The Thorne Maze Read Free

queen’s footsteps faltered when her companion bumped into her. Keeping Kat close was a double burden of late: by day she too oft lived in the past; by night, she suffered from frightful dreams. Elizabeth hated sickness, and she did not need the painful past hauled from its grave and paraded by. But she would care for Kat—as Kat had nursed and comforted her from before she could recall anything of her life.
    Elizabeth glanced up and down the bright hall. Surely no ghosts lurked here now. On the outer edge of the building, several deep-set windows overlooking a kitchen court below threw light upon the old oak floor. Dust motes spun in the air amid the slant of sunbeams, for several casements were set ajar to let in fresh air. To their right were the doors of bedchambers that lined the white-washed hall which connected the state rooms to the chapel.
    “I do not believe in ghosts, but for those in one’s head, my Kat.” Elizabeth whispered, too, until she realized it, and said more loudly, “My father once said ghosts are but unburied secrets and bad consciences, and surely he knew whereof he spoke on that. Let’s see Mary now—our friend Mary Sidney—and talk only of happy times and things.”
    Elizabeth gestured for her yeoman guard Stackpole to wait down the hall, and knocked on the door herself. Elizabeth stiffened her backbone for that first sight of her friend, for it ever jolted her anew, not only that Mary was prisoner of a monstrous appearance but that she herself had escaped such a fate. Mary’s young tiring woman opened the door, swept the queen a low curtsy, and stepped out, closing it behind her.
    “No, do not curtsy to me,” Elizabeth insisted and hugged her friend before she could bend a knee. As always, Mary wore a veil, a thin one this time. But with window light behind, the queen could glimpse her ravaged complexion. “What is the point of formalities here, as above all we are fast friends.”
    “Because you are ever, always my queen, too,” Mary replied gently. “And it is so good to see your—your lovely face, Your Majesty.”
    “I have said you must call me Elizabeth,” the queen insisted, squeezing Mary’s pock-marked hands. “I am so glad you are here. I must tell you, I ordered full-faced masks for the masque this evening, so that you might attend and feel no fear of anyone staring. Every lady in the play will be dressed identically to you down to flaxen wigs, so no one will even know it’s you. I shall order that we not unmask and let them all guess even who is their queen this night. And, of course, you may portray one of the five wise virgins in the play and not a foolish one.”
    “It is all so thoughtful of you, as are all the letters and gifts you’ve sent,” Mary said, as she and Kat hugged, too. “But cannot it be enough that I am here at court? I must beg off moving among my former friends, even disguised. Everyone would be so curious as to which player is poor Mary Sidney. I cannot comply, and pray you will understand, my friend Elizabeth.”
    Mary sniffed once from behind the veil as she indicated where Elizabeth should sit. “It is bad enough to bear the pity of my children,” she added quietly, “and my dear lord.”
    “A lord who is loyal and loves you yet, no matter what,” Elizabeth insisted. It was as much a command as a question, for the queen would brook no disloyalty in her realm’s marriages. She’d seen enough of that and the destruction it wrought.
    “Of course, and Robin’s been steadfast, too,” Mary said as the three of them sat, Elizabeth and Mary on a padded bench under the single window and Kat on the coffer at the end of the curtained bed. “It was a joy to have our Robin visit Penshurst after his business journey, so I must thank you too for giving him leave to go from court for a time.”
    Robin was the nickname those close to Robert Dudley, Elizabeth included, called Mary’s brother. As soon as the throne was hers, Elizabeth had named