Secret Admirer by Michele Jaffe
“Yes.”
“—most generous, the—what?”
“Do you want to marry me as much as I want to marry you, Lawrence?”
“No.” He shook his head emphatically. “I want to marry you more, sweetheart. I want to marry you tomorrow. And later I want to have babies.”
“Later?”
“Yes when—” He stopped. “Bianca. That is why you asked. Oh. Oh my. Are you—? Did we—? Sweetheart, is it true?”
Tuesday could not keep the tears out of her eyes at how excited he was. “Yes. But I did not want you to know. I did not want you to think I was manipulating you. I did not want to win you back for the wrong reasons.”
“You did not have to win me back, Tuesday. You never lost me.”
The ball at Pickering Hall was the most lavish of any season in anyone’s memory. There were so many people and musicians and servants there that almost no one noticed the absence of the betrothal pair. By the time the dinner was served, Olivia Waverly was on her way to Paris with her sizeable marriage settlement and the handsome, sweet, charming, and loyal groomsman with whom she’d been in love for four years.
By the time the fireworks were going off, Lawrence and Tuesday were too distracted to notice.
In the unfinished expansion of the Pickering Hall banqueting house the Arboretti—joined by Grub Collins and Tom and Christopher and CeCe—drank a toast to Lawrence’s lighted window.
“May they live long and happily together,” Grub proclaimed and they all raised their glasses in agreement.
Later they all grudgingly emptied their purses to Crispin.
The Lion lay in bed that night and touched his W and listened to the clocks around London chime midnight. It sounded beautiful, like a death toll. Every passing minute brought him closer to the day. The day of the Grand Tournament. The day when there would be no more Waiting.
The day when there would be a Wedding.
Chapter 39
Tuesday reached up and traced Lawrence’s smile with her fingertip.
“Good morning sweetheart,” he said, kissing it.
“Good morning, Lawrence.” She gazed up at him. “This is real, isn’t it? This is not a dream.”
“No.”
“What happened last night. That was real, too?”
“Yes.”
“So you love me? And we are going to get married?”
“And have a baby. Yes.”
She gulped. “Oh.”
“You don’t sound entirely pleased.”
She did not say anything.
“Tuesday, is something wrong?”
She reached up and pulled him down to her, so he could not see her face. She whispered, “I am so scared.”
“Of what, sweetheart?”
“Of being too happy. Of losing you again.”
He pulled away so he could look right in her eyes as he said, “I will always be here. I will always be by your side.”
It wasn’t strictly true. During the next two weeks, Lawrence and Tuesday were forced to spend at least ten hours apart, between the fittings for her gown and Lawrence’s having to seek a special license from the archbishop. But they always spent their nights together. And together they counted down the days. Until their wedding.
The Lion could not hold still. This was it! This was the day!
Already the knights and ladies were starting to fill the stands. They came early to get good positions. They all wanted to be close to him.
And they had dressed up. He loved that they put on their finery for him. Not that he had much use for anyone but his Lady, but it showed they knew how to honor him. Understood how great he was.
He wondered if any knight had ever felt as powerful as he felt then. He had never been defeated! No knight that had gone against him in battle had ever come out alive!
“Tom, you’ll be stationed in front of the side door,” a voice broke into his thoughts and he almost lost it.
“Don’t call me that!” he wanted to shout. “Call me the Lion! Call me by my Right Name.” But he knew he had to wait. Only a few more minutes.
“Yes sir,” the Lion told the Knight of Knights. “I’ll make sure no one comes in that way.”
Lawrence put an arm on his shoulder and gave him a smile. “I know I can count on you.”
Count on me to kill you! The Lion thought. He could have taken off that arm right there. It would have been so easy. But he knew he should wait for the Watchers.
Despite the impropriety of their wedding—as every London gossip pointed out, the woman ought to have been in mourning, and the man, well, he was engaged to someone else as recently as two weeks ago—the nave of the church was packed. Tuesday had hoped that the fact they had not posted any banns or told anyone but close friends would have made the ceremony unattended, and to a certain extent she was right. If they’d done it properly, CeCe assured her, there would have been at least a thousand people instead of only five hundred.
Lawrence’s men were stationed around the perimeter, more to keep the courtly guests from having their pockets picked too badly by some of his less upstanding friends, than from any threat he felt to himself. The sheer number of witnesses would keep the weapons of his enemies in check more than any guards he knew.
The Lion stood at his post as the spectators filed in and listened to the mingled sound of the voices. He could not make out many words but they were almost all Whispering, and the soft hissing made his toes tingle. He could pick out the ones who would be cheering against him—that woman in the pink dress, she was of the Knight of Knight’s party—and he decided to kill them first. Thin the crowd. That way his people would have a better view of the real fight.
Something jostled the Lion’s arm and he looked over to see—
A dog! The dogs had found him they were coming for him
—a young boy. “Sir,” the boy said, “could I sit on your shoulders? I can’t see anything.”
The Lion scowled at him and was fingering his knife when a girl came and pulled him away. “I am sorry, sir,” she said, and he realized it was the same girl he had almost killed that time outside Tuesday’s house. The girl named Lucy Burns. She looked down at her brother. “James, you must not bother the soldiers.”
“But I want to see!” the boy cried.
The Lion decided he would spare the girl but kill the boy. She would thank him, he could tell. She Worshiped him.
He was feeling love, adulation, from everyone. The signs were everywhere, urging him on. Above the altar there were a row of Ws and the heads of the crowd spelled W and he had begun seeing it on people’s foreheads. Anyone without a W would die. No, he thought to himself, they would Want one.
He wanted to kill someone right then, just one person, just to tide him over until it was time. The woman in pink glanced at him and he could see her thoughts. “What are you Waiting for?” she was thinking, and he decided he would start with her. He was about to take his knife out of his sleeve when the crowd suddenly grew hushed. They were all looking at him,’ he knew. Out of their secret eyes. They were all Waiting for him.
He felt himself growing larger as they looked at him. He was too good to kill the lady in pink. She was nothing. He was huge now, huge with the power inside of him. As his Lady appeared from a side door, he thought he might explode.
She was wearing a jade green dress with two dragonflies on the bosom. Everyone else noticed that they were made of rubies, that they trailed a twining path of diamonds in their wake, which circled around the waist of the dress and spiraled down its skirt. Everyone else admired the hem of the gown where an emerald lawn grew, each blade of grass jeweled individually and dotted with snapdragons, sweet peas, carnations, and roses, all made of precious stones. Everyone else was astonished by the bride’s exquisite, radiant beauty. But the Lion saw only the way the dragonflies spelled W, spelled I love you, spelled slay the knight, spelled I am your Lady, spelled KILL LAWRENCE PICKERING.
&nbs
p; He flew over the heads of the crowd toward her, to welcome her, to embrace her, to lay claim to her as his own. He saw her turn to look at him, really see him for the first time as he was, her Knight, and he could tell from her expression that he impressed her admirably.
His Lordship saw him, too, and tried to move toward him—everyone wanted to touch him, he was the Winner—but he was faster and got to his Lady first. He clutched her to him, hard, and he could feel how glad she was to be in his arms.
“You are doing very Well,” he told her as she struggled against him. He knew she had to make it look like he was holding her against her will, so that the Knight of Knights would challenge him. Once that happened, she could admit everything. Admit they had been fooling the Knight. Admit she belonged to the Lion.
“What are you doing, Tom?” she asked, and he loved the fear she put in her voice.
“You know my real name,” he chastised her.
He saw her gulp. He put his knife near the place where her throat moved when she swallowed, so he could be touching her. He could see how much she liked it.
“Tell me,” she begged. Oh, she was Wonderful. Wonderful.
“My real name is the Lion.”
He could see that she was swooning with ecstasy. She was so conscious of the honor he was doing her. He would have liked to kiss her. He put his knife on her lips and traced them slowly instead.
A sword point touched his back. “Let Lady Arlington go,” he heard the Knight of Knights say.
A sword point. As if that could hurt him. As if anything they had could. He was immune to their weapons. He did not even turn around. He said, “If you do not back away from me and my Lady I will drive this knife into her chest.”
He wasn’t kidding either. He was going to do it later, of course, but in private. He thought she would like to meet his W in private.
He felt the sword point retreat. “What are you doing, Tom?” the Knight of Knights asked.
“That is not my name!” Tom shouted. He squeezed his Lady’s throat. “Tell them my name.”
“The Lion,” Tuesday choked out. “He is the Lion.”
“The Knight called the Lion,” he corrected. He turned so that he was facing the entire church. Everyone was awestruck by him. They all stared and did not say a word.
“You are the Lion?” the Knight of Knights asked.
“Yes,” Tom said proudly.
Then the Knight of Knights laughed.
Tom swung toward him, swinging his Lady with him. A trickle of blood appeared on her neck. “You dare to laugh at me?”
Lawrence stared at him. “You’re no knight. You’re just a boy.”
“I am not a boy,” Tom said. “I am a knight. The greatest Knight. And I am going to prove it.”
“I’d like to see that,” Lawrence said, sarcastic. It was taking every ounce of restraint he had to keep his tone light, but he guessed the only way to catch Tom off guard was by antagonizing him.
“I already have,” Tom sneered. “I killed all those men and you never knew.”
“Anyone could have done that,” Lawrence said coolly.
“You think so? What about when I killed Sir Curtis right under your nose? I had to drop the lantern that day when I took you to see the bodies so you wouldn’t see me laughing. But you never guessed! You never guessed! And Albert Marston? First I hired him to be my witness, and then I lured him to Worthington Hall and killed him. And you all thought the Lion was dead. I fooled you completely! With a stupid wax scar!”
“That’s true,” Lawrence admitted. “But it still doesn’t make you great.”
“My Lady knows I am great,” Tom said, then jabbed Tuesday in the throat. “Don’t you?”
“Yes,” Tuesday whispered.
Tom looked at Lawrence triumphantly but the Knight of Knights only shook his head. “A person with a knife at their throat will say anything.”
“I have proof!” Tom declared. “She painted those paintings for me. She painted them by the Window so I could Watch. That was how it started. You had me observing Worthington Hall when the smuggling operation began, remember? I was to keep on Sir Curtis like a fly. But right after I started, Sir Curtis left. She made him leave. So she could have me. And she painted her paintings so that I would keep Watching her.”
“Why would she want that? Why didn’t she just invite you in?” Lawrence asked.
The Lion stared at him. “I had to Win her. I saw the paintings and I knew they were a sign. For my quest. I learned all about her past. All about the other knights who had tried for her but failed. It was their punishment. They were not Worthy of her, but they entered the lists in her name and like all unworthy knights they paid with their hearts. Simple.”
“And then you decided you wanted me involved,” Lawrence suggested.
“Exactly. It was too easy. I needed a more worthy opponent if I was going to win my Lady. So I chose you. The Knight of Knights.”
“This all sounds a little far-fetched.”
The Lion was getting fed up with him. “That is because you can’t see the signs. You aren’t the one chosen for the quest. You are not the Winner. No one cares how it sounds to you. No one cares about you. After today, no one will even remember your name.”
“Really? What is going to happen today?”
The Lion looked around the room and then at his adversary. “The Grand Tournament. Where do you think we are?”
“This is the end of your quest?”
“Yes. I have completed my adventures. I have slain many knights and some dragons. And now I will slay the Knight of Knights—that is you—at the Grand Tournament.”
“Why?” Lawrence asked.
“To prove that I am the best.” Tom spoke with impatience, as if explaining something to a child. “You are the best now. When I kill you, it will show I am better. Therefore I will be the best knight.”
“What is the prize?”
“My lady’s heart.”
“But that is hers to give.”
Tom scoffed. “She wants me to have it.” He looked down at his Lady. He could see the encouragement in her eyes. The way the W in her bodice rose and fell to get closer to him. She did not know what was going to happen next, so he Winked at her to let her know not to worry. Then he said, “Look, I’ve even had a special pouch made for it.”
He pulled the pouch from his shirt and held it toward Lawrence.
The Knight of Knights took a step forward. One more, the Lion screamed in his head. Take one more and you are mine.
The Knight of Knights took another step.
The Lion lunged toward him, knife high, ready to slash down. Victory pounded in his ears as he felt the Knight of Knight’s skin under his blade, felt his blood exploding over his chest. He looked down and saw that they were both splattered with it, and he licked his lips to taste it. He was so strong, he was on fire. The Knight of Knights was gazing at him with admiration and he could feel his Lady’s eyes Watching him, Worshiping him, could feel them blazing into his chest. Burning into it. Stop, Lady, he wanted to say. You can stop. He looked down and saw the full force of his Lady’s love for him spreading across his tunic, spreading red across his lovely blue suit, like a red rose, growing and growing on his chest. Pricking him with love.
He looked at the Knight of Knights. His chest did not have a rose on it. His Lady truly loved the Lion best, he thought.
Then, as the full force of Grub’s pistol shot burned into him, the Lion collapsed.
It was not hard to clear the church. Everyone was eager to get home and tell what had to be the most sensational news of the year, and they filed out quickly, leaving Lawrence and Tuesday and their closest companions alone in the hulking nave. And the Lion.
Christopher and Grub were guarding him, off to one side of the dais. He had not moved since he fell down, but they had taken the precaution of manacling his hands anyway. Now they stood with their backs to him, screening him fro
m view. On the other side, Bianca was cleaning the cuts in Tuesday’s throat. There were several of them, and one of them was deep so she wanted to make sure it would not get infected. Tuesday, semiconscious, saw Lawrence hovering and whispered something to Bianca, who promptly suggested he go outside and arrange to have his coach brought round.
He refused to move until Tuesday, glassy-eyed from pain, said, “Please Lawrence.” It was, he understood, her way of keeping him from thinking. From reflecting on the mistake, the monster, he had made.
That first moment when Tom stood with his knife at Tuesday’s throat, realizing that Tom was the Lion, had stunned him like a blow to the stomach. He knew that one day he would have to face the responsibility of having trained Tom, having made him what he was. And having let nine men die because he trusted him. But not now. Now he could only think about Tuesday.
When he came back into the church his face was under control. He inched toward the part of the dais where Bianca was still leaning over Tuesday, and stood, straining to see. Suddenly someone was tugging at his arm.
“Tuesday will be all right,” Jack told Lawrence, nodding and rocking back and forth. He smiled, and then his face crumpled. Lawrence put his arm around Jack’s shoulders and the boy buried his eyes in Lawrence’s jacket. “She’ll be all right, she’ll be all right,” he repeated over and over, clutching Lawrence.
“Yes,” Lawrence said, clutching him back, “she will.”
The two men Tuesday loved most in the world stood that way, hugging one another, until Bianca made a discreet sign to Lawrence. He gently released Jack and sat him on the edge of the dais promising to be right back.
“I think it would be a good idea to take Tuesday now,” Bianca started to say to Lawrence when he reached her, but she could see he was not paying attention. He kept going past her, and bent over Tuesday, caressing her forehead with his hand.
“I am so sorry, sweetheart,” he said. “I can’t believe that I—”
Her eyes fluttered open. “Shhh, Lawrence,” she whispered. “It’s no fair starting an argument now. Bianca says I’m not supposed to speak.”
“—most generous, the—what?”
“Do you want to marry me as much as I want to marry you, Lawrence?”
“No.” He shook his head emphatically. “I want to marry you more, sweetheart. I want to marry you tomorrow. And later I want to have babies.”
“Later?”
“Yes when—” He stopped. “Bianca. That is why you asked. Oh. Oh my. Are you—? Did we—? Sweetheart, is it true?”
Tuesday could not keep the tears out of her eyes at how excited he was. “Yes. But I did not want you to know. I did not want you to think I was manipulating you. I did not want to win you back for the wrong reasons.”
“You did not have to win me back, Tuesday. You never lost me.”
The ball at Pickering Hall was the most lavish of any season in anyone’s memory. There were so many people and musicians and servants there that almost no one noticed the absence of the betrothal pair. By the time the dinner was served, Olivia Waverly was on her way to Paris with her sizeable marriage settlement and the handsome, sweet, charming, and loyal groomsman with whom she’d been in love for four years.
By the time the fireworks were going off, Lawrence and Tuesday were too distracted to notice.
In the unfinished expansion of the Pickering Hall banqueting house the Arboretti—joined by Grub Collins and Tom and Christopher and CeCe—drank a toast to Lawrence’s lighted window.
“May they live long and happily together,” Grub proclaimed and they all raised their glasses in agreement.
Later they all grudgingly emptied their purses to Crispin.
The Lion lay in bed that night and touched his W and listened to the clocks around London chime midnight. It sounded beautiful, like a death toll. Every passing minute brought him closer to the day. The day of the Grand Tournament. The day when there would be no more Waiting.
The day when there would be a Wedding.
Chapter 39
Tuesday reached up and traced Lawrence’s smile with her fingertip.
“Good morning sweetheart,” he said, kissing it.
“Good morning, Lawrence.” She gazed up at him. “This is real, isn’t it? This is not a dream.”
“No.”
“What happened last night. That was real, too?”
“Yes.”
“So you love me? And we are going to get married?”
“And have a baby. Yes.”
She gulped. “Oh.”
“You don’t sound entirely pleased.”
She did not say anything.
“Tuesday, is something wrong?”
She reached up and pulled him down to her, so he could not see her face. She whispered, “I am so scared.”
“Of what, sweetheart?”
“Of being too happy. Of losing you again.”
He pulled away so he could look right in her eyes as he said, “I will always be here. I will always be by your side.”
It wasn’t strictly true. During the next two weeks, Lawrence and Tuesday were forced to spend at least ten hours apart, between the fittings for her gown and Lawrence’s having to seek a special license from the archbishop. But they always spent their nights together. And together they counted down the days. Until their wedding.
The Lion could not hold still. This was it! This was the day!
Already the knights and ladies were starting to fill the stands. They came early to get good positions. They all wanted to be close to him.
And they had dressed up. He loved that they put on their finery for him. Not that he had much use for anyone but his Lady, but it showed they knew how to honor him. Understood how great he was.
He wondered if any knight had ever felt as powerful as he felt then. He had never been defeated! No knight that had gone against him in battle had ever come out alive!
“Tom, you’ll be stationed in front of the side door,” a voice broke into his thoughts and he almost lost it.
“Don’t call me that!” he wanted to shout. “Call me the Lion! Call me by my Right Name.” But he knew he had to wait. Only a few more minutes.
“Yes sir,” the Lion told the Knight of Knights. “I’ll make sure no one comes in that way.”
Lawrence put an arm on his shoulder and gave him a smile. “I know I can count on you.”
Count on me to kill you! The Lion thought. He could have taken off that arm right there. It would have been so easy. But he knew he should wait for the Watchers.
Despite the impropriety of their wedding—as every London gossip pointed out, the woman ought to have been in mourning, and the man, well, he was engaged to someone else as recently as two weeks ago—the nave of the church was packed. Tuesday had hoped that the fact they had not posted any banns or told anyone but close friends would have made the ceremony unattended, and to a certain extent she was right. If they’d done it properly, CeCe assured her, there would have been at least a thousand people instead of only five hundred.
Lawrence’s men were stationed around the perimeter, more to keep the courtly guests from having their pockets picked too badly by some of his less upstanding friends, than from any threat he felt to himself. The sheer number of witnesses would keep the weapons of his enemies in check more than any guards he knew.
The Lion stood at his post as the spectators filed in and listened to the mingled sound of the voices. He could not make out many words but they were almost all Whispering, and the soft hissing made his toes tingle. He could pick out the ones who would be cheering against him—that woman in the pink dress, she was of the Knight of Knight’s party—and he decided to kill them first. Thin the crowd. That way his people would have a better view of the real fight.
Something jostled the Lion’s arm and he looked over to see—
A dog! The dogs had found him they were coming for him
—a young boy. “Sir,” the boy said, “could I sit on your shoulders? I can’t see anything.”
The Lion scowled at him and was fingering his knife when a girl came and pulled him away. “I am sorry, sir,” she said, and he realized it was the same girl he had almost killed that time outside Tuesday’s house. The girl named Lucy Burns. She looked down at her brother. “James, you must not bother the soldiers.”
“But I want to see!” the boy cried.
The Lion decided he would spare the girl but kill the boy. She would thank him, he could tell. She Worshiped him.
He was feeling love, adulation, from everyone. The signs were everywhere, urging him on. Above the altar there were a row of Ws and the heads of the crowd spelled W and he had begun seeing it on people’s foreheads. Anyone without a W would die. No, he thought to himself, they would Want one.
He wanted to kill someone right then, just one person, just to tide him over until it was time. The woman in pink glanced at him and he could see her thoughts. “What are you Waiting for?” she was thinking, and he decided he would start with her. He was about to take his knife out of his sleeve when the crowd suddenly grew hushed. They were all looking at him,’ he knew. Out of their secret eyes. They were all Waiting for him.
He felt himself growing larger as they looked at him. He was too good to kill the lady in pink. She was nothing. He was huge now, huge with the power inside of him. As his Lady appeared from a side door, he thought he might explode.
She was wearing a jade green dress with two dragonflies on the bosom. Everyone else noticed that they were made of rubies, that they trailed a twining path of diamonds in their wake, which circled around the waist of the dress and spiraled down its skirt. Everyone else admired the hem of the gown where an emerald lawn grew, each blade of grass jeweled individually and dotted with snapdragons, sweet peas, carnations, and roses, all made of precious stones. Everyone else was astonished by the bride’s exquisite, radiant beauty. But the Lion saw only the way the dragonflies spelled W, spelled I love you, spelled slay the knight, spelled I am your Lady, spelled KILL LAWRENCE PICKERING.
&nbs
His Lordship saw him, too, and tried to move toward him—everyone wanted to touch him, he was the Winner—but he was faster and got to his Lady first. He clutched her to him, hard, and he could feel how glad she was to be in his arms.
“You are doing very Well,” he told her as she struggled against him. He knew she had to make it look like he was holding her against her will, so that the Knight of Knights would challenge him. Once that happened, she could admit everything. Admit they had been fooling the Knight. Admit she belonged to the Lion.
“What are you doing, Tom?” she asked, and he loved the fear she put in her voice.
“You know my real name,” he chastised her.
He saw her gulp. He put his knife near the place where her throat moved when she swallowed, so he could be touching her. He could see how much she liked it.
“Tell me,” she begged. Oh, she was Wonderful. Wonderful.
“My real name is the Lion.”
He could see that she was swooning with ecstasy. She was so conscious of the honor he was doing her. He would have liked to kiss her. He put his knife on her lips and traced them slowly instead.
A sword point touched his back. “Let Lady Arlington go,” he heard the Knight of Knights say.
A sword point. As if that could hurt him. As if anything they had could. He was immune to their weapons. He did not even turn around. He said, “If you do not back away from me and my Lady I will drive this knife into her chest.”
He wasn’t kidding either. He was going to do it later, of course, but in private. He thought she would like to meet his W in private.
He felt the sword point retreat. “What are you doing, Tom?” the Knight of Knights asked.
“That is not my name!” Tom shouted. He squeezed his Lady’s throat. “Tell them my name.”
“The Lion,” Tuesday choked out. “He is the Lion.”
“The Knight called the Lion,” he corrected. He turned so that he was facing the entire church. Everyone was awestruck by him. They all stared and did not say a word.
“You are the Lion?” the Knight of Knights asked.
“Yes,” Tom said proudly.
Then the Knight of Knights laughed.
Tom swung toward him, swinging his Lady with him. A trickle of blood appeared on her neck. “You dare to laugh at me?”
Lawrence stared at him. “You’re no knight. You’re just a boy.”
“I am not a boy,” Tom said. “I am a knight. The greatest Knight. And I am going to prove it.”
“I’d like to see that,” Lawrence said, sarcastic. It was taking every ounce of restraint he had to keep his tone light, but he guessed the only way to catch Tom off guard was by antagonizing him.
“I already have,” Tom sneered. “I killed all those men and you never knew.”
“Anyone could have done that,” Lawrence said coolly.
“You think so? What about when I killed Sir Curtis right under your nose? I had to drop the lantern that day when I took you to see the bodies so you wouldn’t see me laughing. But you never guessed! You never guessed! And Albert Marston? First I hired him to be my witness, and then I lured him to Worthington Hall and killed him. And you all thought the Lion was dead. I fooled you completely! With a stupid wax scar!”
“That’s true,” Lawrence admitted. “But it still doesn’t make you great.”
“My Lady knows I am great,” Tom said, then jabbed Tuesday in the throat. “Don’t you?”
“Yes,” Tuesday whispered.
Tom looked at Lawrence triumphantly but the Knight of Knights only shook his head. “A person with a knife at their throat will say anything.”
“I have proof!” Tom declared. “She painted those paintings for me. She painted them by the Window so I could Watch. That was how it started. You had me observing Worthington Hall when the smuggling operation began, remember? I was to keep on Sir Curtis like a fly. But right after I started, Sir Curtis left. She made him leave. So she could have me. And she painted her paintings so that I would keep Watching her.”
“Why would she want that? Why didn’t she just invite you in?” Lawrence asked.
The Lion stared at him. “I had to Win her. I saw the paintings and I knew they were a sign. For my quest. I learned all about her past. All about the other knights who had tried for her but failed. It was their punishment. They were not Worthy of her, but they entered the lists in her name and like all unworthy knights they paid with their hearts. Simple.”
“And then you decided you wanted me involved,” Lawrence suggested.
“Exactly. It was too easy. I needed a more worthy opponent if I was going to win my Lady. So I chose you. The Knight of Knights.”
“This all sounds a little far-fetched.”
The Lion was getting fed up with him. “That is because you can’t see the signs. You aren’t the one chosen for the quest. You are not the Winner. No one cares how it sounds to you. No one cares about you. After today, no one will even remember your name.”
“Really? What is going to happen today?”
The Lion looked around the room and then at his adversary. “The Grand Tournament. Where do you think we are?”
“This is the end of your quest?”
“Yes. I have completed my adventures. I have slain many knights and some dragons. And now I will slay the Knight of Knights—that is you—at the Grand Tournament.”
“Why?” Lawrence asked.
“To prove that I am the best.” Tom spoke with impatience, as if explaining something to a child. “You are the best now. When I kill you, it will show I am better. Therefore I will be the best knight.”
“What is the prize?”
“My lady’s heart.”
“But that is hers to give.”
Tom scoffed. “She wants me to have it.” He looked down at his Lady. He could see the encouragement in her eyes. The way the W in her bodice rose and fell to get closer to him. She did not know what was going to happen next, so he Winked at her to let her know not to worry. Then he said, “Look, I’ve even had a special pouch made for it.”
He pulled the pouch from his shirt and held it toward Lawrence.
The Knight of Knights took a step forward. One more, the Lion screamed in his head. Take one more and you are mine.
The Knight of Knights took another step.
The Lion lunged toward him, knife high, ready to slash down. Victory pounded in his ears as he felt the Knight of Knight’s skin under his blade, felt his blood exploding over his chest. He looked down and saw that they were both splattered with it, and he licked his lips to taste it. He was so strong, he was on fire. The Knight of Knights was gazing at him with admiration and he could feel his Lady’s eyes Watching him, Worshiping him, could feel them blazing into his chest. Burning into it. Stop, Lady, he wanted to say. You can stop. He looked down and saw the full force of his Lady’s love for him spreading across his tunic, spreading red across his lovely blue suit, like a red rose, growing and growing on his chest. Pricking him with love.
He looked at the Knight of Knights. His chest did not have a rose on it. His Lady truly loved the Lion best, he thought.
Then, as the full force of Grub’s pistol shot burned into him, the Lion collapsed.
It was not hard to clear the church. Everyone was eager to get home and tell what had to be the most sensational news of the year, and they filed out quickly, leaving Lawrence and Tuesday and their closest companions alone in the hulking nave. And the Lion.
Christopher and Grub were guarding him, off to one side of the dais. He had not moved since he fell down, but they had taken the precaution of manacling his hands anyway. Now they stood with their backs to him, screening him fro
He refused to move until Tuesday, glassy-eyed from pain, said, “Please Lawrence.” It was, he understood, her way of keeping him from thinking. From reflecting on the mistake, the monster, he had made.
That first moment when Tom stood with his knife at Tuesday’s throat, realizing that Tom was the Lion, had stunned him like a blow to the stomach. He knew that one day he would have to face the responsibility of having trained Tom, having made him what he was. And having let nine men die because he trusted him. But not now. Now he could only think about Tuesday.
When he came back into the church his face was under control. He inched toward the part of the dais where Bianca was still leaning over Tuesday, and stood, straining to see. Suddenly someone was tugging at his arm.
“Tuesday will be all right,” Jack told Lawrence, nodding and rocking back and forth. He smiled, and then his face crumpled. Lawrence put his arm around Jack’s shoulders and the boy buried his eyes in Lawrence’s jacket. “She’ll be all right, she’ll be all right,” he repeated over and over, clutching Lawrence.
“Yes,” Lawrence said, clutching him back, “she will.”
The two men Tuesday loved most in the world stood that way, hugging one another, until Bianca made a discreet sign to Lawrence. He gently released Jack and sat him on the edge of the dais promising to be right back.
“I think it would be a good idea to take Tuesday now,” Bianca started to say to Lawrence when he reached her, but she could see he was not paying attention. He kept going past her, and bent over Tuesday, caressing her forehead with his hand.
“I am so sorry, sweetheart,” he said. “I can’t believe that I—”
Her eyes fluttered open. “Shhh, Lawrence,” she whispered. “It’s no fair starting an argument now. Bianca says I’m not supposed to speak.”