Page 54 of The Court of Venus

“We’ll dock here,” Roland said, pointing to a stone wall. For a moment, I saw the boy he’d been, so eager to be loved, flinging his wooden ball up in the air and impatiently waiting to catch it.

“What happened then?” I asked him.

“Prospero offered her more than a hundred crowns to bring me to court as his apprentice,” said Roland dully. “Enough for her to become madame herself. He told her, as I’m sure he told you, that he wouldn’t take just any child. He was the most powerful magician in the kingdom, and so he would only train those with immense promise. That would have convinced her if the money hadn’t already done so. If I was special, that meant she was, too. I’ve seen her only twice since. She doesn’t know I serve the king.”

“She didn’t want a new life?”

He frowned as our boat bumped against the stone. “Some people only want what they’ve always known.” He gripped the rail for balance and leapt gracefully onto the wall, adjusting his hair and cloak as soon as he’d landed. In his hands was a rope that tied to a rusted nail.

When his knot was secure, he extended his palm to help me down. I told him how sorry I was then. How truly sorry.

His thumb skimmed across mine. “Yes, well, Prospero took me in, and after that, and after what I learned in Lionesse, I swore to never manipulate desire again.”

“I assumed the reason was that someone had betrayed your affections.”

He laughed bitterly. “Well, she did.”

His mother, he meant.

The inn where Oliver was staying reminded me of my birth father’s. A place for crooked dealings, far from well-trodden paths. Roland indicated a table in the corner, where a group of men tossed down cards and coin. They were angry and lusty and bored—a dangerous soup in men. “I’ll have to play your husband tonight,” Roland said. “You’re unchaperoned.”

He caught the attention of a pretty barmaid, the shadows cast by his cloak accentuating the dramatic cuts of his features.

“For my wife.” He pressed his lips together after he said it, then nodded to me. Coin exchanged hands.

She only spared me a brief glance, reminding me of Bess. She too had a sharp mind but a soft face.

We were led to our table as a fight broke out over the card game. Roland leaned his head back against the booth, looking for all the world as if he was above such a petty dispute, and the maid returned minutes later with two cups of ale. Narrowed eyes matched the suspicion in her head: She had finally noticed the wisps of white hair beneath my cloak.

Roland asked her if she needed something. His wife, he said then, was very tired. She shook her head vigorously, spilling on herself as she backed away.

Slowly, he turned his head, eyes like struck matches. “So, where is the book? Can I guess now? Is it there?” Using his eyes, he pointed to my lap.

I shook my head.

He flicked them up to my bodice. A flush burnt up my neck.

“Aren’t you going to tell me?” He lazed an arm over the ridge of the booth. “I thought I was your lord husband tonight.”

I snorted. “If you really were my husband, you’d take many lovers, and I’d be left all alone.”

I had only meant to tease him. But his brow knitted instead. “Whatever makes you think I would ever—” He cut himself off, reaching for his ale. He was unhappy after that, grinding his teeth with his arms crossed, then tossing back his drink. A red front of frustration pressed through his mind.

Just then, Oliver slid into the booth, his eyes jumping from my face to Roland’s. “Had a little quarrel, have we?”

“Not at all,” I said at the same time Roland muttered, “No.”

Oliver’s smile widened. “Let us hasten this a bit.” He turned to me. “Roland says you always see the worst in him, and it irritates him to no end.” To Roland: “Bianca says you are needlessly emotional and quick to anger. Now, we have much to discuss. Blood ciphers and whatnot.”

“Which is why we must be very careful,” warned Roland. “Cover your hair, please.” With a sigh, Oliver snapped his frayed, moth-bitten cloak over his head. There was a desperate edge to him I hadn’t noticed the night before; something I recognized, because it was in me, too, and in Roland, in all of us who climbed through the world with gritted teeth. Now that he’d proved himself in the tournament, his circumstances would surely change.

Roland’s nails drummed against the table. We avoided each other’s eyes as I reached into my bodice and slid Eleanor’s book toward Oliver. “This contained the blood cipher that nearly killed us.”

A click of Oliver’s tongue. “No. I require an oath before we begin. Can’t be too careful.”

“I’m lord chancellor,” Roland said. “You can trust my word—the king’s word.”

“You must have been at court so long, you’ve forgotten how feeble the king’s word has become. There are so many ways to commit treason, one might find themselves doing so accidentally. You could trip onto the executioner’s block, they say. This tournament proved it.” Oliver smiled with no teeth, and Roland fiddled with his rings, jaw flexing.