The Queen's Viper Page 12

  “Where hides thy Mistress?” Viper demanded, louder than gunfire. The man tried averting the horrific visions he beheld in Viper’s eyes. Mucous saturated with blood gushed from his nose as she infused his brain with images of her nails shredding the skin from his body.

  “I swear, I don’t know nuffink. Lemme go,” he begged. “We was hired separately. They was tailin’ your cars to do the hit today. I didn’t ask no questions.”

  “Hit on who?” Graeme questioned, gun trained on the assailant.

  The man pointed at Mouse.

  “What are you doing here?” Mouse stumbled on his bowed legs when he saw the man. Graeme caught his employer’s arm. “This man was at Buckingham Palace when I went there to speak with the Diamond Queen.”

  “Thou art one of the queen’s men?” Viper wanted to push her elldyr deeper, to make the man undergo the same excruciating pressure the garen created within her. She hesitated. If she killed him, only the darkness within that threatened to possess her would find satisfaction. Mouse was right: she wouldn’t gain any information about Annys.

  “I ain’t no man of the queen! I was hired to spy at Buck Palace until someone like this here strange, little man arrived. Yesterday, I got offered double the dosh to join this team and identify him, so they could take him out.”

  “Take him out to where, thou onion-eyed pig?”

  “He means to kill me, Mistress” Owain said, clarifying the idiom.

  The threat to her Foundling tore apart Viper’s constraint against the grim shadow inside her heart. The furious elldyr flash that erupted from Viper knocked everyone backwards.

  “Dead men spill no blood,” she snarled through bared teeth. She slammed the spy into the ground and plunged her hand into his bloody face. When she pulled her arm back, her elldyr wrenched his aeir from his body. She tore his life-magic apart with a screech. Scraps of the energy drifted into the ether, useless.

  Through the pounding in her ears, she heard Dhillon yell, “Owain!” He and Clare ran hand in hand from the woods. “People chased us in the woods. They might be heading this way.”

  A long range bullet smashed the Jaguar’s windscreen from one of four SUVs gunning towards them in the distance on the cross road.

  “Ivy!” Graeme rushed to where she sat, immobile.

  Mouse grabbed the dead man’s gun. “Mistress, please take Clare and Dhillon to safety. Do not fret about the rest of us.”

  Viper ignored her Foundling. She crouched on the soft shoulder, grabbed two handfuls of dirt, then straddled the median facing the oncoming cars. Clare and Dhillon gawked with amazement.

  “Sisters! Hear my call. Hath I been freed only to perish? Annys and her poison taint your land. Marry, may it kill me, I am the end of her tyranny! Take my magic. Preserve me and these humaines.” Viper’s elldyr creft pulsed with increasing speed. She flung her arms over her head and splayed her fingers wide. The soil from her hands suspended above her, boiling mid-air in her magic. The bits of earth glowed violet as they absorbed her power. Fully spent, she collapsed.

  A colossal gust of wind blew the hanging elldyr-charged soil at the ground ahead of the oncoming SUVs. Here, a wall of earth, several metres thick, propelled itself skywards. The assailants’ vehicles crashed into an impenetrable bulwark. Spanning the width of the road and into the forest, the protective embankment held.

  Leaves shuddered in the tree canopy of Great Windsor Park. A microburst tornado swept from the trees. The winds collected Mouse and his team and lifted them into the air, heading for London.

  A slender vortex of wind and debris paused in front of Viper.

  “Am I not worth your clemency?”

  As her vision faded, she felt the ground drop away.

  Viper wondered if she traveled to Heaven or Hell.

  12: End of a Princess

  January 15th, 1559.

  London.

  England’s largest city heaved with people. The morning’s chill didn’t dampen the spirits of the crowd that lined the narrow, winding streets along the processional route. Red and white pennants waved from London’s black and white buildings. Decorative banners framing Grasyus street stirred the hearts of the people who hoped to catch a glimpse of the woman Viper made a queen.

  Viper thought the roads from the Towyr to Westminster Abbey had never been cleaner. For several weeks ahead of Elizabeth’s Coronation, as had happened for her mother decades before, shop owners and residents along the route had been under royal edict to throw their waste and toilet water into the alleys between the buildings rather than on the thoroughfare. Viper scouted ahead of the Coronation Procession for threats to Elizabeth among the commoners that polluted the street. The smell hadn’t improved much, but the aromatic winter savory, strewn in large quantities on the road in front of St. Bennet’s church, helped mask the scent of humanity.

  The woody herb’s perfume reminded Viper of Elizabeth’s early months as queen. Viper’s thoughts drifted to these days, and the whirlwind of activity surrounding her and the queen of her making.

  As Viper promised, Queen Mary died before dawn on November 17th, 1558, her last hope for an heir nothing but a womb full of death. At the time, Viper resided with Elizabeth at Hatfield Palace, Elizabeth’s childhood home until her mother’s beheading. After the queen’s last phantom pregnancy earlier that summer, Mary had excused her half-sister from Court, sending Elizabeth back to Hatfield. North of London, Hatfield was less than a day’s ride from the city; far enough from Court that Elizabeth wasn’t a pressing threat, and close enough for timely reports from Mary’s spies.

  The day Queen Mary died, Sir Nicholas Throckmorton and his retinue had barged into Hatfield. On that unseasonably dry November afternoon, Elizabeth and her few attendants relaxed in the walled rose garden. Elizabeth wore a brown wool coat trimmed in red. She worked on an embroidery of purple roses. Coal and wood fires burned in braziers between the ladies’ chairs. Servants offered warmed spiced cider from ceramic jugs.

  Lord Throckmorton, a man with dark hair and a darker visage, hastened into the garden, accompanied by several armed men. From her vantage point on the roof, Viper, dressed in a simple tunic and trousers, had seen the men en route. She recognized Throckmorton, the man who brought Elizabeth to the Towyr from Whitehall the night she and Elizabeth made their pact. He and his men spoke little as they interrupted the peacefulness of the day by their sudden appearance. Elizabeth stood, tall and slender, glancing with fear at Viper. The immortal nodded her head, prepared to defend her princess if the men drew their swords. Elizabeth’s Ladies squeezed each other’s hands nervously.

  Throckmorton dropped to his knee in the path before the princess. “Your Highness, Queen Mary is dead. Long live the queen.” A staunch supporter of Mary, he had sounded regretful instead of repentant. The royal signet ring, the smallest symbol of England’s most important person, perched at the end of his stubby fingers. Upon hearing his proclamation, and the ensuing chorus of, “Long live the queen,” Elizabeth extended her left hand. He placed the ring upon her fourth finger. It wobbled loosely, accustomed to its previous owner. With reverence, she moved it to her middle finger, and then kissed it.

  “Laws of nature move me to sorrow for my sister, beloved unto me as she was. Although I am burdened, to my amazement, with this appointment, I am God’s creature and will obey his will.” To everyone around her, Elizabeth cast her appreciative gaze to Heaven. In truth, she had locked eyes with Viper. The immortal genuflected deeply in acknowledgement of their success. “I with my ruling, and you with your service, may make a good account to almighty God, and leave some comfort to our posterity on Earth.”

  Elizabeth had immediately relocated to Hampton Palace, where she occupied the royal suite. Princess Elizabeth lived like a prisoner in tight quarters at Hampton. Contrarily, Queen Elizabeth barely had space to conduct herself in airy chambers among the influx of courtiers who flocked to Court and win her favour. The lack of room around the mortal queen made it difficult for Viper t
o move freely without bumping into someone. Although the immortal constantly glamoured herself from humaine view, she fed well to maintain her concealment without complaint. She didn’t like that she found herself waiting until the latest hours of the day to speak privately with Elizabeth.

  Of the hundreds of people who came to Hampton, the first of the Privy Council members to arrive that November was Lord Burghley. With thin grey hair and a long white beard, he had entered Elizabeth’s rooms, and rarely left. Legal papers constantly brimmed in his arms, his form of royal worship. Burghley wasn’t above advising Elizabeth on each matter of State, or of her personal affairs, whether or not she sought his opinion. He often implied that Elizabeth’s transition into her new political life relied upon his involvement.

  Burghley and the Privy Council, the group of men who advised the new queen, complained that Elizabeth purposefully avoided making decisions about her Coronation, about a husband, and in particular, about going to war with the Spanish. They didn’t know that Elizabeth discussed every decision with her immortal advisor, which caused the delay.

  One afternoon, during an appointment to obtain her signature on routine writs, Burghley had broached the subject of Elizabeth’s Coronation ceremony, as he had from the first day of his arrival. “My good Majesty,” Burghley protested, his whiskers bristling, “surely you know that you will are not, in technicality, the queen until your Coronation.”

  Viper sat cross-legged atop a walnut dresser in Elizabeth’s sitting room, viewing him with skepticism. Several ladies-in-waiting and handmaidens had dressed Elizabeth in layers of rich and ornately embroidered fabrics. They lingered at the periphery, ready for Elizabeth’s command as the older man conducted his business, eyes lowered until Elizabeth acknowledged him.

  Papers fluttered in Burghley’s withering hands. “I am most appreciative that your preparations demand time. Nonetheless, I fear that holding your Coronation nearly three months hence is too far away. ’Tis time enough for the Catholics to attempt an assassination.” Elizabeth had inherited a country torn apart from within and without by religion since her father split from Rome.

  “Really, Lord Burghley?” Elizabeth had chided. “Can you assure me that I will be wholly safe from harm when I am the anointed Queen of England?” Burghley’s face puffed up with rebuke. Elizabeth tutted him to silence. Viper muffled her laughter to prevent Elizabeth from catching the immortal’s merry contagion. “My Court astrologer, Master John Dee, hath consulted his astrological tables. January 15th is the most auspicious date for my Coronation and I will have no other.”

  Viper rarely saw the occultist of whom Elizabeth spoke. Elizabeth was so protective of his secrets that she only spoke with him when Viper hunted elsewhere. Elizabeth waved her quill, accenting her words with the feathery sword. “I dare the Spanish to attack me aforehand.”

  “Keep demure as a virgin on her wedding night,” Viper had coached from her roosting spot. “If you are too much a man, like your father, the Lords will plot against you. If you are too much a woman, like your mother, they will scorn you. Be the crown your courtiers wish to wear, but cannot bear. Then will they seek to win you.”

  “I assure you,” Elizabeth continued seamlessly to the older man without indicating that she kept council with someone more ancient than he, “I will be kept safe. ’Tis my destiny to be Prince of England. I will do nothing to ruin that fate, nor will God take it from me.”

  Viper did not hear further discussion about changing the date from Lord Burghley for the duration of the winter. By January, Elizabeth had relocated her Court to Whitehall Palace, in London. Last night, on the eve of her Coronation, Viper found Elizabeth in her wardrobe, a room attached to her sleeping quarters where she kept her dresses upon their mannequins, with a toileting garderobe off to the side.

  Elizabeth wore a white linen smock and matching silk kirtle. She held up the sleeves of her gold silk Coronation gown as if dancing with an imaginary partner. The ornate goldwork, diamonds and pearls on the heavy gown glistened with promise. Elizabeth wanted Viper to wear ornate dresses like the Ladies of her Court. Viper refused, the outfit being too cumbersome. The immortal chose dark red, woolen trousers and a man’s black velvet, skirted doublet. Her skin flourished reverent royal purple, which set off her free-flowing silver-kissed hair. Emeralds embroidered into the collar of the doublet matched the green of Viper’s eyes.

  “By the rubor on your face, I wager that tonight you entertain Lord Dudley herein.” Viper had sniggered playfully at one of Elizabeth’s well known secrets. The Earl of Leicester, Lord Robert Dudley, had been friends with Elizabeth since they were children. Viper saw his effect on Elizabeth when he, too, had been imprisoned at the Towyr when Elizabeth was there. The immortal didn’t begrudge Elizabeth her romance with the married man. Next to Viper, Robert was the best tonic for Elizabeth’s depression during her time at the Towyr. Since Mary’s death, Elizabeth kept Robert close at hand.

  Elizabeth’s blush over Robert’s pending visit outshone the glow of the clove, honey and cinnamon-infused red wine in her cheeks. “Lord Burghley says if I am to be crowned a virgin, then I must be alone in my Vigil this eventide,” she had said, her limbs flopping in disappointment. “If Burghley had not functioned as counsellor to both Edward and Mary afore me, I would swear the man is more servant to his jealousy of Robert than he is servant to the crown. Burghley is not royal enough to wed me…”

  “Nor young enough to bed thee,” Viper had finished coyly, jiggling her breasts under her collar.

  “Viper! Shame upon you for speaking so licentiously of the Queen of England.”

  “I warrant that it is not I whom you should chastise. You hath sent your ladies away, that you can be alone with Robert, not I.”

  The heat of Elizabeth’s lust spread across her chest. “Burghley is a stuffed owl. I do not care for his advice about Robert and his wife. Robert is honest, brave, and loyal. He loves me deeply. His marriage is a necessity, one that I need not consider now that I am queen. Lady Ashley will say naught of my plan. Robert will come to me whilst my Court sleeps and he will leave afore the morning dove. Burghley will be none the wiser, and I shall be more the happier.”

  “Then I shall leave you in the company of two men, one to keep your heart and the other your throne as I continue my search for the amulet.”

  “You would leave me? Is your love so fickle that you would abandon your friend before her Coronation?” Without her corset to keep her upright, Elizabeth’s shoulders had noticeably drooped.

  “I leave not you, my queen, but my emptiness.” A confession wound itself out of Viper slower than the twisting ribbon of green in her eyes. “You hath gained the throne I pledged unto you. Many a year hath passed since I glimpsed the image of the mysterious amulet, and set upon my quest. As you yearn for Robert’s arms, so am I compelled to find the kinfolk who may solve the mystery of my life.” Viper bit her lower lip, preventing herself from saying, and that of a growing wickedness within me. “Your aeir will bolster your people, and well will I thus feed upon them. You are much occupied with royal business, and rightly so. I must seek my home.”

  Crestfallen, Elizabeth had placed a hand over her chest. “Can my heart not be your home? I will make you so beloved that you would not wish to part from me, nor will you need another family to cherish you. I hath even chosen a personal motto which speaks, in code, of you and our friendship. Semper Eadem. Always the Same.”

  Viper shook her head with a sad smile. “It is the brevity of humaine life which drives humaines to great passion. Fear reaches into the depths of your soul, and therein it finds love’s heat burning so brightly, that all shadows are turned to ash and blown away. I hath not this fire. Before I saw the aeir you infused into others, I lived a life most complacent among the dying of Cammerwelle. What need had I of love, when death was my constant companion?” Viper wanted to hold her friend’s hand and comfort her. Dissatisfied in herself, Viper had turned away and observed the city beyond the window. Ni
ght fires twinkled like faeries carousing in the black. “My delicate rose, for your short life hath you been under duress to please others, that they would please themselves with you, or your rank. Do not be fretful over being without the magic of my elldyr creft, for you are the one with power now.”

  Elizabeth had stormed across the room and threw herself in a chair with an undignified snort. “I am mocked by the Moirai, those indifferent weavers of fate. The only one who cherishes me without design on my crown or my body is a seelie wicht whose existence I cannot share with others.” The fortitude of Elizabeth’s aeir didn’t match the woefulness of her words, but Viper didn’t doubt Elizabeth’s sincerity. “You brought this Prince to England. I would be lost without you.”

  “Fie, ’tis true I did keep you unmolested by politicians and plots,” Viper coaxed, “but you hath proven that your shrewdness can maintain your rule. Your heartbeat is England’s heartbeat. Fear not the loneliness that comes with my departure. Your kingdom kneels to be your beloved companion.”

  “Then stay, I beg you, at least till the morrow. Witness my wedlock to the kingdom I love so well, the kingdom which I will make nourish you such that you shall never need to court Death again.”

  Elizabeth’s tears ambushed Viper’s willpower. She left Elizabeth to enjoy her secret liaison with Robert, with a promise to join Elizabeth in the morning. When she had returned to the humaine’s side, Viper concealed herself in Elizabeth’s dressing room among clucking ladies-in-waiting, who erroneously believed that Robert possessed the highest of Queen Elizabeth’s favour.

  Lord Burghley had arrived early on this, the Coronation morning. The interlinked gold chain of his office accented his heavy black robes. He topped off his outfit with a red cloak that bore the heraldic red and white Tudor rose of Elizabeth’s royal family over the left breast.