Page 69 of The Crimson Throne
I’m not sure what I expect her to tell me. I conferred with Kitty earlier, and she said Samson had gone to the stables with his bags. And that’s good. I’m glad he left. He needed to leave. It’s good that he’s gone. Very good. Obviously best for all.
I swallow hard, refocus.
It’s definitely all the other tension from Darnley’s plot that’s causing that hollow pit in my stomach to tighten.
If Darnley had done anything, I would know. But my senses tingle; there’s more than the regular sort of magic in the air tonight.
There’s anticipation.
Before Lady Reres can answer me, a group of men riding on hobby horses made of sticks gallops past. They’re drunk off their arses and singing. Loudly. In Italian.
“The king consort didn’t bother showing up,” she says, leaning close to my ear.
I frown. Mary hadn’t outright banned her husband from going to the baptism, and James is his son too. For all his faults, Darnley would surely have a vested interest in seeing his own son baptized? And the entire reason—according to him—for his arrival at Castle Stirling was to attend the ceremony.
The men ride by on their sticks, and I catch a few lines of their song but not enough to understand anything. Across the hall, I spot Joseph scowling. He wears no mask; he looks as if he stumbled into the party after a long day at the library.
I excuse myself from Lady Reres and head over to the queen’s secretary.
“This is a baptism,” he growls. “And yet these men speak of lupa and lupanar.”
“‘Lupa’ means wolf,” I say, vaguely recalling the popular Roman myths around wolves. “Is ‘lupanar’—”
“‘Brothel.’ It is a play on words, obviously, but a crass one.”
“Ah. Classy,” I say. When Joseph whips his glare to me, I add, “Sarcasm.”
“It is not appropriate for a baptism,” he says.
“That part’s over. This is the party to celebrate it. The baby’s in bed.”
“And so we revel in wine and bawdy tunes?”
I want to tell him that’s exactly right. I want to hand him some of the wine, guzzle it down alongside him, and let us both get giggly at theidiots frolicking around the hall. But I know I can’t. And much as I want Joseph to loosen up, he’s human, with no magic and no way to help me with the plots by Darnley and whatever ties to the Red Caps he’s made…
I can’t say that. The last time I let my guard down, Joseph’s brother…
I sigh, smiling sadly at my friend. But I do grab some wine and press it into his hand.
He takes a sip, reluctantly nodding his approval.
“So as secretary, you logged all the gifts, right?” I ask.
Joseph’s scowl pops right back on his face. “You give me wine, and yet I’m expected to work?”
I punch him in the arm. “Come on,” I say, prodding. We both know that there’s always too much work to ever be truly done with it.
Joseph sighs. “Darnley’s mother sent a package from London.”
“From the Tower of London, you mean,” I grumble. My mind whirrs. Lady Lennox is the baby’s grandmother; a gift is expected. But she is also plotting something nefarious, and using the guise of a present would be an excellent way to sneak something evil through the magical barrier. “What did the old cow send?”
“Cloth and jars of marmalade,” Joseph says.
I frown. Mary’s addicted to marmalade; it would be so easy to sneak a poison in there for her.
“I pulled it aside for your inspection, as well as a few other things.”
“Good man,” I say. He knows that Mary trusts me with security, but not the full truth.
