Page 62 of The Court of Venus

The man licked his lips. “Can’t know for sure. If pressed, I’d say twenty.”

Prospero nodded. “And how long did you serve the prince?”

“Ten years, I’d say. Got his horses ready for him when he wanted to ride out. I’m sorry he’s dead. I have a way with horses, always have. And the prince was a fine horseman.”

“Yes, all right,” Prospero said, flipping through his paperwork. “What else?”

“When I began serving the prince, Sir John Seton asked me to tell him whenever he took his horse out. Wanted to know where he went. Said he’d give me a crown for it each time if I kept my mouth shut. When I said no thank you, he boasted of a man in his house who could tell me great things about my future, like whether I’d ever marry, and I didn’t like that at all, and I told him, I said, I was already promised to a very pretty lady, and if his man couldn’t tell me that he wasn’t a good sorcerer at all, and I could take his place in the lord’s house.” The stable hand peered closer at Prospero. “You’re all strange looking, you sorcerers. Anyway, I went to the Lady Alice, of course, and she gave me double her father’s offer to tell her about the prince’s whereabouts.”

The man’s voice warmed when he said Alice’s name, as if he liked the taste of possessing her. Prospero flinched, Alice’s execution still raw. In the first row of pews, the king fumed. “So, you would tell Alice Seton where the prince was.”

The stable hand looked down at his feet. “Well, not so for several weeks now, sir. She’s got no ears to hear, since the Setons got ’em chopped off their bodies and all.”

“Yes, they did,” agreed Prospero. “So you would have reported to Alice Seton, had she been alive, when the prince rode off.”

“I suppose so, sir.”

“On this particular morning, however, you told no one. You could not have told Alice, because she was already dead.”

“That’s right.”

Another shuffle of his papers. “So, what did the prince do on this morning? What did he say? Was he—agitated? Did he seem despondent to you, perhaps?”

“No, my lord. He was very happy. His father wanted him on the—” He searched for the word.

“His privy council?”

“That’s right. He was set on memorizing that oath, and I remember him being so proud, Your Grace, that his father had trusted him so well. He was good-humored that morning when he rode out.”

“And he was alone? You’re sure?”

“Yes, sir. He said the oath required it. A sacred place.”

“All true,” the Sunborn reported.

Prospero nodded. “What happened then?”

“Next time I saw him was when his body was being dragged out the forest.”

Prospero called forward Hal’s groom of the stool, his pages, his bowmen, and they all said the same—Hal had gone off riding in the woods and been struck dead. The prince did not break his fast that morning. His food and wine were tested. He opened no strange letters. It was simply a terrible, tragic accident.

I interrupted her. “But Hal was always accompanied by a retinue. In fact, his father required it. Even for an oath, he wouldn’t have gone off alone at dawn.”

“Yes, but that was what the prince was so happy about. I served as his mother’s maid of honor at the time. Queen Gertrude said his father had constricted him for so long—so many babies dead, Hal the only living child. Precious. The king finally agreed that Hal should be allowed on the council and be given more freedoms. He was old enough now, to ride out, to—” She picked at her nails, then her gaze flicked up. “Marry. The king had such a tight grip on him as a child, as if one day he’d keel over and die. Well.” She snorted.

I leaned back and waited to see if she’d add anything, holding my breath. I was quickly rewarded. “I do believe there was someone else they should have questioned,” she said softly.

“Who?”

“The day before Hal’s death, it was storming,” she began. She had been waiting patiently to reveal this, her excitement palpable. “I remember because we wanted to play bowls outside, but we were forced indoors. Old Queen Gertrude’s bones ached in such weather, and I tended to her. It was Alice who used to—despite what you may have heard, Alice insisted on visiting Gertrude, reading to her. It was one of Alice’s many tricks.” Her mouth twisted. “She wanted people to like her desperately. She reeked of it. She chose her charity cases, and Gertrude was one of them, even as she slid into her husband’s bed each night. So, Alice was dead, of course, and there was no one to read to the queen. I took her place. I sat with her for hours. So I was in the eastern wing and heard voices. I believe Hal was on his way to see his mother but was intercepted.” She leaned toward me. “Can you guess who the other voice belonged to?” A pause for emphasis, a wicked gleam in her eye as she nocked her arrow. “The person presiding over the inquiry itself. The lord chancellor.”

Prospero.

“Did you tell anyone this?” I asked.

Kitty fell back onto her cushion, rested her hands in her lap. The room darkened as the sun dipped below the river. She shrugged and said bitterly, “No. No one asked me. After Alice’s and my father’s deaths, no one asked me anything.”

And the memory rose up within her, as if it longed to be recalled: Prospero’s and Hal’s voices echoing through the gloom, drawn up from the well of the past.