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I had watched them drag her away to be questioned – perhaps even hurt and badly frightened – and had done nothing, had used no magick art to confuse their minds or play one man against another. Although Blanche and I had never been friends, she served Elizabeth as I did and for that she deserved my loyalty. Yet like a coward, I had said nothing and thought only of my own safety. Even now I could feel myself trembling like a mouse in a cornfield, hardly daring to breathe in case the Inquisition changed their minds and came back for me too.
    I wondered if we would ever again see Blanche alive.

THREE
The Conjuror’s Cell
    Elizabeth shuddered and covered her face in her hands. ‘Poor foolish Blanche! What will they do to her?’
    With a cautious glance at Father Vasco, still asleep on the settle behind us, Alejandro shook his head. ‘Whatever powers the Inquisition may have been given here, my lady, you are still the Queen’s sister. They would not dare harm one of your women.’
    I looked at Alejandro. His reassurance was well-meant, but I knew his words to be empty. The Inquisition were cruel and barbaric in their methods; they were capable of any evil in pursuit of their prey, even torturing innocent women and children to make the men they were shielding came forward. Besides, if they would not harm Elizabeth or her servants, why had he looked at me with such fear?
    Rising to her feet, Elizabeth clutched at her full skirts and stumbled towards her bedchamber. ‘I am unwell. I must . . . lie down.’
    Alejandro hurried to her side, muttering something in Spanish. Elizabeth managed an unsteady laugh and replied in the same language, then gripped his shoulder to stay on her feet.
    He supported her into her chamber while I readied herbed, plumping the bolsters for her head and tidying the covers where she had thrown them aside that morning on waking.
    Discreetly, Alejandro bowed and left the chamber, though the look he shot me was grim.
    I undressed the princess as quickly as I could. My fingers fumbled with the difficult fastenings of her gown. Elizabeth looked sicker every minute, her face becoming deathly white, her body trembling as she waited for me to finish. It was almost as though she had fallen under a spell, the fit had come upon her so rapidly. It had to be her old illness, the one she had suffered so often at Woodstock and which had kept her confined to her bed for weeks on end. Blanche had claimed there was no cure for it but bed rest, though the discomfort could be lessened with herbal remedies and the application of cool scented cloths to the forehead, wrists and ankles.
    No doubt the shock of seeing Blanche dragged away by the Inquisition had been enough to bring on another bout of her illness . . .
    I tried to remove Elizabeth’s rings, but her fingers had swollen so much it was impossible. I draped a robe about her shoulders, then guided her into bed.
    ‘My lady, let me call for one of the Queen’s doctors,’ I murmured, and drew the covers up to her chin.
    Elizabeth lay there shivering, her eyes closed. She shook her head. ‘My sister needs their assistance more than I,’ shewhispered. ‘What if her baby comes and they are not on hand to help her?’
    ‘It will not take long. The birthing room is only a few minutes away. You are not well and should be examined by a doctor.’
    She turned her head aside, choking, and I was just in time with a bowl to catch her vomit. I found a cloth and wiped her face clean afterwards, smoothing back her red hair on the pillows.
    Elizabeth became more peaceful after that, no longer clutching at the covers with her long swollen fingers, though her body still trembled as though with an ague. I could find no fever in her, but I was not skilled in the treatment of the sick and did not know what signs I should be looking for.
    ‘Try to sleep, my lady,’ I whispered, though I sensed she was already too far gone to hear me. ‘I will find a woman to sit with you