We proceeded in slow stages. The litter jostled on the pitted road, and Elizabeth called for several stops along the way, complaining of discomfort and forcing Lord Howard to attend her. She prolonged the inevitable, determined to extend what should have been a daylong trip into as much time as she could. By dusk, with London still hours away, Howard had no choice but to order a halt. We would spend the night in a nearby manor, where the owners, apprised without warning of our arrival, arranged accommodations as best they could, giving up their own bedchamber for the princess.

The next morning, we took to the road at first light. This time, Elizabeth’s litter curtains remained closed the entire way, and she did not raise a single protest. Lord Howard rode flinty-eyed beside her, her ladies behind him. From my position in the back, I strained to see Kate. She’d taken my advice to heart; not once did she turn to look at me.

Under a sunset that smeared crimson across the lead sky, we reached the city gates.

Everything was transformed, the poisonous suspicion of the past weeks having burst open to reveal its rotten fruit. On the gates hung the torn limbs of Wyatt’s rebels. Their blood dripped onto the road, where dogs snarled at each other and lapped the congealed pools. Gibbets loomed like specters at every corner, adorned with gutted naked bodies, stiff and blackening. It was the expected punishment for treason, but as the smell of death invaded my senses, the impact of what we faced threatened to overwhelm me.

This time, I feared the queen would take all our heads.

Houses and businesses were closed tight, doors bolted and shutters drawn, though it was not yet dark. Only a few people roamed the streets, and as soon as they spotted our procession, hemmed by men-at-arms, they dashed indoors, furtive as mice. Yet as word somehow spread that it was none other than Princess Elizabeth making her entrance, a small, brave crowd gathered along the road to Whitehall-a sea of silent stares, their stunned expressions bearing testament to the unexpected violence that had swept through their city. I saw Howard tighten his grip on his reins, looking pointedly at the princess’s litter, as if he expected an eruption.

All of a sudden, the curtains whisked back. Elizabeth revealed herself reclining on her bolster, her drawn features offset by a high-necked white gown. Her hair was unbound. In breathtaking symbolism, she wore a necklace of dark square-cut rubies about her throat. As she returned the crowd’s stares with her impassive dark eyes, several women curtsied and one lone man called out, “God save Your Grace!”

Howard motioned to the guards. Before they surrounded the litter, impeding the view, Elizabeth shot him an amused look. Despite her fear, she had not lost her bite.

Kate finally dared a look at me as Whitehall appeared before us, protected by cordons of sentries, less a palace now than a fortress. Her gaze was questioning; though she rode only paces away, it felt as though an impassable chasm separated us.

We passed under the main archway. Elizabeth sat upright, stiffening as she looked ahead. The procession passed a knot of officials, watching warily from behind guards. We did not stop. We continued on, through a stout gateway, into an enclosed courtyard where yeomen with halberds, dressed in the green-and-white Tudor livery, waited.

Howard dismounted and assisted Elizabeth from her litter. As she yanked her furs about her, the guards’ perfunctory bows brought an angry crease to her brow. “Is this to be my reception?” she demanded. “Where shall I lodge, pray tell? In a dungeon?”

“Your Grace will lodge in specially appointed apartments selected for you,” Howard replied. “These yeomen are here to escort you. You’re allowed the services of your three women; all others of your household are dismissed.”

“Dismissed?” Her voice frayed. “Surely you can’t mean to deprive me of these people on whom I depend?” Howard did not answer. Lifting her chin, Elizabeth said loudly, “I demand to see my sister the queen! I demand audience with Her Majesty, who cannot-”

The yeomen shifted to her. Taking in their stance, she went still. Mistress Ashley and Blanche Parry hastened to her; all of a sudden, the understanding that she was truly at Mary’s mercy must have struck her, for she pivoted back to Howard. “I beg you, my lord, if only for the family ties between us.” She set a gloved hand on his sleeve. “At least permit me the services of my squire. My travel chest is heavy. He must carry it for me.”

It was an ineffectual excuse, concocted of sheer desperation; Howard must have realized it. Any one of those brawny yeomen could see to her traveling chest, but he looked as if he were actually considering it. His gaze lifted to where I stood by Cinnabar. Kate had also gone immobile by her mare, hooded and cloaked, as if uncertain what to do.

“No men,” Howard intoned. “My orders are clear. Only Your Grace’s women.”

“Please, my lord,” Elizabeth implored. “He’s but a servant. What harm can he do?”

“Plenty,” said Howard curtly, “if he’s the same man I think he is.”

He knew who I was. He had known all along. Could he actually be abetting me?

I dropped the reins and went to him. “My lord,” I said, “Her Grace is ill. Surely she merits this consideration.” My voice lowered. “It could be that one day she will find herself in a better position to reward your compassion.”

His mouth worked. As I surmised, Lord William Howard was no sycophant. He had defended London, putting himself in harm’s way to protect the throne. He had his honor to uphold. My appeal must have stirred his already conflicted conscience, for he nodded once, tersely. “He may assist. But after that, he must depart. I cannot,” he added, a hint of apology in his tone, “gainsay the queen. If I earn her reproof, how can I be a friend to Your Grace?”

Elizabeth sighed. “Thank you, my lord.” She drew herself erect. The yeomen closed in around her. She walked into the palace, Kate, Ashley, and Parry behind. Lifting the brass-banded leather chest from the cart, I caught Howard’s gaze.

His impervious mask had slipped, revealing a troubled countenance.

“Whatever you plan,” he muttered, “you’d best act fast.”

* * *

I hurried after Elizabeth. The passage was clammy, the vaulted stone ceiling low above our heads. We were brought to closed chambers without any windows, furnished with only the essentials. It was freezing; there were no braziers. Stepping back through the antechamber without a word, the yeomen bowed and shut the door on us.

Mistress Parry gaped in dismay. Ashley stomped her foot. “This is an outrage! Does Her Majesty mean to murder us by ague?”

Elizabeth sank wearily onto a stool, as if her bones had turned to water.

I deposited the chest on the floor. “Your letter,” I said. “I’ll take it to someone who doesn’t want to see you imprisoned any more than Howard does.”

She regarded me blankly. “Letter?”

“Yes, your letter to the queen. The one I asked you to write. Please, Your Grace. We must hurry. There is little time.”

Mistress Parry intervened. “I–I didn’t believe you. And we had no means. They confiscated the ink, quills, and paper from her chamber at Ashridge. She couldn’t write anything, so I … I didn’t give her your message.”

As Elizabeth whipped her stare to Parry, Kate knelt to rummage in her tapestry bag. She pulled out a sheaf of paper, a sharpened quill, and a small bottle of ink. Turning to the table, Elizabeth removed the stopper from the ink and dipped the quill. She paused, her hand poised over the paper. She looked at me. Then she leaned forward and started writing, her quill scratching furiously in the silence.

Kate watched me. I found it difficult to meet her eyes, to see the fear in them and know it was because I had failed to keep us safe. There was still time, though; if I could reach the queen and convince her, I might yet be able to avert the worst.

Elizabeth turned the page over, her tongue showing through her clenched teeth. Then she stopped writing as abruptly as she’d begun, perusing the page. She appeared to be deliberating, looking over her words for errors. Satisfied, she inked her quill again and slashed diagonal lines through the space at the bottom of the page before she signed it.

“Sand,” she said. Kate searched her bag again. “I didn’t bring any,” she said. She cursed. “We were in such a rush when the news came that we-we-” As I saw her falter, overwhelmed by the emotion she had held in check, Elizabeth pulled her close.

“Not you,” she murmured. “Not my brave Kate. Don’t you dare. If you start crying, then so shall I, and we both know all the tears in the world will not avail us.”

Over Kate’s head, Elizabeth lifted her gaze to me. She couldn’t know that I had betrayed Kate and taken another woman to my bed, but in that moment it was though she saw into the darkest part of me. In her regard I found the acceptance that I had denied myself, the understanding that she, too, had been prey to illicit desire. Yet her gaze also warned that those we loved must not suffer for it. There was no reason they should know how far we had trespassed.

“I must go.” My voice was raw. Kate turned from the princess, a trembling hand at her mouth. I made myself return her frightened look, putting my hand on my chest over the inner pocket of my doublet, where I had hidden the jeweled leaf.

“The tide will soon turn,” I told Elizabeth as she blew on the letter, drying the ink as best she could before folding it. I took it from her, stashed it in my cloak. “They can’t take you by barge to the Tower then. Do whatever it takes to ensure you stay here overnight.”