Page 17 of The Court of Venus

Wyatt lowered his voice, eyes glittering mischievously with the promise of gossip. “Roland and the Moonborn left us to go off together on the hunt today. When we found them, they were very close together and looked unhappy to be caught.”

“You want her, Wyatt,” Cecily said. “You’re panting after her.”

“She has a very long, pretty neck,” he admitted.

“Wyatt always talks of necks. He says, ‘That lady has too short a neck,’ or ‘That lady’s neck reminds me of a pouch.’ Is that why you love swans, Wyatt?”

He shrugged. “They do have very long necks.”

“Roland would be angry with you if you courted her.”

“Oh, yes?” He grinned. “All the more reason.”

All of us looked to the lord chancellor, now descending from the throne to mingle with his courtiers. Hands grasped for his. Behind him, a wake of bowed heads. He carved his way toward us, taller than anyone else at court. He first leaned over to kiss Wyatt on the cheek, then held out his ring. Cecily stared up at him as she pressed her lips to the stone. “Your Grace,” she murmured.

A queen should kiss no ring but her husband’s, but she kissed his.

“We were only just saying how lovely the Moonborn girl is,” she continued sweetly, though she clutched his sleeve tight, and her eyes were probing. “Don’t you agree?”

A smirk tugged on Roland’s lips. “Far too lovely to gossip about. It could never do her justice.” My heart pounded as he bent to whisper in my ear. “No need to thank me for the compliment. Follow Tom Guildford.” He raised his brows before continuing on his way. The next courtier waiting to speak with him was so eager, he spilled his wine onto Roland’s doublet. Clearly annoyed, Roland pulled the stain from the fabric with a sweep of his hand.

I flinched. Cecily had stabbed her nails into my arm. “Joan, what did he say to you?”

“He only asked where Tom was.”

Wyatt nodded to the corner, where Tom had braced his hip against the wall. Beside him, Fulke Roet was tipped over, drink in one hand and a lute in his lap. He looked as if his personal revel had begun at noon. Yet I could see it was an act—his mind was clear and sharp, and whatever his plan was, he hoped the court would remember him stumbling about like a fool.

I made my excuses with the queen, then approached her brother cautiously, offering him another cup of wine. He was taken aback, but accepted the offering nonetheless. “Still trailing after my sister?”

This was the most difficult part of shapeshifting: in a stranger’s body, I participated in relationships I knew nothing about. What were Joan and Tom to each other? She was his sister’s confidante. What else?

Across the field of heads, Roland caught my eye. Emotions swirled within him—he was heartbroken. Devastated. Just as quickly, the feeling faded. His attention returned to the circle of courtiers surrounding him.

He was trying to tell me that Joan had loved Tom once, and he discarded her. Presumably, she defected to Roland soon after, to enact small revenges on the Guildford family where she could. Jilted lover was an easy role to play.

“Still avoiding me?” I snapped in what I hoped was her thin, reedy voice.

“Temper, Joan.” Tom pulled us away from Fulke, who had now started humming to himself. “What if I told you that I needed my sister brought to us tonight?” He glanced over at Roland, then back to me. “With your discretion.”

“He watches her too closely.”

“The masque will distract him. He’s been acting strange today, anyway.”

I curtseyed low. “I’ll do my utmost, then. Where will you meet?”

“The usual place.”

Unlike Tom, I knew it was a mistake to trust anyone, to spread a web too thin—it would snag on anyone sharp. I smiled coyly. “Oh, but we have so many usual places.”

He heard that as an invitation to grip my chin. I almost slapped his hand away, but Joan wouldn’t do that. Joan’s smile wouldn’t even falter. “Cecily’s chapel,” he murmured.

I nodded. “I remember it.”

The pads of his fingers traced my mouth. “What do you remember most?”

The drumbeat accelerated then. Cecily and her lady-in-waiting Agnes Bryer climbed into the castle, standing on stacked crates so they could look over the parapet. The masque was about to begin, and I knew it well. Only eleven maidens stood in the turrets, but there should be twelve. I had a further role to play, didn’t I? I searched for Roland to shoot him a glare, but he’d disappeared. With a final curtsey, I smiled at Tom as if the hand on my mouth pleased me, trying to imagine myself as a girl desperate as Joan must have been. As he still believed her to be. Witless, trembling under his hands, shaky with love.

I weaved through the crowd and climbed into the third turret. Waved a white flag, following Cecily’s lead. We represented the twelve signs of the zodiac, waiting to be chosen by one of the seven planets, played by the gentlemen of the court.