped talking to Viper. During the day, Elizabeth stayed close to her governess. Viper skulked around Hampton on her own. When she returned to the Elizabeth’s room, she found it empty. A single strand of pearls hung from a nail on the wall, the princess’ symbol that she had left a message for Viper. The immortal had removed the note from a retractable wall panel, read it and started off for the palace in haste.

  Viper now clutched the paper in her hand. Mary remains in London, abed with illness, the missive read in Elizabeth’s scrawled handwriting. She calls upon Hampton to make prayers for her pregnancy. I beg you forgive my absence. I must away to the Chapel. I shall come to you anon. E.

  Elizabeth’s words sounded sincere, yet Viper questioned whether the humaine utilized the queen’s directive as an avoidance tactic. Viper didn’t lose her temper, nevertheless she wouldn’t allow Elizabeth to dictate the terms of their alliance. Stemming her anger, Viper decided that she needed to leave the princess at Hampton until such time as Queen Mary died. She wouldn’t wait another minute to tell her troublesome queen-to-be.

  Viper pursued Elizabeth to the Chapel Royal, where the immortal smuggled herself into the Royal Pew, commissioned by King Henry VIII. Royals participated in religious services on this balcony, high above the heads of the members of Court. Viper entered through the Queen’s Closet, a small room to the left, intended for Henry’s consort. Queen Mary, as Ruler of England, used the King’s Closet when in residence at Hampton. Today, Viper knew the balcony would be empty. Whether or not the queen was at Hampton, Mary forbade Elizabeth’s use of the Royal Pew.

  Viper perched on the railing, invisible to the mortals below. The Chapel Royal smelled of incense and beeswax. Of King Henry’s renovations to Hampton, Viper liked this room the most for its artistry and serenity. The gilded Gothic arches reached into the indigo blue ceiling like gold fingers retrieving stars from the breath of God.

  The bottom hem of her tunic flirted with her muscular legs. Woven powder blue silk garter bands secured black hose above her knees. Sunlight painted Viper with colours from the stained glass on either side of her. Momentarily distracted, she traced the amorphous shapes on her shirt. On her right, reds and oranges roared from the image of a lion holding up a wounded front paw in front of a sheep. Blues and greens streamed from a male Indian peafowl on her left, the fanned out eyes of its tail feathers studying her in all their glory. Viper neither felt judged by one creature nor threatened by the other.

  A Catholic priest stood at the raised altar on the main floor. Elizabeth knelt o
n a padded stool in front of him. The farthingale beneath her red silk overgown, embroidered with silver and green filigree, bunched up the material around her. Yellow silk peeked through the slits on her puffed sleeves. Her hair piled high on her head like sunset tinted clouds.

  Viper felt impetuous, driven, perhaps, by the decision she had made to leave. “Open your eyes, Elizabeth, and behold how wooden his cross,” she taunted. She knew that Elizabeth didn’t like it when Viper talked to her in front of other humaines, partly because the princess couldn’t openly reply. Elizabeth coughed, hiding her amused reaction to Viper.

  The priest interrupted his incantation. “Princess?” The tremor of his hands grew increasingly noticeable each year. Elizabeth turned her head and sputtered over her shoulder. Through her dangling curls, she flashed Viper a warning glance. Viper winked impishly, evoking a subtle, childish smile from Elizabeth. In that silent communication, the Daoine Tor knew that Elizabeth’s written apology had been sincere. She was, once again, amicable to her immortal confidante.

  Lady Ashley handed Elizabeth a small goblet of wine and she assumed a penitent grin of thanks at her governess. With Elizabeth’s coughing fit abated, the priest continued in a monotone that blanketed the room like the haze of frankincense.

  The vibrancy of Elizabeth’s golden aeir cut through the clouded room and infused into everyone. Elizabeth flexed her neck, eyes closed in prayer. Viper’s anger had cooled, but her gluttony burned. In Cammerwelle, she killed for survival and as a mercy to her victims. The power of Elizabeth’s aeir reformed her. She no longer needed to completely drain her prey, especially when she fed upon a large group of humaines in Elizabeth’s presence. Viper hadn’t shared this new ability with Elizabeth, for the immortal had too few secrets of her own.

  Viper opened her arms and extended her elldyr creft over the congregation. Their enhanced aeir rose into her magical energy, then infused through her fingertips faster than the undulating coils of incense smoke. She became lightheaded and warmth permeated her body, signals that her rapture was upon her. Her enchantment of invisibility faded. Viper hid on one knee behind the balcony wall. The priest, and those who assisted him, had turned to the altar to bow to the cross. They couldn’t see Viper’s fingers gripping the railing in ecstasy. Then she lay on the wool carpet, contentedly staring at the colourful display on the ceiling until the service for Queen Mary’s ill-fated pregnancy ended.

  Hours later, Viper evaded the guards at the door of the Banqueting House who restricted Elizabeth within. The immortal pressed herself against the narrow hall outside Elizabeth’s two-room suite as Lady Ashley and two young attendants, arms loaded with used washing cloths and basins, passed her imperceptible body on their way to the kitchen. Viper stepped into Elizabeth’s rooms behind them and revealed herself. The loosened strings of Elizabeth’s corset swung wildly as she pushed the door closed.

  “We will not have long to speak in private, for handmaids bed sit me, lest some conspirator whisk me from captivity,” Elizabeth said in a low voice. Bounding like a spring lamb, she crossed to a walnut bench and plopped onto velvet cushions. Fragrant lemon balm and sweet fennel, strewn on the carpet of woven rushes, drifted in her wake. She offered Viper a silver bowl of stewed dates seasoned with spices forte, chiefly cinnamon, ginger, cloves and pepper.

  Viper declined the mortal snacks. “Those born of royal blood are not oft left unaccompanied.” She pulled a brightly painted chair to face Elizabeth.

  Elizabeth laughed, a sound as thick as the honey in her sweets. “Well versed am I with the bane of my royal heritage.” She reached into her sleeve and withdrew a delicate chain from which dangled a gold letter B, adorned with three teardrop pearls. The charm belonged to her mother; B for Boleyn. “An unguarded royal doth make easy target for slaughter,” she said, then paused. “Or damnable slander.” A tear escaped the fine laughter line at the corner of her eye. Elizabeth tucked up the jewel, dried her face and defiantly raised her chin. “I hath no need to be affrighted, for I hath your powers to protect me against both.”

  Viper said nothing as she tilted her head in accession to Elizabeth’s statement. The immortal crossed to the fireplace, pretending to study the flames. Doubt smoldered beneath the righteousness of her earlier decision. If Viper left, the princess would be at the mercy of the politics that could crown her, or kill her.

  “Hath I offended you?” The glow of the fireplace highlighted Elizabeth’s hair like a fiery halo.

  “No, my queen. You hath my service, as did I promise.”

  “Doth it upset you that I hath not been crowned? That we hath not yet found your amulet?” Elizabeth leaned back, held up by the stiffness of her corset.

  “The properties of your father that Mary hath not dispatched count beyond fifty. You and I hath explored but three, the Towyr, Woodstock and herein, at Hampton.” A ribbon of purple elldyr creft caressed the princess’ worried face. Viper smiled gently at the humaine whose every year passed ever quicker. “No. These last years of yours are merely a breath in my immortality. My heart is assured that I shall find the amulet, the key to my past, in due time.” Elizabeth stood up as Viper’s elldyr creft split into two arms. From the arms, a wavering figure materialized, its shape fed by trickles of magic from Viper.

  Elizabeth danced around the room with her nebulous companion. Viper stayed fireside, waving her arms as she conducted her construct. She spun Elizabeth wildly and knocked over a heavy vase of purple irises. They burst out laughing.

  “My Lady?” A soft knock at the door made Elizabeth’s hands fly to her mouth, her eyes wide in shock.

  “A moment,” Elizabeth replied. To Viper she whispered, “Waste not your magic for your glamour. Shelter yourself in the room beyond. I shall task my handmaiden with some lengthy errand.”

  Viper retreated to the inner room as Elizabeth answered the summons. The larger space held Elizabeth’s bed and, on the other side of an oak partition, her few courtly dresses. Scenes from King Henry VIII’s battle at the Cloth of Gold adorned the divider. A faint ammonia odor from the small garderobe built into the far wall permeated the room, overpowered by headier scents from roses and lavender bunched into vases.

  Behind several dress mannequins, Viper spied a figure at the narrow, high window. She squinted in the darkness at the silhouette of a short woman in a wide dress. A pair of round, yellow eyes flickered in her direction.

  “Name thyself!” Viper cast a spherical shield of elldyr magic around herself for protection.

  The figure didn’t move. Its eyes twinkled mischievously. Viper’s unease grew when she realized she couldn’t see the aeir of the intruder.

  “I will kill thee where thou art standing. What is thy name?” Her elldyr doubled. Her threat had no effect on the mysterious female.

  “Viper, to whom do you speak with such dissonance?” Elizabeth entered the room at a slow pace, guarding a candle from drafts with her hand.

  When Viper turned back to the figure, she surveyed a room without intruders. On the high stone sill, an owl hooted and flew away. Viper dashed to the window and watched the bird glide over lawns dotted with periwinkle, then into the woods.

  “The forest keeps her secrets tonight,” she thought. Behind her, Elizabeth lit thin tapers in the fireplace. The crackling fire Elizabeth stoked from embers mocked the immortal. Viper began to speak but the words shriveled in her mouth. She realized that the figure she saw was a dress on a wooden body form, and the eyes those of the owl. Her irrational fear made Viper feel ridiculous.

  “’Twas naught but an owl, my queen,” Viper replied, collecting herself before Elizabeth questioned her further.

  “I hath seen many of them, of late,” Elizabeth said, removing her corseted overgown. She settled upon cushions by the hearth and pulled a woollen blanket over shoulders. “The Master Forrester did tell me he worries most profoundly that they will scare away the partridges. For my sake, I say let them stay and eat the mice.”

  Viper curled around the end of th
e bedpost, entwined in the velvet drapery. “Snakes eat mice. Would you have a snake manage the pests of Hampton Palace?”

  Elizabeth laughed heartily. “Snakes are wiser than owls. Snakes who live in the ground do not lose their homes to men who harvest trees as fuel for fire.”

  Memories crashed, unbidden, into Viper’s mind. She saw buildings in flames, men shouting, and blinding light at the centre of a circle of giant stones. With these came a tender voice, incomprehensible and full of fear. Viper’s chest felt like exploding. She tumbled onto the bed with a gasp. Bed curtains drowned her as she struggled from their entanglement. Elizabeth leapt to her feet and rushed to help.

  “Keep away!” Viper cried. “I shall not touch you. Your aeir is too potent.” Viper’s hands trembled as she fought dual urges to run from, and to hide in, the princess’ arms.

  “Tell me what ails you.” Helplessness furrowed the lines of Elizabeth’s face. She stepped back and collected her blanket from the floor, pulling it snug.

  “Mayhap I hath relieved memories. I am not certain. ’Tis no bother.” Viper kicked the heavy fabric away and backed into the wall, her eyes on the floor, lightheaded. Sighting the owl awoke something terrifying in Viper that she couldn’t verbalize. “I am well recovered,” she lied.

  “It troubles me to see my friend so disconcerted.”

  “Friend?” Viper raised her eyes, unsure of the reception she would find. The mortal watched her with a mixture of curiosity and concern, one eyebrow inching upwards. The warmth of Elizabeth’s aeir expanded beyond the reach of the fire.

  Elizabeth drifted closer, demure and modest. “You hath protected me and guided me. With your elldyr creft you hath taken me to fantastical worlds that only gods hath seen, and artists can but imitate, so that I would not lose myself in the depressiveness of my imprisonment. You keep my confidence and my honour. Marry, how could I name you aught but friend, my seelie wicht?”