No Fury

Now: Fifty Three

It occurs to me to ask her why Zayn himself did not bring me food, where everyone is, but I notice the bread and cheese, the apples and ale in the blanket she brought. I dive for it, ravenous as I juggle my child in one arm and the food in another.

I chew and swallow too quickly, wincing as the bite goes down roughly. I groan, taking another bite. "I am hollow."

Mary gestures to the baby. "Let me have her then."

I hand over the tiny sleeping bundle, watching with tear-filled eyes as my sister gazes at my child for the first time.

And Mary begins to cry anew.

"She is lovely," she finally manages. "Da cries, missing her, as if his arms have long been empty of his grandchild. Mother has been mute; she can hardly fathom this."

I lean forward, pulling the linen away from Anne's tiny face.

"Well," Mary coos to her. "Aren't you just the king's daughter, from your curls to your toes?"

"Aye," I say, swallowing another bite of food. "How did you hear it was a girl?"

"Also Zayn," she says. "Since you spoke to him one day, he has come and offered us updates. He told us she was born, that he brings her to you for tiny spots of time. Come on then," she whispers to Anne. "Look at me, darling little one."

My laugh comes out as dry as dust which has long settled inside my lungs. I had forgotten the way it feels. "She sleeps heavily. We are both of us quite bad off here, Mare."

"Before he came to us, I worried something would have happened to you, or to her, in birth," Mary admits. "You were so round, Catie, I knew the babe would come. I worried Maria would take her as her own." She swipes at her eyes.

"Maria allowed Zayn to bring her to me when she cried from hunger," I tell her. "I am sure Maria allowed it under the guise of tormenting me. I am sure she told her guards what seeing my child only an hour at a time would do to me. But the fact she let me see her at all tells me she has no plan, no strategy. Maria is terrified of this tiny life, and not brave enough to end it."

These last words come out shredded and raw. The idea is so gruesome, it rots something inside me simply to say it.

My sister shakes her head. "She couldn't. Not anymore."

I stare up at her, not knowing what this means. "What has happened up there, Mary? Why would Zayn risk his life and give you his keys instead of bringing me food himself?"

"Zayn is no longer upstairs. Two days past, the servants and guards were ordered to vacate the castle," she says. "By the Council of Three."

My eyes go wide. The Council of Three includes the King's two most trusted advisers, Duke McCullough and Lord Tomlinson . . . and Douglas is the third. They are called upon to advise only in cases when there is no royal present to oversee the kingdom.

The Council commonly stepped in when the King and Harry would travel together, and stepped back down when they returned. But this situation is different: the Queen is here, and Douglas is her lover.

"They cannot come into power," I stutter, hysterically. "Douglas cannot come into power. He is lain with Maria. You saw: he is corrupt."

"Listen, Catie," Mary says gently. "There is too much. Eat, while I explain it all. These last few days, everything has changed. A group of soldiers has returned," she starts, and my eyes flash to hers, mouth opening to speak, even as full as it is with a fresh bite of food.

"No," she halts me. "Not the King, nor Liam. Nor Niall, either, I am sad to say. But they bring good news any way: these past three weeks, the King's Army is pushing the rebels back."