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within stopped me dead in my tracks. I broke off singing in mid-verse. A moment later I was running toward the door, for I had recognized the king’s voice. He was berating Father for losing me.
    “I am here!” I cried.
    King Henry stood in the middle of the workroom. He turned a fearsome glare on me, causing me to skid to a stop, throat dry and heart pounding. The yeomen of the guard and the other minions who always accompanied His Grace had ranged themselves along the walls, as far away from the king’s wrath as they could manage to be without actually fleeing the workroom.
    From the expression on old Mistress Yerdeley’s face—pure terror—as she cowered in a corner, she had been the first to feel the lash of royal anger. Father looked only slightly less shaken, but he was quick to rush to my side. Pocket, showing his mettle, stuck his head out from beneath a bench and let out one of his baying barks before retreating to safety once more.
    “Here she is now, Your Grace!” Father said in a loud voice. “Safe and sound. But where have you been, Audrey? Have I not told you that you must not roam about the palace alone?”
    “Leave the girl be, Malte!”
    The king’s command was law. Father dropped back. Belatedly, I remembered to curtsey.
    “Rise, Audrey.” His Grace no longer sounded angry and when I dared look at him again, I saw that his face wore a rueful smile. Slowly it dawned on me that the king’s fury had not been becauseI was absent from the workroom when I should have been waiting obediently for Father to return, but because he, like Father, had been genuinely concerned for my safety.
    “I beg your pardon, Your Majesty, for causing so much trouble.”
    “It is easy to forgive a pretty girl,” the king said. “Now tell me, Audrey, what was that song you were singing?”
    “I do not know its title, Your Grace.”
    “Mayhap I should ask you, then, where you learned it.”
    “In the chapel, Your Grace.” I hesitated, then decided it would be best if I confessed the full extent of my transgressions. “I go there sometimes, to listen to the choristers rehearse. They make very fine music,” I added in an earnest voice.
    “And you have a very fine voice, but that particular hymn is perhaps not the best choice for a girl of your years. It is called ‘Black Sanctus, or the monk’s hymn to Satan.’ Did you know that?”
    “No, Your Grace,” I whispered. “I am exceeding sorry. I will never sing it again.” I wished I could crawl into a hole and vanish. I was certain that anything to do with the devil must be very bad indeed.
    The king studied me for a long moment, making me tremble inside. He had been quick to go from anger to good humor. I feared he could return to the former emotion just as fast.
    “You must have lessons,” he announced, taking me by surprise. “A singing master. I will send young Harington to you, the very lad who wrote both the words and the music to that song you were singing. You have good taste in music, Audrey. I often sing that one myself, for it is a cleverly written antimonastic hymn.” He laughed at this last comment and all his minions laughed with him.
    I did not understand the reason for their amusement, but I stammered my thanks. I was elated by the news that I was to have lessons. To be taught the proper way to sing seemed the mostwonderful boon anyone could grant me, even better than the king’s earlier gift, my dear companion, Pocket.
    “We are most grateful, Your Grace.” Father echoed my sentiments, sounding sincere, but I could not help but notice that his brow was deeply furrowed. Something worried him about the idea.
    “She shall have a dancing master, too,” the king declared. “It will do no harm for her to learn all the courtly arts. Do you know how to read, Audrey?”
    “A little,” I said, bolder now. “And I can write a bit, too. And cipher.”
    Father placed one hand on my shoulder and waited until the king shifted his gaze from me to