No Fury

Now: Fifty Four

"Are you all right?" Zayn asks.

I reach blindly for Anne in his arms, needing the reassurance of her tiny body next to mine.

"I've got her," he assures me gently. "I won't let anyone take her, but you or Mary."

"Why are you so good to me?" I ask, wiping a tear that has slid beneath my blindfold.

He turns me, and I know he is gazing at my face. "Because after all this we have suffered together, you are my responsibility and I am yours."

Taking my hand again, he leads me forward. I hear the turn of a heavy doorknob, the groaning of a large wooden door being swung open.

I can sense that there are other people in the room, but silence greets us.

I imagine what the Council sees before them: a young guard, holding a baby in dusty blankets, and escorting a thin, blindfolded girl into this opulent room.

After several breaths, a voice rises from the quiet: "Why the blindfold?"

I recognize it as the voice of Duke McCullough.

"The light, my Lord," Zayn says quietly, deferentially. "She has been in blackness these three weeks. The dungeons have no windows, nor torches."

There are sounds of sympathy and then a warm hand pulls my grip from Zayn's.

I fight it.

"Shh, lass. I mean you no harm."

It is the quiet voice of Lord Tomlinson.

"Douglas has told us who you are to our king, and who he believes this child to be."

I say nothing.
My blood heats.

"I admit, I am at a loss as to what to do here," Tomlinson continues. "As you know, we are responsible for making some decisions on behalf of the King or Queen when the royals are away from the castle. Generally, these decisions are ones we anticipate, ones we discuss beforehand for consensus." He pauses. "But here, our king is at war. We have a queen who committed terrible crimes against the kingdom. And we have a potential princess who cannot yet hold up her head. It is hard to know how to advise."

I shift on my feet, my stomach twisting protectively over the way I know he studies my daughter.

"And you," he continues, "are the woman Douglas insists would be the wife of the king if law allowed it. Who will be our queen when the king returns."

I say nothing.

Douglas said this?

And now, my fury boils over. The sycophantic rat. He has something to lose now. He could well be tried for treason; he desires me as an ally.

I can feel the pressure of their eyes on me.

"Is she mute?" Tomlinson finally asks Zayn.

"No, my Lord. But perhaps she is suffering from the effects of three weeks in isolation after giving birth and going hungry," Zayn counters, and I do not miss the sharp edge to his words.

"And she is wary," I add. "Given Douglas' . . . association with the Queen, I find it hard to trust anyone in this room."

This is a risk; I do not know how much Douglas has admitted and whether this truth will make him angry, or make the other two Councilmen suspect I aim to malign Douglas out of spite.

But a man hums in thoughtful agreement. I guess it is McCollough, because he is the one to respond to this: "I cannot blame you. Cathryn McDaniel?"

"Aye."

"On behalf of King Harold the Third," he intones, voice deep and official, "I hereby absolve you of any wrongdoing."

I bite back a laugh.

I require a mountain; he has sifted a handful of dust onto the floor.

A painful pause follows.

"And," he says, voice stilted as I fail to respond, "I wish to ask for your forgiveness," his voice rises, as if requesting permission from his fellow councilmen.

I assume they have silently agreed when he continues, more confidently, "We hope for your forgiveness, that is, for and on behalf of King Harold the Third, for your incarceration at the hands of a traitorous queen."

Taking a long breath, I reply, "I accept your apology, but only if it is offered on behalf of King Harold the Second."

Silence surrounds me. I can feel the slight shift in the fabric of their fine clothes as they turn to one another in shocked, wordless communication.

"The king owes me nothing but his presence at my side, raising our daughter," I explain. "Harold the Third has done nothing wrong by me but naively believing that the woman his father - and the Council - chose to be his wife would not betray him. Harold the Second made the choice to wed our kingdom to Spain, to Maria."

Tomlinson's voice is flat with shock: "Your spine is iron if you come in here and chastise the fallen king, using the Queen's given name."

I raise my chin, breathing deeply to calm myself. I lack whatever wall used to stand between my most brutal thoughts and my tongue. It has been burned to the ground.

"The Queen?" I repeat. "Is she still our queen if Harold the Second is dead from her actions?"

They have no answer.

"You offer her deference?" I press. "You demand I respect her still?"

The sound of their fine boots shuffling on the floor is the only answer I am given.

"May we see the child?" Douglas prompts, anxious now. His only hope is to fight for me and the Princess, and pray that Harry does not return home, vengeful.

Zayn rests a hand lightly on my shoulder.

"Aye," I whisper, moving my hand now to Zayn's arm to ensure no one pulls the child from his grasp.

I feel my trusted guard pulling aside Anne's heavy swaddling.

My pulse is steady, my breaths calm . . . for I know what they see:

A tiny girl, squinting into the bright light.
She has Harry's pink mouth
Harry's dark curls.
Harry's round, light eyes. Anne's remain a newborn, murky green, but they are unmistakable.

She looks nothing like me. Moreover, she looks nothing like Liam.

The men all murmur in agreement.

"It is quite remarkable, the resemblance," Tomlinson whispers.

"It is." McCullough clears his throat. "She looks just like him as a babe."

I cannot stand the quiet that follows, cannot bear the clock ticking, while they gaze at the princess of this kingdom and still, Maria is allowed to breathe somewhere upstairs.

I lift my blindfold, blinking at the brilliant light streaming in the windows.

It was too soon - the pain is a hot pressure against my eyes and spikes into my skull - but I can be blind no longer.

Nodding to Zayn, I take my daughter, carefully covering her eyes again with the blankets.

Finally, when my eyes have adjusted, I turn my face up to the council who stare at me in wide-eyed surprise.

"My Lords," I begin. "I thank you for releasing me, for the acknowledgment that I have committed no crime, for your apology on behalf of King Harold the Second, may God rest his soul. I thank you for the generosity of your time today." I wait until they nod in bewildered acknowledgement before continuing. "And before I return to my home, and my parents, I have but one question I need to ask on behalf of the Princess Anne."

They exchange looks, and turn to me.

"What is it?" McCollough asks.

I pull my daughter close to my breast. "When will Maria hang?"