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a lady
to entice her man.
    This one showed two lovers, standing side by side in a garden,
the lady fair and smiling.
    ‘Your stitching is as expert as the guild’s work, Anne. This
looks just like Edward and me.’
    ‘Thank you, my lady.’
    And because she pleased the Lady Joan, Anne did not have to beg
for alms from men and women with purses such as these.
    ‘I know! Make one of these for Sir Nicholas to give to his lady
as a thank you from me. Find out who she is. That will keep his thoughts away
from other things.’
    His lady. Of course he must have one. ‘But what if it doesn’t?’
Anne knew enough of him to know he was not a stupid man. ‘What if he asks of
things he must not know?’
    Lady Joan paused, staring at Anne as if she had not understood
the question. ‘Why, then, you will lie,’ she said, as if she had said Anne might
sup on beef stew.

Chapter Four
    Y ou will lie.
    Could she? When she opened her mouth, would the words come out?
    She would, because she must.
    Because her whole life was a lie.
    She reminded herself of that, after the evening meal, when she looked for Nicholas in the Hall. Her lady had asked that she befriend him and befriend him she would, ignoring the fact that the idea appealed to her for reasons her lady must not know.
    As before, she saw him standing alone at the edge of the Hall, looking out over the dancers. She joined him, relieved he had not moved in the time it took for her to hobble to his side. He could easily escape her and she could not chase him around the Hall.
    ‘I hope you do not mind my company,’ she said, as she sank onto the bench and leaned against the stone wall. Her leg ached and she wished she could rub it.
    ‘I wonder why you seek mine,’ he said, in a sour tone. ‘I seem to do nothing but insult you.’
    She felt heat in her cheeks. ‘Forgive me. I must be ever pleasant and positive with the Countess.’ She pulled her needlework out from its pouch and fumbled with the needle and thread. ‘Sometimes, I...’ She bit her tongue.
    ‘Tire of it?’
    ‘Do you not? Are there not times you want to say something the Prince would not wish to hear?’
    He smiled, sheepishly.
    So that had happened. Recently. ‘I can see that you have.’ She wondered what impolitic thing he had wanted to say. And whether it had been about her lady.
    ‘I’ll keep your secret,’ he said, the smile warmer now, ‘if you’ll keep mine.’
    She had to return his grin and, for a moment, she felt as if they were partners instead of adversaries.
    ‘You have my promise,’ she said.
    Relationships, promises, loyalties. In the end, that was all a King had. That was what allowed him to rule. That was what kept the world from falling utterly to dust and what kept Anne from starving alone.
    Nicholas was loyal to Edward. He would find what Edward wanted him to find.
    All would be as it must.
    As she stitched, the noise of the after-supper entertainment rose. Singing, dancing, the tumbling and juggling echoed around the hall.
    Old Robert the Fool rolled across the floor in a somersault, then jumped to his feet in front of them, tossing and catching five painted wooden balls. ‘And who is this new arrival come before us?’
    ‘A juggler like yourself,’ she answered, putting down the alms purse. ‘Sir Nicholas Lovayne.’
    He turned to her with a frown.
    She ignored him.
    ‘Ah,’ Old Robert said, both tongue and hands still moving, ‘this is the miracle worker I’ve heard of. The one who can make Eve into the Virgin Mary.’
    Shamed, Anne flushed, silent. Fools had licence others did not, but it was a blatant reference to her lady. And not a flattering one. She hoped Joan would never hear of it.
    ‘Look lively, Sir Miracle Worker.’ The fool tossed a ball to Nicholas.
    Astonished, she watched him catch it and throw it back and suddenly, they were juggling the five between them and Nicholas was smiling again.
    When, finally, he missed a catch, he picked up the fallen ball and