Page 52 of The Court of Venus

Roland centered the jewels on his knuckles. “Prospero always said every planet has a wound. For the Moon, one day of vulnerability when the sky is dark. For Venus … never mind. Tomorrow it is.” He studied me for another beat and shook his head. Sadness was a well in him. “You could never be worthless to me, Mouse.”

Twelve

A magician’s life is thought to be in sevens. Seven planets, seven years in a cycle. By seven, magic will emerge. By fourteen, a magician should be apprenticed. By twenty-one, their training completed, a magician may make their oath.

—PROSPERO THE ALL-KNOWING, THE CELESTIAL BODIES

Another note arrived, slipped beneath my door the way we used to goad snakes. Roland’s script was full of pretty flourishes and embellishments, his ts crossed with intricate swords.

Mouse—The docks when the bells ring at eight. Bring the book. R.

I tossed the note in the fire, and when the bells chimed, fetched Eleanor’s Book of Hours from its hiding place deep within my trunk. It was so small and thin I decided to tuck it inside my bodice.

Pulling on a thick wool cloak, I shuffled through the palace silently, tracing my fingers along Hal’s notch when I passed by.

Roland stood by the river, face tipped to the sky. He turned when he heard my soft tread on the grass. “You’re late. Do you have it?”

I nodded.

He waited expectantly. “Well then, where is it?”

“I’m sure you’d like to know.”

“Mmm. Now I’m very curious,” he said. “Quick. Into the barge. Your maid might be following you to see if we’re pressed up together against a tree.”

I batted his arm. “I would never have anyone against a tree.”

“No? What are your preferred locations?”

“I’m not entertaining this conversation, Roland.”

“Roland,” he mocked. He led us into a hidden copse, the leaves on sparse trees rustling in the wind. The royal barge was tied to the dock, swaying on an angry tide. The river rough against the banks, fog swirling around our knees as we stepped inside. I wondered how often Roland secretly escaped from court. Often enough to have this prepared.

Together, we rowed into the current, floating toward a westward stench—even now, miles away, I could smell the city. The stars overhead reflected on the dark water, allowing my vision to adjust slightly. Though it was near summer, the night was crisp, and I fought against the urge to tuck closer to Roland.

I felt a weight on my chest then—a fur blanket. “Thank you.”

He turned, staring across the riverbank, into the town houses kept by lawyers and merchants, and the occasional nobleman. “We have only eleven days left until the Virgo Moon. Less than a fortnight.”

I’d made the same calculation. While he was recovering, I was painfully aware of it.

“We’ll find out what this chart predicts before it comes to pass,” Roland said. “Why it was drawn, and whether fate can be changed.”

“Do you believe it can?”

“No,” he admitted. “I think everything has already been decided.” He pointed up at the sky, but there was a gray sweep of clouds covering it now. “We are but its servants.”

“But you don’t want to serve anyone, do you?”

He set his oar down so it dragged beside the boat. “Why should it be him? I’m his regent when he’s ill, his chief advisor, his lord chancellor, and still, I am at his whim. What makes a man deserving of a crown, Bianca? Tell me.”

“Birthright. According to everyone.”

“Birthright.” He scoffed. “Both of us come from over there.” He pointed to the haze of chimney smoke, the deep gutter of the city. “My mother worked at a brothel. She was a whore. Did you know that? I’m sure I never told you. I was raised right there—” He jutted his chin. “—in the slums. When I was a boy, my magic was very useful. I’d tell my mother what men wanted most, and I saw how much power she built because of it—power to lay a king down, even, and make him grovel. Who should rule this kingdom, Bianca? Is it the old, silly king who lies rotting in bed and executes traitors to entertain his subjects? Or should it be us? Those who are special enough to rise out of such a place?”

I sucked in a breath. I’d never known about his past or where he came from. Maybe I assumed, because of his manner and grace, that he had been a lord’s third or fourth son. “How did Prospero find you?”

“I would stand at the doorway and bring clients to my mother.” He glanced at me quickly. I tried to imagine it, a boy with Venus-pink hair standing unabashedly in the doorway. So different from the way I’d hid myself, tucking my strange features away. “I’d use my magic to pick them out, to determine whether they were safe to approach and what their intentions were, see. And because of me, my mother knew exactly how to please the clients, knew what they wanted most. She was vain—I told you that already. She liked the beauty and power I gave her. It made her feel important. And one day—” He broke off, a frustrated sound tearing through his lips. “May I show you? I’d rather show you.”