My breath catches as I look at them. I’m afraid to move or speak too loud. “Where did you get those?” I ask him.
He casually tosses them in the air and catches them, reverting back to his autopilot playfulness. “I stole them. How else would they come into my possession?”
He tucks them under his arm and I swallow hard while trying not to focus on them too anxiously.
“And what are you planning to do with them?”
He leans back on the wall as he looks at me with a considering gaze. “I could use them against you. I was meant to be the king’s watchdog while he was away and we aren’t as close aswe used to be. If I give them to him, he would forgive me for my poor performance and reward me for my loyalty.”
“I’m sure he would,” I reply quietly.
“But that would be rather boring, wouldn’t it?” He grabs the letters from under his arm and tosses them over to me with an arcing throw. I catch them like my life depends on it, which might actually be the case. I look down at the papers in my hands, filled with so much relief and hope that I barely know what to think.
“Why are you giving these to me?” I hear myself ask.
Thomas takes a small step closer to me. “Because I protect the people I love.”
His L-bomb shakes me to my core, but I’m still so distracted by the letters that I don’t respond to him until he’s halfway down the hall.
“I love you, too, Thomas! In a friendship way!” My voice reaches him in the distance, prompting him to stop and turn back to me with a playful tilt to his mouth.
“No, you don’t,” he says. “But you did before you hit your head. And hopefully you will again someday. Let me know if you require any further assistance.”
Ummmm...
That’s as far as my brain takes me until I sense Lady Rochford beside me a minute later.
“Should I inform him of the plan?” she asks. I frantically nod while I hold up the letters between us. “Inform him,” I tell her. “I’m going to get rid of these.”
“Do it now. The rooms in this hall keep embers burning all day, and the ashes will be gone in hours.”
She sets off after Thomas, and I dart into the room closest to me. I fall to my knees in front of the hearth, unfolding each letter with shaking hands. They’re all letters from Francis, written in the same handwriting until I get to the last page.
There it is. Catherine’s story. It’s folded up more than the other papers and is written in decidedly feminine script. I can barely understand a word of it, but at the bottom, it’s signedCatherine.
A bit of her soul. This is what Matthias needs to send me home!
I throw Francis’s letters into the fire, making sure that they’re burned beyond recognition before I take off running. I run and I run. Down and down. Through the corridors, through the servants’ hall, until I’m just outside Matthias’s door. I don’t bother to knock, instead just flinging it open as I hold Catherine’s story up over my head.
“Matthias, I have it!” My jubilant yell turns to nothing as I focus on the room around me. It’s empty. Eerily, entirely empty.
I walk farther inside, and nothing remains. No mean bird. No mountain of books. No Matthias. The only evidence that he was ever here are the stag antlers over the fireplace. I guess he wasn’t able to hide it this time.
I hear footsteps in the hallway behind me, and I rush out to see who they belong to. A servant is passing by with a tray of bread.
“Excuse me,” I call out.
The man turns and moves toward me, and I step back inside the room. Once he joins me, his gaze jolts open in shock. He bows so low that he nearly drops his bread to the floor. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. I didn’t recognize you.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I assure him. “I’m sorry to bother you, but do you know what happened to the man who used to live here?”
He looks inside the room, still startled but growing calmer. “You mean Matthias? Creditors came looking for him this morning and he snuck off through a back stairwell. Said you could have his stag antlers.”
No. Please, please no.
“He did?” I ask softly.
The man nods. “Beg your pardon, Your Majesty, but if you don’t want them, I’d be glad to take them off you. That bollocks of an astrologer owed me three shillings.”
