The Queen's Viper Page 6

  Vertical ridges radiated like heat waves from the triskelion, their tips a white-pale lavender. They softened to lines only perceptible by touch as they reached her limbs. Where the longer ridges reached her neck, they curled like the tongues of flames. The runic keloid scars on her inner arms shone as silvery as her hair. Elizabeth pulled away in embarrassment, making Viper smirk with satisfaction.

  “To what kind of Hell hath thou taken me?” Elizabeth said, hands clenched at her sides.

  “This place is no place, and every place.” Viper enjoyed Elizabeth’s disquiet as she traced the princess’ chin with a rose-perfumed finger. Single petals drifted from Vipers body onto Elizabeth’s squared neck line. None landed on her pale skin. Viper sauntered past her to the pomegranate trees beyond the throne.

  “How do we stand here?” Elizabeth picked a red petal from her bodice. A blotch remained on the taffeta. Elizabeth tried wiping it away. The stain expanded down the front of her corset. “I was in the rain, on the London River.”

  “This garden is my creation in thy mind, princess,” Viper replied. “To the other humaines thou sit most stubbornly in the boat, a fear-full, insolent child, who doth refuse to enter the Towyr.” The ghostly coaxing of Elizabeth’s governess whispered beyond the garden walls.

  “A child no longer. I am older than one and twenty.” Elizabeth spun towards her captor, jaw set in defiance. She crossed her arms over the stain on her dress.

  Viper yanked a ripe pomegranate from a tree along the back wall. “Thou hast grown womanly from when we first met,” she said with a wink at Elizabeth over the red orb, “from when Seymour gambled thy life away with his promise.” Viper inhaled the bitterness of the skin. Her wide strides returned her to Elizabeth, where she offered the fruit to the princess with an equally long smile.

  Elizabeth clutched it with slender fingers, her knuckles white. “This is the food Hades offered Persephone to keep her in the Underworld. Thou art come to kill me.” She held the pomegranate in both hands, then lowered them, solemn and dignified. “Lord Seymour foretold me of this day.”

  Viper chuckled softly. “Did he? I did not oft see him afore he died. How odd that he should know the manner of thy death when he did not know that his brother would behead him.” Viper kept infrequent watch on Elizabeth’s uncle since the night in Chelsea when he swore he’d find the amulet among the Crown Jewels. “Englishmen are so quick to shed kin-blood, brother killing brother.”

  “My uncle died honouring his agreement with thee!” Elizabeth threw the pomegranate at Viper. It missed the immortal’s head and burst open on the white path. Seeds like tiny rubies spilled in a gush of juice among the stones.

  Elizabeth rushed forwards, fists raised. Viper caught Elizabeth’s wrists and held her face close. Viper drew in a deep breath, as if the human was a rose to be plucked. Elizabeth struggled, unable to free herself.

  Viper tilted her head and beheld the princess’ face with full, green eyes. “I will forever have thee in my grip, Elizabeth.” The Daoine Tor opened her hands with a dismissive laugh. Elizabeth stumbled backwards and onto a turfed bench. Her tears watered blue Forget-Me-Nots.

  When the humaine calmed, Viper said, “Did Thomas confide in thee?”

  Elizabeth set herself to rights as she recounted Thomas Seymour’s last years. “Thomas discovered that his brother, Lord Somerset, kept the Crown jewels, including your amulet, ensconced at London Towyr for his own wife. Somerset rarely allowed Thomas private audience with the king, my brother. As such, Thomas did not have the secrecy he needed to ask Edward for thy cursed amulet.” She plucked at the tiny petals. “Thomas’s wife, Dowager Queen Katherine, died birthing his daughter. He was afeared that her death was at thy hand as punishment because he was not able to get the amulet from either his brother or Edward.”

  Viper softened as she watched the princess’ tortured expressions. “Once Katherine died,” Elizabeth continued, the floodgate of secrecy opened, “Thomas and I were monitored with scrutiny. We were not often left alone. Thus, Thomas petitioned a private moment with me under the ruse of a marriage proposal. ’Twas then that he shared his plan to sneak into the window of Edward’s bedroom from the Privy Garden at Hampton Court and beg Edward for the amulet. On that night, Edward’s dog barked like the hound of Hades at Thomas’ presence. Guards found him o’er Edward’s bed. They marked him a traitor and charged him with an attempt on the life of the king.”

  “Seymour was a man of much wit but very little judgement,” Viper offered. The immortal picked up a wedge of the pomegranate, its skin ragged. Red juice dripped along the length of her arm. She held the syrupy fruit to Elizabeth. The princess turned away in disgust. Viper licked her hand before sucking the last remnants from her fingers.

  Elizabeth narrowed damp eyes at Viper’s flippant tone and disrespectful actions. “I had counseled Thomas not to enact his plan. Edward arrested me after Thomas proposed, though my imprisonment did not last long. My suspicious brother was then ten and two years old, and not like to swallow the truth about an invisible demon who sought a Crown jewel to find her family.”

  Viper perceived angst in Elizabeth’s voice. Nevertheless, she didn’t outwardly react to Elizabeth’s tears. She didn’t envy Elizabeth the position in which Thomas put her. If she confessed forehand knowledge of Thomas’ plan, she’d be labelled as disloyal to the Crown. If she spoke of Viper, Elizabeth would be under suspicion for witchcraft. Either way, Lord Somerset, her uncle, would convince the young King Edward to execute his half-sister.

  For a long moment, Viper and Elizabeth didn’t speak. Viper strolled the outer path, strewing pomegranate seeds on freshly tilled earth next to the wall. Where she scattered the seeds, the medlar, a different species of tree, grew. Viper cast her elldyr creft over the short trees until tortuous, counter-clockwise branches appeared.

  Elizabeth broke the silence with a hollow laugh. “My future is as crooked as the shrubs you cultivate.” Clusters of large white blossoms tinged with pink opened amid the medlar’s elongated, glossy, oval leaves. “England’s throne is my curse.”

  Viper neared the centre of the garden. She had detached a flowering branch and it floated on a sinuous tendril of elldyr creft ahead of her. The immoral paused steps away from Elizabeth.

  “Thou art the only queen England needs, and I am thy crucible.” The medlar cutting drifted from Viper to Elizabeth on waves of purple.

  “Speak plain, demon.” Keen interest dried Elizabeth’s eyes. She held out her palms and received Viper’s offering.

  Viper moved behind the princess and placed her hand over the humaine’s face. “See not through thine eyes, Elizabeth. Observe with mine.” When she removed her hands, Elizabeth saw her aeir drift outwards from her body. Golden yellow and orange, it sparkled with intensity. Her aeir suspended the medlar branch in front of her.

  The hips of the medlar flowers fattened into fruit the size of a child’s fist, with thick skin that transitioned from an olive green to a dark, rusty red. Elizabeth plucked one of these fruits and the branch settled on the ground beside her. Like its botanical cousin the apple, the medlar fruit had a crowned calyx farthest from the stem, obscenely wide in size.

  The garden bestirred with life, each animal and insect an extension of Elizabeth’s aeir. Shimmering rabbits made of magic hopped among the shrubs. Fragrant white violets thrived amid stones in the paths.

  Viper invited Elizabeth to walk with her towards the gates. “A hunger that can ne’er be satisfied drove me to Chelsea six years ago. ’Twas my intent to claim thy aeir tonight, for long hath I hungered for its richness. What I saw on the barge hath changed my mind.” Viper pointed to the fruit in Elizabeth’s hand. “Thy aeir hath power enough to give birth to an empire.” Viper brought Elizabeth to the entrance. The iron doors swung outwards by themselves. Beyond the walls, rolling hills hinted at untapped resources.

  Elizabeth lingered at the gate a moment before she turned her back on the bounty before her. “I cannot be queen until M
ary is dead,” she protested.

  “If ’tis thy intent to forcibly remove her, the undertaking will be as bitter and intolerant as the white, unripe flesh of the medlar in thy hand.”

  “I have as many supporters as does Mary. Wyatt was not the first to attempt to o’erthrow her, not will he be the last.”

  “And if the queen has thee executed first?” Viper sneered. “I hath seen thy sister. She carries a sickness in her womb.” The medlar fruit held by Elizabeth turned a coppery brown as it rotted. Viper pinched the skin, which split easily. She dipped her finger inside and scooped out the mushy flesh, now an earthy brown. “Abide thy time, until the tumour in her body claims her life. Then, thy victory will be as simple and sweet as this bletted fruit.”

  Viper eased the morsel between her lips. Elizabeth closed her mouth and turned her head away.

  “Make thy covenant with me,” Viper said, eyes ablaze. “Seymour failed to crown thee. I will not. Do as I bid and I shall I keep thee safe on the throne for longer days than any English king afore thee.”

  “If thy words about Mary prove right, then when she dies, I shall be next on the throne without thy influence.” Elizabeth drew back her shoulders as far as she dared.

  “How safe would thou be without me, Elizabeth? Armed soldiers surround thy physical body, e’en now as we speak. Thou art not above the politics of men. Thy Protestant supporters see thee as the womb for the next king. The Catholics would as soon as remove thy head from thy body for thy father’s sins against Rome.”

  The crystal throne levitated from the dais, scooped Elizabeth into the air and paraded her around the garden. Animals and plants bent over in homage. When the throne returned to the middle of the garden, it glowed Tyrian purple, the rarest shade of purple on the continent.

  Viper knelt at Elizabeth’s feet, eyes lowered in submission. A tendril of her aeir extended onto the petal’s stain on Elizabeth’s corset. The stain lifted like fine rain from the gown.

  “What say thee, my queen?”

  “I will not sell my soul to the Devil’s viper for the crown,” whispered Elizabeth, cheeks as red as pomegranates with anger.

  Viper rolled her eyes. “Thy soul is not of my providence, and thy crown is of no interest to me. I seek thy aeir.” Elizabeth frowned, not understanding. Viper waved an arm over the flourishing garden. “As queen, thy life-magic will enrich thy people. As thy aeir enhances them, so they shall sustain me.”

  Elizabeth jumped out of the throne, her face contorted with horror. “Thou would make me the Queen of Death!”

  Viper retreated, protesting grandly. “Not I, Elizabeth Queen. Never hath I fed upon a man nor woman who was not marked for the end of life. Such victims raise no suspicion whereupon their death is discovered. I am the answer to pain and suffering. Thus, I live among thy kind as an angel, a demon… a ghost.”

  Elizabeth’s breathing quickened as she contemplated her options. “And the amulet that thou desires so highly? I am the queen’s prisoner, and as such I cannot search her properties. Am I to understand that thou would now deny thyself of this treasure thou did seek with such earnest?”

  Viper ambled towards the throne, each footfall intentionally slow. “I will never stop my search for the amulet and my kinfolk. Time is not my enemy.” Paused one step beneath the elevated surface, Viper stood nose to nose with Elizabeth.

  The princess inhaled deeply. Before reason won over her passion, she said, “Then give unto me a sacred kiss to seal our pact, for from my sister’s wrath, I do fear for my life.”

  Viper traced Elizabeth’s full lips with her finger. Her dark elldyr mixed with Elizabeth’s light aeir. Viper closed her eyes and placed her mouth upon Elizabeth’s.

  The varying hues of Viper’s elldyr creft surrounded them, first rushing upwards and then into the pair. The magic flowed along the four pathways where it crashed like water upon the walls. The immortal and her queen parted.

  The roses lifted from Viper’s body as she faded to invisibility. “Stay true to thy guile my queen-in-waiting. Hold thy breath for Mary’s natural death and thou shall be above suspicion. Never fear for thy life again.” When she was no longer visible, Viper whispered, “I shall guide thee and guard thee.”

  The brightness of Elizabeth’s aeir increased. She raised her hand and shielded her eyes. By the time she pulled her hand away, reality replaced Viper's garden. Elizabeth shivered in the small, rain-soaked barge. The vessel rocked her, her governess, and the men with swords pointed at them. Viper perched on one of the oak doors of the water gate, magically cloaked to everyone but Elizabeth.

  “We been out here so long, she is wetter than a prostitute’s sheets,” the guard at the stern of the boat muttered of Elizabeth.

  “Your men should hold their tongue in front of a Lady so highly born, Master Constable,” Lady Ashley scolded. She placed a soothing hand on the princess’ arm. “The Lady Elizabeth knows well that she lives at the mercy of Her Majesty. We are as humble as the fabric of our clothes. ’Twould displease Queen Mary greatly should these travelling gowns, given unto us by the graciousness of the queen herself, were dragged through the bowels of the Thamys to reach those steps. Mayhap the princess would be amenable to entering the Towyr from the quay side. ’Tis drier there, and suitable an entrance for a royal such as she.”

  The constable, whose clothes were now thoroughly soaked, conceded. “Very well, Lady Ashley. Ferryman, meet us straightway at the Towyr quay. The princess is of royal blood and her clothes unaccustomed to the floor of the Thamys. I shall tell her cell keeper to bring unto her the best food and drink the Towyr hath on offer for its royal priso… its royal guests.”

  Viper spoke, and only Elizabeth heard her. “Let me prove my fidelity to thee. I shall punish these men most severely.” Elizabeth’s shaking body disguised her nod of consent to all, except Viper.

  “How strange,” remarked Lady Ashley as she wiped water from Elizabeth’s distant face when the boat moved back into the river. “I swear that I smell roses above the stink of fish.” Viper and Elizabeth shared conspirators’ smiles, one openly and the other in secret.

  7: Ivy

  The Gherkin, London.

  June 3, 2012: evening.

  Each breath felt raw in Viper’s throat. The intertwined O and H cipher in the floor split in half. A frosted glass dome rose out of the opening. The apprehension of facing a new threat raised hair on the back of the immortal’s neck. Viper surrounded her heart with a darkness so intense that it mocked the night outside. She would not be bested by mortals again. Her body smoldered with crackling elldyr fire.

  “I beseech you, do not harm them, Mistress,” said Mouse, mopping his brow. Viper’s Foundling could see her and her fury through the glamour she put on for the newcomers.

  “I make no such promises.” Viper barricaded her growing anxiety behind gritted teeth.

  In front of her, the passengers in the elevator poised like traps about to spring. An athletic, blonde woman in a V-necked, black blouse wielded a long, thin sword. Her forward leg split her pinstriped, emerald-green pencil skirt beyond her knee. Her sky blue aeir held fast over her face. Viper would have appreciated how the steadiness in the woman’s aeir reflected her self-control, under different circumstances.

  A burly man with brush cut auburn hair in a charcoal buttoned shirt and a black utility kilt stood beside her. He swept the space with two hand guns. Viper interpreted the devices as modern firearms, smaller than the Elizabethan musket.

  A younger man with an overgrown mop of brown curls completed the trio. His clothes rumpled despite their perfect fit and a haversack slung over his shoulder. He gripped a small dagger in his shaking hand. His glasses perched halfway down his nose as he warily scanned the room.

  Scratching his head with one of the pistols, the larger man said, “Ye know boss, yer eccentricities are becoming a wee bit concerning.” His accent had tapped ‘r’s as thick as his neck. The short scars cutting through his hair hinted at an aggressive past. Bu
lky muscles, and equally bulging veins, escaped his short sleeves. The man’s hazy, canary yellow aeir displayed potently over his legs, with flashes at his hands and shoulders.

  Viper studied the humans closely. They had much weaker aeir than their Elizabethan ancestors. The blonde tutted at the Scotsman. Her movement interrupted Viper before the immortal could think about what caused the less vibrant aeir.

  The woman sheathed her blade in the leather scabbard at her waist, then picked her way on three inch high heeled shoes through the debris to Mouse with noteworthy agility. “Mr. Henry, are you alright?” she asked in a voice clipped and tight like her clothes. Her soft, trained curls framed a heart shaped face. Flecks of chestnut brown accented light green eyes full of worry for Mouse. She removed a torn strip of grey leather from Mouse's shoulder.

  Viper’s sense of foreboding twisted sharply in her heart as she observed this simple action. Whatever this woman was to Mouse, that he felt protective of the statuesque blonde stirred both jealousy and anguish in Viper.

  “Henry?” the immortal snorted. “A pretentious name you hath taken, little Mouse.”

  Mouse turned away from Viper, facing Whitehall Palace. “I wanted something of my past.”

  “Your past? Mr. Henry, I don’t understand. That was a brand new credenza. I arranged its purchase myself.” The blonde crossed her arms and followed her employer’s gaze.

  “Ivy,” he said, patting her arm gently, “it was a perfectly fine acquisition.” In that moment, he had changed. His posture largely remained the same, but he bore an increased command with his chin held high and his shoulders square. Viper’s sense of unease increased. This was not the same Mouse she remembered.

  “Then why, sir, did you destroy it?” Ivy eyed him with suspicion.

  “And how did you do it?” the young man asked from the platform. He put the dagger away and tiptoed out of the elevator. His hair dangled into his thick-framed glasses.

  “Not with an incendiary device,” said the Scotsman as he evaluated the damage, “and there’s no sign of weapons discharge.” He moved aside large chunks of the credenza, seeking a cause. “Trying out new methods of anger management, Mr. H?” When he didn’t get a reply, the Scotsman muttered to the younger man under his breath, “The old man’s finally gone doolally.”