The Harlot’s Daughter. Blythe Gifford

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      The King leaned forward, pinning Solay with eyes that held an uneasy mixture of apprehension and curiosity. ‘What new knowledge does that give you?’

      She looked down at her chart, trying to think. Too much knowledge would be dangerous. ‘There are differences in the two ascendants. Yours is now Gemini and your moon is in Aries.’

      ‘But what does that mean?’

      Flattery first. Then the request.

      ‘Your people revere you, Your Majesty. You are a singular man among men, whose wisdom surpasses ordinary understanding.’ She swallowed and continued. ‘And you are exceedingly generous to faithful friends and those of your blood.’

      ‘Such as you?’ His smile was hard to decipher.

      She should have known that a King had heard all the ways to say ‘please’. ‘And so many others.’

      His mouth twisted in derision, but fear still haunted his eyes. ‘What does it tell you,’ he whispered, ‘of my death?’

      She took a deep breath. If she predicted long life incorrectly, they would only think her a poor astrologer. If she predicted death correctly, she could be accused of causing it.

      ‘I see a long and happy reign for Your Majesty.’ Actually, some darkness hovered over his eighth house, but this was no time to mention it. ‘All your subjects will bless your name when you leave us for Heaven.’

      He leaned forward, his teeth tugging at his lips. ‘And when will that be, Lady Solay?’

      She swallowed. ‘Oh, I am but a student and cannot determine such a thing.’

      ‘You were skilful enough to deduce the correct time of my birth. I’m surprised you could not be so precise with my life’s end.’

      She lowered her eyes, hoping she showed proper deference. She had stumbled into a dangerous position. It would take all her talent to balance the King’s belief in her with his fear. ‘Forgive me for my ignorance, Your Majesty.’

      He leaned back in his chair, peering at her over steepled fingers. ‘And are some of these things also true of you, since we share a birth day?’

      Trapped by her lie, she decided the truth might serve her well. ‘It is interesting that you ask, Your Majesty. Since I have come to court, I found that I, too, was misinformed about the time of my birth. I was not born on the same day as Your Majesty.’

      He smiled, pleased, and did not ask when she was born.

      Hibernia pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. ‘You can hardly take this seriously, Your Majesty.’

      He would be wise to say so. The old astrologer was right. Hibernia was bad for the King. She simply chose not to say so.

      ‘Of course I don’t,’ the King said, chuckling, as if relieved to be given an excuse. He rose and nodded at Solay. ‘You shall have a new, fur-trimmed cloak for your work.’

      ‘Thank you, Your Majesty.’ She sank to her knees in what she hoped was an appropriate level of deference for an extravagant gift.

      ‘And Lady Solay. You shall not read the stars again.’ The faintest sheen of sweat broke the skin between his nose and his lips. ‘For me, or for anyone.’

      She nodded, murmuring assent. Her work as a faux astrologer had accomplished its purpose. Her uncanny prediction had raised the least bit of fear in the King. Useful, if managed carefully.

      Deadly, if not.

      She must make it useful in finding a husband.

      The King had turned back to Hibernia, whispering, leaving her again on her knees.

      ‘Safe journey home,’ the Queen said as she left the room.

      This could not be the end. ‘I had hoped—’ she began.

      The two of them turned to see her kneeling, as if surprised she was still there.

      ‘I had hoped,’ she continued, ‘that Your Majesty might take an interest in my family.’

      The King exchanged a glance with Hibernia. ‘Ah, yes. “Generous to those of your blood,” you said. What kind of interest?’

      You’ll get no money, Lamont had said. Better to ask for a husband.

      She cleared her throat. ‘In my marriage, Your Majesty.’

      Hibernia smirked. ‘Marriage? To whom?’

      She let a cat’s smile curve her lips. Would it be too bold to suggest the Earl? ‘Any man would be honoured to be recognised by his Majesty.’

      The King eyed her warily, indecision in his frown.

      The Duke leaned towards the King, chuckling. ‘She seemed to enjoy kissing Lamont. Marry the two of them.’

      She felt as if a bird were trapped in her throat, desperately beating its wings. ‘Oh, no, Your Majesty, that was just under the Lord of Misrule. Meaningless as the Duke’s kiss of Agnes.’ A kiss, she belatedly remembered, that was not meaningless at all.

      But the King was not listening. ‘Marriage to Lamont. A very interesting idea.’

      Her damnable want warred with her family’s need. She wanted no marriage to an enemy of the King, yet she dare not criticise the Duke’s suggestion. ‘How kind of the Duke of Hibernia to suggest it, but I’m sure Your Majesty was thinking of someone else.’

      ‘You wanted a husband. If I choose to provide this one, are you ungrateful?’

      Still kneeling, she looked down at the floor, hoping her deference would mitigate his anger at her small show of defiance. ‘Of course not, Your Majesty. It would be just the expression of your generous ascendant planet to bring Lord Justin so close to the throne.’

      She looked up through her lashes to see him frown at her subtle reminder that he was elevating an enemy.

      A light flared in his blue eyes. ‘And for my magnificent generosity, I ask only one thing of you.’

      ‘Anything, of course, Your Majesty.’

      ‘You will keep me informed of his actions for the Council.’

      Suddenly, his purpose was clear. This marriage was to be for the King’s benefit, not hers. She should never have thought otherwise. ‘Do you not think they will be in constant contact with Your Majesty as well as Lord Justin?’

      ‘That’s what you are to discover.’

      She bowed her head in defeat. ‘Of course, Your Majesty.’

      ‘Do your part and perhaps I will provide a grant for your family next year.’

      Next year, when the Council’s charter expired and she would still be married to a man who hated her. ‘Your Majesty is ever generous.’

      King СКАЧАТЬ