Kitabı oku: «The Harlot's Daughter», sayfa 3
Agnes leaned forward. ‘They want to attack my dear Duke as well,’ she whispered, as if afraid someone might hear, ‘but they do not dare. He is the King’s right arm.’
Agnes had let slip her lover’s identity. The poor girl truly believed he was safe, but in times such as these, no one was safe. Still, if Agnes trusted her, perhaps Solay could glean something useful. ‘Lord Justin does the Council’s legal work?’
Agnes snuggled back under the covers with a pout. ‘I suppose. Who knows how any man spends his time when not with a woman? Documents, diplomacy, bookkeeping.’ She shrugged, as if it were unimportant.
Solay stared, stunned. Her mother had taught her that the work of the King was the work of the world. While feminine arts gave them diversion, money and power, law and war ruled the earth. How could Agnes not care about those things?
‘But that’s not what you really want to know,’ Agnes continued, with a catlike smile. ‘I saw him watch you with hunger during the Christmas feast. You want to know what kind of man he is.’
‘He is the King’s enemy.’ And mine. ‘That is all I need to know.’
‘But not all you want to know. He’s handsome, isn’t he? Many women think so, but he has refused them all.’ Agnes tilted her head. ‘I heard he was to be wed, many years ago, and the girl died.’
‘So he mourns still?’ Somehow, he did not seem like a man who pined for a dead love.
‘He has no interest in marriage.’
‘His family allows it?’ He was certainly nine and twenty. The family must want an heir.
‘He is a second son. His brother has many children. But beware, Solay. He and the Lords Appellant would destroy the King.’
Should Justin demand more than kisses for his silence, how could she refuse? ‘He does not tempt me. I am only trying to learn who’s who.’
‘Good. I saw you with the Earl of Redmon. He might make a good husband. His wife died on Michaelmas and he has three children who need tending. He might not be too particular. I mean…’ A blush spread over her cheekbones. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘It’s all right.’ There would be no marriage for Solay. She had nothing to offer a husband but her body, unless the mere taste of royalty might titillate a man. ‘I am not thinking of a husband.’ Her hopes lay with a grant from the King, not with a group of lords with temporary power, and if she were to please the King, she must produce a horoscope and a poem.
‘Tell me, Agnes, who is the King’s favourite poet?’
Chapter Four
As the Lord of Misrule pranced around the table two days after Christmas, Justin felt no Yuletide spirit.
Across the room, Solay laughed gaily at something John Gower the poet said.
Justin was not laughing.
He sank his teeth into the roast boar. At least the King had bowed to convention and put a whole pig on the spit for the Yule feasts. Usually, the meat at table was spiced, sugared, and so shredded you could eat it with a spoon.
Robert, Duke of Hibernia, had left the King’s side to wander the room and now stood laughing with Solay. That man alone was enough to make him scowl. He was so close to the King that he seemed to fancy that he, too, was royal.
And judging by her wide-eyed attention to him, Solay knew it as well.
He heard her husky laugh again.
Just like her mother, she would lie and cheat and use anyone to get what she wanted. He had avoided her for the past two days, but, mistrustful of her motives, had watched her from afar.
Be honest with yourself, Lamont. This has nothing to do with your distrust of her. You just can’t keep your eyes off the woman.
How had he let himself be gulled into holding her lies? Now her falsehoods tainted him, too, and, instead of thanks, she accused him of some subversive purpose. He should expose her and have her expelled from court.
But then he would remember the pain in her eyes.
He was ever the fool for a woman in pain.
More than a fool, for the pain he thought he saw was probably as false as her offered kisses.
Gloucester joined him, swilling wine from his goblet. ‘Your eyes are ever upon the Lady Solay.’
‘Her eyes have turned on every man in the room.’ Most had leered at her as long as she’d let them. ‘I even saw her talking to you.’
Gloucester smiled. ‘She has her mother’s talent for pleasing powerful men, but if she seeks a husband, she’ll be hard pressed to find one who will have her.’ He lifted his goblet in a parting toast and laughed, moving on down the hall.
Husband. Startled, Justin looked for her in the crowd. She was smiling at the Earl of Redmon, a recent widower as a result of his third wife’s fall down the stairs. Why had he never thought of marriage for her? A husband would do her more good than a grant, if he came with enough property and a willingness to take on Alys of Weston as a mother-in-law.
And the right husband would not require the Council’s approval. Only the King’s.
He looked to the dais. Despite the joy of the season, the King’s scowl matched Justin’s own. Since he had told the King that the Council refused his appointments, Richard had been in a foul mood.
Tonight, he sulked while the poor fool, the Lord of Misrule, tried to create merriment by ordering the most unlikely couples to embrace.
The Fool forced Hibernia into an embrace with Lady Agnes. Hibernia and Agnes seemed to be enjoying it mightily. The man’s wife did not.
Solay had assumed a bland smile. He wondered what it hid.
The thought deepened his frown, so when the Fool waved his crown before Justin’s eyes, blocking his vision of Solay, Justin only grunted.
The Fool would not be dissuaded. ‘Now here’s another man who needs to show more Yuletide cheer. Who would you like to kiss this evening?’
‘No one. Leave me be.’
‘Ah, but your eyes have been on the Lady Solay. Would you like to put your lips on her as well?’
Hearing her name, Solay turned to look.
His entire body surged to answer. He had refused her kisses before, but those she fawned over tonight might not. The wine had loosened his resistance. Surely, he, too, deserved a taste. ‘Yes,’ he answered. ‘I would kiss the daughter of the sun.’
Her eyes widened and her lips parted, as if she inhaled to speak, but no words came.
The diners next to him went silent. Was it because he dared kiss the daughter of a King? Or because no one wanted to be reminded of who she was?
The jester’s babbling broke the awkward silence. ‘The Lord of Misrule makes all things possible.’ He grabbed Justin’s hand and pulled him around the table, to face Solay.
Trapped in the jester’s grip, Justin watched her eyes darken with desire, and regretted his honesty. What would happen when he took her lips? He steeled himself against her. Nothing. She was a woman, nothing more.
The Lord of Misrule laughed merrily. ‘Your wish is my command. Kiss the lady!’
She was too close now, close enough that her scent engulfed him. She smelled of rose petals hidden in a golden box, sweet, yet protected by metal that only fire would melt.
He wanted to take her in his arms, crush her to him and ravish her lips with his. He wanted to possess her, yet something warned him that she would possess him instead.
Her lips parted, but her eyes did not droop with desire. They were open, wide with fear.
He put his hands on her arms, deliberately holding himself away from her body, leaned over and put his lips on hers.
Her lips were soft as he’d expected, but they lay cool and unyielding beneath his. When she did not respond, something burst within him. She had teased him for days. For all those other men, she supplicated and simpered.
He would have what she offered.
He pulled her close, feeling her breasts, soft, pressing against him. Suddenly, he did not care who she was or where they were. He wanted her kiss, yes, but whatever else she hid, he wanted that, too.
The kiss she had dangled before him for days blossomed and the impossible scent of roses made him dizzier than the wine. When she opened to him, he took her lips and thrust his tongue into her mouth, wanting to taste all of her. Her stiffness became softness and he tightened his arms, fearing she would fall if he let go.
And only the beat of the jester’s wand on his shoulder brought him to himself.
‘The man’s eaten nothing but oysters all night,’ the jester said.
Drunken laughter around them brought heat to his cheeks.
He pulled away, torn between desire and scorn, and glimpsed on her face the truth he’d sought.
She wanted him.
Her eyes were dark with desire, her mouth ripe with lust. Then she touched her lips and blinked the softness from her eyes, and for once he was grateful—her disguise protected them both.
The jester turned to Solay. ‘Since you have suffered this dullard’s embrace, you deserve a wish of your own. What boon can I grant the lady?’
She grabbed her goblet and lifted it toward the King’s table. ‘I desire to toast our gracious Majesties, King Richard and QueenAnne. Long life, health and defeat of all their enemies.’
Tapered fingers hugging the chalice, she lifted it to drink, but instead of looking at the King, her eyes met Justin’s.
He touched his goblet to his lips, wishing the wine could wash away her kiss.
Now that he had tasted her, he could no longer deny that her body tugged at his loins. Her eyes put him in mind of bedchambers and the pale skin of her inner wrist made him want to see the pale skin of her thighs.
All the better, then, if she took a husband, although none of the popinjays at court seemed right. As long as she kept out of the King’s Treasury, she was no concern of his.
Gloucester returned to his side. ‘How does she taste?’
Like no one else in the world. ‘’Twas but a Yuletide jest.’
‘You obviously enjoyed it,’ Gloucester said. ‘And you put her in her place.’
The words kindled his shame. She had succumbed, yes, but he had forced her. No matter that she had tried to tempt him earlier. He had let his desire overrun his sense, spoken his want aloud, then forced it upon her.
And he had promised himself never to force a woman. He knew too well the bitter results.
For that, she deserved an apology.
Unable to sleep, Solay looked out of the window at the last star fading in the blue dawn light. An insistent rooster heralded the coming day, yet beside her in the bed, Agnes slept undisturbed, her gentle, drunken snore ruffling the air.
Solay, too, felt drunk, perhaps from the wine or the sweetness of the almond cake.
Or perhaps from his kiss. It still burned her mouth and seared her mind, speaking of promises not to be hoped for, particularly from a man who hated her.
Wide awake, she rolled over. What boon does the lady want? the Fool had asked. She wanted such simple things. To be safe. To be looked at without scorn. To sleep through the night without worrying whether they would have food to meet the morrow. To see her mother smile and hear her sister laugh.
And tonight, God help her, she wanted him.
She crept from bed and grabbed her cape as Agnes snored on. Crossing the ward, she climbed again to the roof of the tower. As a child, she had loved to watch the sun rise. Each time, she could begin life anew. For those few moments when first light touched the world, she had had no one to please, no one to be but herself.
Here, as the winter wind quieted in anticipation of the life-giving ball of light, she could believe that the stars ruled people’s lives and that she was truly a daughter of the sun.
She recognised his steps, surprised that, after only a few days, she knew his gait. As he reached the ramparts, she composed her smile and turned, dizzy at the sight of him.
Impossible hopes danced in her heart. ‘Did the Lord of Misrule send you after me again?’
He held himself stiffly, his hands clenched as if to keep from reaching for her. ‘We must talk.’ The words seemed forced. ‘About the kiss.’
Kiss. The word lingered on lips that had moved soft and urgent over hers. The memory brought heat to her cheeks and to places deeper inside. ‘What is there to say?’
‘I should not have forced you.’
So. He regretted his passion now. Well, she would not reveal her weakness for him. He would only use it against her in the end. She shrugged. ‘It is Yuletide. It meant nothing.’
‘Really?’
His question trapped her. To admit he moved her would leave her with no defence. Oh, Mother, how do I protect myself against the wanting?
‘Of course not.’ She crafted a light and airy tone so he would not know she had dissolved at his kiss and no longer recognised the new form she found herself in. ‘You took no more than I had offered.’
‘Well, then…’ He nodded, finishing the sentence and the incident. His rigid muscles relaxed, but he did not move closer. ‘What brings you to the roof, Lady Solay? It is too late to see the stars.’
‘I come to watch the sun.’
She was grateful that the breeze quickened and blew his scent away from her. One more step and she might reach for his shelter.
‘The sun is near its lowest point, Lady Solay. It has withdrawn its light from the world.’
His words brought back her childhood fears. Sometimes, as her life had changed, she had watched for the sun to rise, uncertain that it really would. ‘Yet it was at this, the darkest hour upon earth, that the brightest son was born.’
‘Are you speaking of the Saviour or the King?’
She smiled. The analogy had not occurred to her, but it might make a flattering conceit for the King’s reading. ‘Both.’
‘The sun comes up every morning.’ He leaned on the battlements, facing her. ‘Why do you find it worthy of watching?’
‘Why? Just look.’
He turned.
In anticipation of sunrise, the sky erupted in colour—bruised purple at the horizon, then striped blue, and finally brilliant pink. ‘The heavens are more reliable than your justice. The sun comes up every morning.’ Her words came out in a whisper. ‘Even in our darkest hours.’
‘Have you had many of those?’
‘Enough.’ More than dark hours. Dark years after the death of the old King snuffed the life-giving sun from their sky.
‘But you survived.’ No compassion softened his words.
She blocked the memories. She had spoken too much of herself and her needs. ‘Has the world never been harsh to you?’
‘No more than to most.’ Pain gilded his answer, but whatever weakness had sent him to the roof in near-apology was gone when he looked at her. ‘Do not try to play on my sympathies. You will not change my mind about your grant.’
The memory of the kiss pulsed between them. Could an appeal to his sense of justice change his mind? ‘King Richard has given his clerks more than we would need.’
‘And the clerks didn’t deserve it either.’
‘Don’t deserve?’ Despite her resolution, harsh words leapt to her tongue. ‘The King is the judge of that, not you.’
‘Not according to Parliament.’
‘Parliament!’ She spat the word. ‘Those greedy buzzards stripped us of everything, not only what the King had freely given, but lands my mother acquired with her own means.’
‘Lands she took from others and did not need.’
‘She needed them to support us after his death.’
‘She had a husband to take care of her, more fool he. Better to ask for a husband to support you.’
‘Now you mock me.’ Husbands were for women with dowries and respected families. ‘No one would have me.’
‘If the King decreed, someone would.’
‘Then perhaps I shall ask him.’ The very idea left her giddy.
He grabbed her arms and forced her to look at him. Some special urgency burned behind his eyes. ‘Don’t let him force you. Only wed if it is someone you want.’
Her heart beat in her throat as she looked at him. That was why her mother had warned her against this feeling. If the King decreed, it would not matter whom she wanted.
She stepped back and he let his hands drop. ‘If someone weds me, be assured that I will want him.’
Disgust, or sadness, tinged his look. ‘And if you don’t, you’ll tell him you do.’ The brilliant colours of daybreak faded as the sun emerged. The sky had no colour; the sun, no warmth. ‘Here’s your sun, Lady Solay,’ he said, turning towards the stairs. ‘May it bring you a husband in the New Year.’
As his footsteps faded, the image he had suggested tantalised her like the dawn at the edge of the day. Marriage. Someone to take care of her.
She pulled her cloak tighter and let the wind blow the fantasy away. Better to focus on pleasing the King with a pleasant poem and a pretty future.
But Justin’s suggestion tugged at her. Perhaps he had deliberately shown her the path to circumvent the Council.
If the King had no power to grant her family a living, he might find an alliance for her with a family that would not allow hers to starve.
And if the King were gracious enough to find her a husband, she would take whomever he gave, even if the man’s kisses did not make her burn.
Chapter Five
As the sun rose to its pale peak on the last day of the year, Solay set aside the astrology tables in despair. She read no Latin, so she could understand none of the text. In a week, the Yuletide guests would be gone, and she with them unless she could create a story from the stars to please a King.
Before she wove a fiction, she had tried to decipher the truth, but the symbols in the chart the old astrologer had drawn blurred before her eyes.
She trusted no one for help except Agnes. When she had asked what ill omens the old astrologer had seen, Agnes’s already pale face turned white.
‘He said the King must give up his friendship with the Duke of Hibernia or the realm would be in danger.’
No wonder the man had been jailed.
Idly, she flipped through the tables of planets, wondering when Lord Justin Lamont had been born. He had the stubbornness of the Bull, but his blunt speech reminded her of the Archer. Perhaps one of them was the ascendant and the other…
Foolishness. She put the tables aside and turned to her real work. Her future lay in the hands of the King, not in the kisses of Justin Lamont.
She studied the King’s birth chart again. Some aspects didn’t match the temperament of the King she knew. Aggressive Aries was shown as his ascendant, yet he seemed the least warlike of kings.
The eleventh house was that of friends; the twelfth of enemies. Surely just a slight shift could move the Duke from one to the other.
A different time of birth would do it.
She turned pages with new energy. She would populate the chart as she wished and suggest it had changed because she used a different time of birth.
Smiling, she began to draw.
By late afternoon, she derived a chart that suited her purpose, and, it seemed, the King much better. A square formed the centre of the chart, Capricorn, his sun sign. Four triangles surrounded it, forming the four cardinal points as triangles from each side. Then, the additional eight houses formed another square around the first.
The shift clustered more planets in the house of friends, but it also described his character more accurately. From this one, she could spin a happy future for the King and, she hoped, for her family.
She hesitated. If it were dangerous to change her own time of birth, what would she risk to change the King’s?
Yet it was the only answer she had. At least she was sensible enough to tell him no bad news. No one was likely to know enough to dispute her conclusions and, if anyone did, she would laugh and say she was only a woman and not a real astrologer.
Justin’s mind wandered as the Court wasted the afternoon listening to bad verse penned by courtiers playing poet. The words flowed around him unheard. He had spent the last week telling himself that he was relieved that the kiss had meant nothing to Solay, though it galled him that she could swoon in his arms like a lover and then laugh. He should have expected nothing less. Even the woman’s body lied.
Across the room, she was fawning over Redmon again. Since he had told her to seek a husband, Justin judged every man she spoke to for the role. She would have few choices. The man must have money, not need it, for she would bring no dowry. He must be acceptable to the King, but not too important, for if he were, he would get a better bride.
She gave the Earl a dazzling smile as it came her turn to present. Then, she licked her full, lower lip, cleared her throat, glanced at Justin and started to read.
They call them men of law, an empty boast
They claim that law means justice
But justice comes quickest to him that pays the most.
His cheeks burned. Though no one looked his way as they laughed, he knew her words were directed towards him. Her poem told an amusing tale of a dishonest lawyer, brought to justice by a benevolent and pure King. The verse lacked polish, but it showed promise. The words were clever.
More than clever. Something about them seemed very familiar.
After the King applauded heartily and the afternoon’s entertainment ended, Justin sought her out. Her small triumph had touched her lips with an easy smile.
‘A pretty poem, Lady Solay,’ he said. ‘Did you suggest the subject to John Gower?’
Solay’s smile stiffened. ‘What makes you ask that?’
He did not dignify her lack of denial with an answer. ‘I did not think him a man to be swayed by kisses.’
She did not blush, which made him think she had not tried physical persuasion of the King’s favourite poet. Odd, he felt relieved.
‘The idea was his, not mine. He told me he was trying something new and if the King did not like the poem, Gower would put it aside. Since the King liked it very much, I dare say he will finish it and then tell the King and they will both think it a good joke.’
‘So now I must keep secrets for John Gower’s sake, not yours?’
Behind the pleading look in her eyes he saw the shadow of resentment. It must gall her to beg his co-operation. ‘You wouldn’t spoil the surprise, would you, just because the verse doesn’t flatter you?’
Shocked, he realised he had never even considered it. ‘It is Gower you wronged, not me. You sling borrowed barbs about lawyers, but you know nothing about me at all.’
‘I know you helped Parliament impeach the King’s Chancellor on imaginary charges.’
‘The charges were real.’
‘Not real enough, I see.’ She nodded towards the Earl of Suffolk, laughing with the King. ‘The man is with us today.’
He gritted his teeth. ‘The King released him. Not Parliament.’ Richard had imprisoned the man for a few weeks, then, as soon as Parliament had gone home, set him free as if Parliament had never ruled. As if the law meant nothing.
She lowered her voice to whisper. ‘You say you care about truth, but others say you care more about destroying those closest to the King.’
‘And you let others decide what you think.’
She didn’t answer, but turned to smile at Redmon across the room. The man smiled back, broadly, and she started to leave.
‘I hope you are not thinking of him as a husband.’
She kept searching the room, not meeting his eyes to answer. ‘When you suggested marriage you did not request approval of the choice. In fact, you told me only the King could decide.’
One of the young pups across the room winked at her, elbowing his companion, and she gave him a slow smile.
The boy’s grin grated on him. ‘That one is not looking on you as a wife,’ he growled.
‘How do you know?’
‘Because I am a man.’
‘Well, the Earl of Redmon is.’ Behind the lilt in her voice he heard the edge of anger.
‘Did the stars tell you so?’
‘He was born under the sign of the goat. We should get along well enough.’
‘Did the stars also tell you that he is old and rich with wealth and sons and three dead wives? All he needs is someone to grace his bed. That should not be difficult for you.’
She gasped, but instead of satisfaction, he felt remorse. ‘You fault me for failing some standard of your own devising. What do you expect of me, Lord Justin?’
‘Only what I expect of anyone. To be what you are.’
She dropped the smile and let him see her anger. ‘No, you expect me to be what you think my mother is.’ She turned to leave.
‘So each of us judges the other wrongly, is that what you think?’ He grabbed her hand, stopping her as if he had the right.
The shock was almost as great as touching her lips.
Both of them stared down at their clasped hands, her hand, cool in his, his large, blunt fingers, covering her pale skin.
And something alive moved through him, the feeling of kissing her all over again. Then, he had been in his cups. Easy to explain being set afire by a beautiful woman. But this…He had simply touched her hand and now stood transfixed, unable to—
‘Lord Justin, please.’
He looked up. This time, her slow, sultry smile was for him.
He dropped her hand. As she walked across the room to Redmon, he could swear she put an extra sway in her hips.
He smothered his body’s quick response. He was finished with this dangerous woman. Whether she married or not was none of his affair as long as she did not dip her hand into the King’s purse.
Justin and Gloucester approached the King’s solar shortly before noon on the last day of the Yuletide festivities. Their visit would be short and unpleasant, but at least Solay should be gone at the end of it.
‘Lamont? Did you hear me?’ Gloucester’s voice interrupted his thoughts.
‘Sorry,’ he answered. ‘What did you say?’
‘I’m going to throw this list in his face.’
Justin gathered his thoughts. It would fall to him to keep things civil when the royal tempers slipped loose.
As they entered, King Richard extended his hand, imperially as if it held a sceptre. ‘The list. Give it to me.’
Justin held out the list of grants to be enrolled on the Patent Rolls ‘with the assent of the Council’. ‘The Council has approved these four.’
The King glanced at the list. ‘Where are the rest? Where is Hibernia? Where is the woman?’
‘They have not been allowed,’ Justin said.
‘Not been allowed? It is the King who allows!’
‘Allowed?’ Now it was Gloucester who yelled. ‘You’ve allowed France to seize our lands instead of defending them!’ he snapped, sounding more like an uncle than a subject.
Richard reached for his dagger. ‘You impugn the power of the throne? I’ll have you hanged.’
They lunged towards each other, tempers flaring, while the guards hung back, uncertain whether to protect the King or Gloucester.
Justin stepped between them. ‘Please, Your Majesty, Gloucester.’ Each stepped away, glowering.
Richard gritted his teeth. ‘I will see all these grants allowed, including…’ he looked at Gloucester, hate glowing in his eyes ‘…the one for the harlot’s daughter.’
‘You’ll see none of them,’ Gloucester said. ‘Least of all that one!’ He stomped out of the room without asking for leave.
Richard stood rigid with shock. Or anger.
Justin repressed his resentment. The King cared nothing for Solay except as a pawn to infuriate his uncle and the Council. ‘Your Majesty, the Council has finished its review. There will be no more grants.’
Richard turned to Justin, his entire face pinched with rage. ‘Be careful, Lord Justin.’ His voice quavered with anger. ‘Your Council may have power now, but I was born a King. Nothing can change that, especially not you and your puny law.’
A shiver slithered down Justin’s back. When this man returned to power, he would grab what he wanted without a care for justice or the law. And Justin had been very, very much in the way of what he wanted.
On the afternoon of the twelfth day of Christmas, Solay was ushered into the King’s private solar to present her reading. The King dismissed everyone but the Queen and Hibernia, an indication that he was taking her reading very seriously.
Solay’s fingers shook as she smoothed the parchment with her new drawing. Her family’s fate lay on its surface.
‘Your Majesty,’ she began, ‘was born under the sign of the goat on the day three kings were in attendance on the babe in the manger. Surely this is auspicious. In addition—’
‘This is all well known,’ Hibernia scoffed. ‘Can you tell us nothing new?’
She put aside the chart. Hibernia had tolerated her for Agnes’s sake, but after what the last astrologer had said about him, he had no love of the art.
‘Well, I believe there may be.’ Her breath was shallow. Now. Now she must risk it. ‘Is Your Majesty sure you were born near the third hour after sunrise?’
Silence shimmered. How could one doubt the King?
‘Of course I’m sure. My mother told me.’
Next to him, Anne put a gentle hand on his arm and gave Solay a look that was hard to decipher. ‘Why do you ask?’
Solay swallowed. ‘My calculations suggest the hour was closer to nones.’ That would have meant the middle of the afternoon.
‘Impossible,’ said the King.
QueenAnne stared at Solay, then turned to her husband and whispered. The King’s eyes widened and they both stared at her.
She swallowed in the lengthening silence.
‘Who told you this?’ the King said.
‘No one. I was simply trying to read the planets. Of course, I am no expert and could easily be wrong.’
‘But you could not easily be right.’
She looked from one to another. ‘Am I right?’
The Queen spoke with her customary calm. ‘Richard’s mother once told me she had put out a false time of birth so as not to give the astrologers too much power.’
Her body burned with a heat that did not come from the hearth. Power. The unfamiliar fire of power. The truth of her startling prediction had given her something she had never before possessed.
Power enough for him to fear.
