“That is not true, I’m sure,” Howard says.
“Do not worry for my feelings; I have born his humiliations for six years now. I can bear another in the knowledge that I shall have the final laugh.”
Parr stirs – she talks so sparingly that Cleves is never quite sure whether she is half asleep in their meetings. “He is a fool,” she says. “If you are present at the unveiling, it will be obvious that you are not thewoman he seeks to portray you as. People may once have convinced themselves to his way of thinking, but his power is waning.”
Cleves shifts in her seat. She is comfortable playing the fool. Parr may be paying her a compliment, but she does not like the thought of people knowing the truth of her. “It matters not either way,” she says. “Tell us – what happened in Capetia?”
Parr smiles grimly. “He signed a new treaty with them. The Capetian king was a most attentive host to us all.”
She emphasises thatall, so that they know that she means Mary Boleyn, the woman who will shortly take her sister’s place as Queen of Brynd. So much for Capetia’s supposed loyalty to Boleyn. Cleves is not surprised – kings and courtiers will always serve their own interests above anyone else’s – but Howard flinches.
“Surely he made some reference to Boleyn?” Howard says.
Parr shakes her head, not unkindly, as Aragon says, “Of course he did not. Do you wish Capetia to start a war with Elben for the sake of your dead friend?”
Howard stammers. “I’m sure I did not mean …”
“It is merely good foreign policy,” Cleves says. “If it makes you feel better, sister, he’d have behaved the same way if any of us were in Boleyn’s place.”
Howard tugs at her hair, mortified. Cleves tries to imagine what it must be like to be raised from minor nobility to the queen of a nation. Not merely a queen, but one who must also hold her own alongside women such as herself and Aragon, who were born into royalty, and alongside Parr and Boleyn, who spent their formative years in royal courts. Poor girl. It is a wonder she strings two words together at all in their presence. Aragon alone is intimidating enough to silence all but the boldest of women.
“So Henry is fearful,” Aragon says. “A few years ago he would never have sought an alliance with Capetia. He fears that Quisto will come down on our side – and perhaps Ezzonid too – and seeks to bolster his own defences.”
Cleves considers this. To her chagrin, it makes sense. She remembers the men who came to Elben on Johana’s boat. “He and Cromwell are brewing something, I am sure of it,” she says. “He has summoned foreign religious men to High Hall.”
Parr rubs her forehead. “He is likely doing as we are doing: searching for information. If I were him, I would be looking for ways to separate Medren’s power from us queens entirely.”
“But you are speaking as though Henry knows we are working against him,” Howard says, her voice high.
Aragon rolls her eyes and says something rude in Quistoan.
“He does not know,” Parr says. “At least, I had no indication that he knows. But he would be a fool not to put precautions in place.”
“Indeed. Why do you think he has suddenly commissioned Master Holbein to paint us?” Cleves says. Aragon opens her mouth, ready to answer, but Cleves holds up a hand. Let the girl have a moment to think. Howard frowns, lines appearing on her smooth forehead.
“Because … because he wishes to humiliate you … and in doing so he seeks to ensure we remain divided.”
“Precisely,” Parr says, her voice honey.
“We should not be surprised if he attempts to test our loyalty,” Cleves says. She shifts in her seat. The cushion is not thick enough; she must tell her steward to arrange for it to be re-stuffed. Her movement wakes Lelij from his slumber at the bottom of her bed. He crawls sleepily into her lap, crushing her against the windowpane.
“You are right,” Aragon says. “I should have thought of that myself.”
“Well, you must leave something for the rest of us to do, sister,” Cleves says. She is suddenly very tired. Seymour’s absence niggles at her, and there is something else – a memory that has been yawning from deep slumber ever since Johana came to Cnothan. Another time, long ago, when loyalties were tested and blood edged every deed.
The other queens are talking again, of possible tests that Henry might throw at them. It is all immaterial. The tests will come when they come. Why are they guessing when there is so much to be done that does not need to be guessed? Cleves holds up a hand again, and all but Aragon fall silent.
“I am not one of your mongrels to bark on command, Cleves,” Aragon says, eyeing Lelij with disdain.
“Indeed no, Queen Aragon. You are a pedigree if ever I saw one,” Cleves says, smiling sweetly.
Aragon hisses as she leans forward, and if she had free use of her legs Cleves could almost imagine her stamping her way across Elben to whip Cleves herself.
Parr sighs. “Must we exchange such barbs? Sisters, please.”
Cleves catches Howard’s eye, and to her surprise she sees no merriment there. She had half made the jape to entertain Howard, to make her feel more at home, for she has heard through her oldlady-in-waiting how Howard’s household is run on gossip and the trading of petty powers. But no. Howard’s eyes are bright with tears, her lips pressed together. Cleves had thought that Howard must be intimidated by them, and the thought had pleased her passingly. But how can anyone be intimidated by spiteful insults? How can one hold such queens in esteem? Cleves has played right into Henry’s hands for the sake of an easy joke.
Lelij stirs, nuzzles Cleves to stroke him.
