The Harlot’s Daughter. Blythe Gifford

      They lunged towards each other, tempers flaring, while the guards hung back, uncertain whether to protect the King or Gloucester.

      Justin stepped between them. ‘Please, Your Majesty, Gloucester.’ Each stepped away, glowering.

      Richard gritted his teeth. ‘I will see all these grants allowed, including…’ he looked at Gloucester, hate glowing in his eyes ‘…the one for the harlot’s daughter.’

      ‘You’ll see none of them,’ Gloucester said. ‘Least of all that one!’ He stomped out of the room without asking for leave.

      Richard stood rigid with shock. Or anger.

      Justin repressed his resentment. The King cared nothing for Solay except as a pawn to infuriate his uncle and the Council. ‘Your Majesty, the Council has finished its review. There will be no more grants.’

      Richard turned to Justin, his entire face pinched with rage. ‘Be careful, Lord Justin.’ His voice quavered with anger. ‘Your Council may have power now, but I was born a King. Nothing can change that, especially not you and your puny law.’

      A shiver slithered down Justin’s back. When this man returned to power, he would grab what he wanted without a care for justice or the law. And Justin had been very, very much in the way of what he wanted.

      On the afternoon of the twelfth day of Christmas, Solay was ushered into the King’s private solar to present her reading. The King dismissed everyone but the Queen and Hibernia, an indication that he was taking her reading very seriously.

      Solay’s fingers shook as she smoothed the parchment with her new drawing. Her family’s fate lay on its surface.

      ‘Your Majesty,’ she began, ‘was born under the sign of the goat on the day three kings were in attendance on the babe in the manger. Surely this is auspicious. In addition—’

      ‘This is all well known,’ Hibernia scoffed. ‘Can you tell us nothing new?’

      She put aside the chart. Hibernia had tolerated her for Agnes’s sake, but after what the last astrologer had said about him, he had no love of the art.

      ‘Well, I believe there may be.’ Her breath was shallow. Now. Now she must risk it. ‘Is Your Majesty sure you were born near the third hour after sunrise?’

      Silence shimmered. How could one doubt the King?

      ‘Of course I’m sure. My mother told me.’

      Next to him, Anne put a gentle hand on his arm and gave Solay a look that was hard to decipher. ‘Why do you ask?’

      Solay swallowed. ‘My calculations suggest the hour was closer to nones.’ That would have meant the middle of the afternoon.

      ‘Impossible,’ said the King.

      QueenAnne stared at Solay, then turned to her husband and whispered. The King’s eyes widened and they both stared at her.

      She swallowed in the lengthening silence.

      ‘Who told you this?’ the King said.

      ‘No one. I was simply trying to read the planets. Of course, I am no expert and could easily be wrong.’

      ‘But you could not easily be right.’

      She looked from one to another. ‘Am I right?’

      The Queen spoke with her customary calm. ‘Richard’s mother once told me she had put out a false time of birth so as not to give the astrologers too much power.’

      Her body burned with a heat that did not come from the hearth. Power. The unfamiliar fire of power. The truth of her startling prediction had given her something she had never before possessed.

      Power enough for him to fear.

      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