The Queen's Viper Page 5

  Day turned to night, as it had for centuries, over a city whose buildings no longer turned dark. On the 41st storey of the skyscraper on St. Mary Axe, Viper floated above the land whose deeper layers held her ghosts. After she fed, Mouse had rushed her to the top of his tower to show Viper her new home. The high-rise earned the nickname the “Gherkin” because it roughly resembled a pickle. A lattice of flat, triangulated windows gave the tower its unique conical shape. Seven bands of tinted windows twisted their way into the Heavens. The glass in front of Viper reached from the floor of the uppermost room to the molded glass cone at the top of the structure. No matter which direction she faced, London splayed out beneath her.

  Coils of elldyr magic flickered around her flag-draped body. Viper’s skin now flourished from the aeir of the suicidal man she pulled into a service tunnel moments before the train sped past. Devouring the aeir of the Once Under brought her little fulfilment, and restored a modest amount of her power. The potential to feast upon millions of aeir in one location intoxicated her. For now, she refused herself the temptation. After she satisfied her hunger for revenge, Viper could lay the city to waste.

  She knew Mouse wanted her to say something about her first complete view of modern London. He observed her from the middle of the room, where a corporate cipher with the letters O and H bedecked the half-circle doors inset into the floor. A mirrored credenza and a trio of pale grey, leather chairs, each accompanied by a small glass table, were the only furnishings in the room.

  Police boats trolled the Thames near Tower Bridge for the explanation to Mouse’s underwater explosion. His detonation removed all physical evidence of the supernatural prison. Viper flexed her long limbs and turned away from her view of London’s Tower. The open wounds in her memories wept for the life she had known.

  “Mistress,” Mouse started, then stopped himself. He tapped his fingers on his lips. Viper said nothing, content to let the stillness answer him. “Mistress,” he repeated, at length, “do you find the city overwhelming?”

  “London is as London was. Full of life and debauchery.” Viper was a nighthawk above the horizon of an uncertain city, seeking her enemy and targeting her next meal.

  “Were you satisfied with your recent…? Was the one man enough for your needs?”

  “Well enough that I hath regained a satisfactory measure of my elldyr creft.” She brandished a solid violet flame from her hands. The otherworldly fire reflected in the window. “I am alarmed that the magic I absorbed did not make of me whole.”

  “Curious,” Mouse said, his deep frown lines almost comical. He limped to the credenza and poured two tumblers of whisky. “One person’s aeir used to invigorate your powers for longer than this.” Viper said nothing as he brought her a glass. She didn’t know whether the fault in her delayed recovery originated within herself, or from the life-magic of this time period.

  Mouse avoided the intense green in her eyes. Viper accepted the crystal glass and wandered past him on the polished black floor. Sparkles of iridescence, set off by discreet lights between the window panes, twinkled at her as she glided past on bare feet.

  Mouse hobbled to one of the chairs nearer the perimeter, removed his jacket and draped it over the arm. He eased himself into the chair with one hand, then sipped his beverage in small measures. The long comfortable silences they used to share jaded Viper’s nerves. She surveyed the roads and buildings that replaced the forests she once roamed. The view was so chaotic, she couldn’t distinguish one structure from another, much less find many recognizable landmarks.

  “Most impressive, this shining glass home of yours. You fared well during my imprisonment.” She drowned her sarcasm with a single swallow. The burning of the whisky made her feel alive.

  “I built it for you. To find you.” Mouse’s voice cracked like the ice in his drink. “Do you not remember? Beneath us is St. Helen’s, the church where you left me.” Viper started at him blankly, refusing to allow the hurt to show. He studied his melting ice with brief despondency. “You told me you would come back, so, I waited.”

  Viper stepped behind Mouse soundlessly. “I lived at the mercy of strangers,” he continued. “Without you, my unnatural body clashed with the passage of time. I did not have your elldyr creft to correct the deformities that being your Foundling wrought upon me. People sensed an unnatural difference in me that had little to do with my misshapenness. In time, they learned the truth.” Years of suppressed trauma resurfaced in Mouse’s eyes and heaped themselves upon those which he never forgot. “They grew old and feeble when I did not. There were times when the mercy of strangers was not so kind.”

  Viper reached for his slumped shoulders and paused. Several angular lines extended above his collar. She slipped her fingertips in the top of his shirt and ran them around the edge as she knelt in front of him. Mouse straightened without meeting her eye. Viper loosened his bow tie and unclasped his top buttons. An irregular hatched pattern of silvery, linear scars, not unlike the lattice of the building he made for her, laced his upper chest. Cicatrices, scars from trauma, circled his body.

  “Your life hath been prolonged whilst their bodies withered and died.” Viper’s perfunctory tone expressed little of the dismay she felt at her inability to protect her Foundling. “These scars hold nary a challenge for me to remove.” The runes on her arms started glowing.

  “No.” His bulbous fingers gently guided hers away. Tears sprung up in eyes as brown as a newly turned flowerbeds. “No, my Mistress. There are wounds that even you cannot repair.”

  Viper tensed with apprehension, confused by his answer. Her lack of understanding of the subversive forces she had faced in Elizabethan England caused her imprisonment. Mouse’s years of anguish resulted from her failure to defend him. She wondered whether Mouse had changed as significantly as the world she knew; if he was no longer the Foundling who loved her unconditionally.

  Viper’s eyes steeled and she disguised her bitter shame with indignation. “You question my power, Foundling? With my elldyr creft, I made you what you are!” She pushed back from him, prepared to strike.

  He didn’t cower. His reaction startled Viper, though she didn’t lower her arms. Mouse inched out of his chair with a faint grunt of exertion. He fastened his shirt with nimble, ugly fingers, then hobbled past the elldyr which threatened to heal him, or smite him.

  “Yes, Mistress, you did. While under your care, I knew little of the cruelty of my fellow man. With your elldyr creft, people could not see the malformations your magic placed upon my body as they do now; as they saw after you left me.”

  Her abrupt scorn mingled with turbulent ambivalence. Viper didn’t understand her Foundling’s reluctance. A tinge of regret flirted with her.

  She withdrew her elldyr magic, saying, “You were ill-used. You need not carry such pains now. I hath strength enough to make your scars a memory.”

  “It is my memories you cannot fix. Forgive me for saying so. That is the curse that came with the blessing of being your Foundling. I do not mind my deformity, the friends I have lost, not even being…” His retrospection claimed his words.

  Viper never believed she would live a life without her Mouse, nor his without hers. He faced her, a hopeful smile claiming his tears. “I became a clever Mouse. Oh, so clever. I used my longevity to my advantage. I created a covert empire. My injuries, all of my injuries, gave me as much life as did you.” He opened his arms grandly. “And now, now my Mistress, we will have a life together, here.”

  Viper regarded him with cold, black eyes. “I hath no interest in playing wife-maid to your ambitions. I seek retribution, little Mouse, and nothing more.” She no longer recognized the man before her, stronger than she could imagine with capacities she couldn’t comprehend. Viper’s fear that showing him kindness would make her vulnerable, once again, rekindled her ire. “My vengeance will not be obtained in your glittering cage!” Orbs of violet fire burst from her hands and trashed the room. Mouse shielded himself. The credenza exploded a
nd the chairs flew into the walls in a resounding cacophony of metal and crystal shattering. The destruction sent a rumble through the lower floors.

  “Oh, oh… I wish you had not done that, Mistress.” Mouse sighed. “They will have heard the impact.” He squinted fretfully towards the centre of the room. “This is not how I wanted you to meet.”

  “Of whom do you speak, Mouse?” Viper’s mistrust of her new surroundings intensified. The acidity in her stomach spread through her torso.

  “I…well…” Mouse began. A soft humming noise distracted them both. “That is to say… there are humans expecting me below. After a commotion like that they will not hesitate to come to my aid. And, they may, quite honestly, be prepared for a fight.”

  “Tell me who!”

  Mouse’s fingers drummed on his trousers and his mouth opened to answer. The steel circle in the middle of the room split into two halves and retracted. A platform covered with a domed glass began emerging from the rubble.

  “It is too late. Please, Mistress, you must make yourself invisible. I cannot guarantee your safety should they see you when they arrive.” His eyes flicked back and forth from her to the lift.

  Viper said nothing as she veiled herself with her glamour. Her elldyr creft seeped between the fingers of her gripped fists, ready to kill whatever human, or creature, came out of the elevator, even if Mouse begged her to stop.

  6: The Towyr

  March 15th, 1554.

  London Towyr.

  Rain saturated the Thamys with the blackness of the sky. The river rushed towards London Towyr as if eager to dispose of the humaines traveling upon its back. A slender, two-man wherry sliced through the water’s tumultuous surface. The boat headed for London’s most imposing building and the hidden immortal who crowned its embattlements.

  Viper sat among sooty ravens who made the square four-storey stronghold their home. She styled her silver-white hair in a braid around her head. Delicate wisps curled at her temples. The immortal wore a madder-red kirtle so damp that it looked like Mother Nature had painted it upon her body. Her bare, muscular legs dangled against the Towyr’s whitewashed stone through two slashes she had cut in the linen. She tapped her long nails to the steady rhythm of the oarsman as she studied the approaching convoy with curious eyes.

  Large raindrops clung to the bushy eyebrows of the broad oarsman. In moments, he would be close enough to London’s imposing Towyr for the soldiers waiting at the water gate below Viper to see him in as much detail as did she. A second man at the stern wrung the end of a thick rope in his hands. The tail of it trailed into the night behind him. A single jerk pulled his hands aft wards. He scanned both banks of the river, and replied with a double pull: all’s clear.

  Eight men in pairs rowed the narrow barge with whom the second man in the lead boat communicated. The longer barge angled towards the water gate, preparing to make its way through the opening. Underneath the unadorned canopy at its stern, Princess Elizabeth huddled in the arms of an older woman. Two men guarded the women from either side of the canopy. Three further boats, bearing ten men each, encircled the barge carrying Elizabeth. The men wore Queen Mary’s insignia, with poised swords ready for action.

  Viper tucked her legs up beneath her. The ravens’ throat feathers ruffled as they crowed at the immortal’s movement. She waved them away, intent on the princess. She had heard gossip as she prowled London searching for her kindred. Queen Mary had finally wrangled the worrisome princess to the city, to imprison her at the Towyr. Viper hadn’t seen Elizabeth since they first met at Chelsea six years ago. She never forgot the girl’s tempting magical energy. The time had come to kill Princess Elizabeth.

  Elizabeth donned a traveling coat of black wool, its high collar, hem and sleeves trimmed in pale blue. Embroidered in silk, red and white Tudor roses decorated the lighter fabric. She closed the coat against the cold spray that escaped from the river over the low lip of the boat. A white linen coif, as plain an item as could be found in any household, topped off her traveling clothes.

  The armoured men treated the princess like a mouse caught in the queen’s fangs. Recalling Elizabeth’s feisty nature, the immortal knew better. Viper had heard that Queen Mary repeatedly ordered her half-sister to Whitehall Palace in London to answer to the charge of treason. Each time, Elizabeth had claimed illness and refused to leave Hatfield Place, where she resided. Finally, a large detail of armed Lords brought her to London for questioning. After pronouncing Elizabeth’s guilt, the queen and her Parliament sent the princess to the Towyr by way of the Thamys at night. Elizabeth was less likely to escape or find assistance on the river route in the dark.

  The barge neared and Viper gripped the stone with delight. Elizabeth’s golden yellow aeir lit up the gateway. Waves of her life-magic drifted towards the older woman. Viper heard the men muttering, “Lady Ashley” and “the governess” of Elizabeth’s companion. Where the life-energy of the humaines touched, Lady Ashley’s aeir emboldened with vibrancy.

  Viper had never before seen a humaine manipulate his or her aeir. Elizabeth showed no indication of what was happening. The governess wasn’t the only recipient of Elizabeth’s magic. Delicate sparks drifted from Elizabeth to her captors. The soldiers on either side of the water gate straightened up as their aeir absorbed hers when the barge nosed the gate. Viper suspected they wouldn’t be able to explain why they came to attention for the political prisoner.

  Towyr workers in clothes as brown and dirty as the exposed earth swung the gate’s heavy double doors inwards. The low tide of the Thamys swished about their shins as it robbed warmth from their legs. The men pulled the barge through the gate to the stone steps that ascended from the muddy riverbed.

  Viper descended to the base of the wall with rapid skill. She didn’t want the humaines to kill the princess before she observed the remarkable activity of Elizabeth’s aeir. When the immortal reached the forecourt of the water gate, Viper spread her elldyr creft as broadly as she could. The purple energy encompassed the humaines in the enclosure and on the sentry boats beyond the gate. Then, Viper allowed Elizabeth to see through the glamour of invisibility she imposed upon everyone else.

  Viper posed on the stone steps leading to the water, one foot above the other, her hand extended towards the boat. She appeared to beckon Elizabeth into the Towyr.

  “Catherine!” Elizabeth blurted in a pressured whisper and gripped Lady Ashley’s hand. Her reaction to Viper coincided with the arrival of the Constable of the Towyr.

  The constable came forwards with Queen Mary’s writ in his hands, blind to the powerful immortal on the steps in front of him. “Princess Elizabeth, in the name of Queen Mary, you are hereby commanded into the Towyr for collaboration with Thomas Wyatt in a plot of Protestant sedition against the Crown,” he announced. The formality in his voice matched the tightness of his jerkin. “My Lord Throckmorton,” he said to a well-dressed man on the larger barge, “deliver the prisoner.”

  Eyes on Viper, Elizabeth shook her head fiercely. The guards tightened their hold on their weapons.

  “My Lady,” Catherine cautioned, “you must do as the queen commands.”

  Elizabeth bit her lower lip in thought, and then said, “Though I am a true servant of her Majesty, I will not leave this boat.” Elizabeth directed her words at Viper, although she said them to the constable and Throckmorton.

  Viper was pleased that Elizabeth lived up to her reputation of polite insubordination. “Think thee safe from me on the water craft, little princess? Thou art sorely mistaken.” Viper moved to the last step before the waterline. With outstretched arms, she snaked her elldyr creft towards Elizabeth in two arcs until the magic encapsulated the princess.

  Viper closed her eyes and imagined an idyllic garden. She cast the image into the mind of the reluctant princess. When Viper opened her eyes, sunlight caressed her face. The Thamys, the Towyr and its soldiers vanished, replaced by a square garden enclosed by granite masonry walls. Hidden, Viper spied from inside the ma
ssive iron gates, while Elizabeth acclimatized to the garden that only existed in her mind.

  Elizabeth sat on a crystalline throne raised upon a dais at the centre of the garden. Her unbound red hair stirred in a warm breeze. She marvelled at the white taffeta gown upon her body, bedecked with pearls and amethysts. The swish of her dress overpowered the gentle murmur of a summer wind blowing through the iron gates ahead of her. Pomegranate trees lined the wall beyond the throne. Crystal inclusions in the granite sparkled in the sunshine.

  Four equidistant paths of white quartz gravel radiated from the throne between resplendent flowerbeds, then joined the wider one alongside the trees. Lady’s Mantle, iris and bleeding heart filled the bed behind Elizabeth to her right. Its twin on her left carried medicinal plants, including comfrey, lungwort and rosemary, which was very rare in England. Turfed benches faced the crystal throne, as if waiting for Elizabeth’s audience to arrive.

  “Bloom,” Viper said in a hushed voice to the rose bushes in front of Elizabeth on either side of the path. Pregnant buds, red on one side and white on the other, erupted into velvety blooms. Elizabeth descended the dais and bent over to smell the symbols of her heritage.

  Viper flicked the air with her fingertips. Petals from both flowerbeds lifted from the plants and whirled together in a huge vortex, each petal indistinguishable from the next. Unseen by Elizabeth, Viper slid inside the fragrant column.

  Elizabeth extended a tentative hand into twirling roses. The petals kissed her like butterflies upon her skin. From within, Viper grasped the princess’ hand.

  The veil of roses parted with flair and Viper emerged, each movement of her body promising hidden power. Red and white petals clung to her muscular torso in three swirled bands and her royal purple skin flourished between them. Thinner ribbons of the petals wound around her arms and legs. A white triskelion of whorls formed Viper’s navel, a glowing red circle at its core.