Why is it smart to give power to people who can’t use it? Petra asked.

There are other female monarchs in Europe, but none of them actually rules like Queen Elizabeth. She is very old. She has no children to succeed her, and in some ways must be vulnerable . . . she needs advisers, but what if they were to gain great authority?

Petra understood. They might overthrow her.

Exactly. It would be easy for a group of truly powerful councillors to decide that their old, heirless female ruler should no longer rule.

“Some of the councillors,” Margaret was saying, “like Robert Cecil, deserve their positions. Others are useless, or despised.”

Petra remembered how respectful Cecil had been of Dee’s opinion, and something occurred to her. “Your father’s the true secretary of defense, isn’t he? Walsingham’s just a figurehead.”

“In some ways, yes,” Margaret said. “A spymaster can’t do his job really well if he’s always chasing after knighthoods and titles, like Walsingham.”

“He’s not bad.” Madinia shrugged. “Just puffed up.”

“Walsingham has many friends and connections,” Margaret continued. “His underlings respect him—though maybe like you respect anyone who puts money in your purse. But Walsingham wants what’s best for this country.”

“And Gabriel Thorn?” Petra asked.

Madinia looked at Margaret, who replied, “He wanted what was best for himself.”

“And your father?”

“What are you implying, Petra?” Margaret asked icily.

Madinia added, “Dad would give his life for England!”

Maybe so, but Petra knew that he would go to any length to do what he believed was right. “Why would Dee be glad that the West is dead?”

“He isn’t glad!” Madinia slammed her teacup onto its saucer. “And don’t you dare suggest it!”

Margaret didn’t say anything, but she bit her lip in a way that Petra recognized. She always did this when Madinia had said too much. Petra didn’t want to press the sisters too hard on the topic, though, for fear that they would clam up entirely. Thinking of Cotton’s shield and Ariel’s strange words, she changed tack: “Do you know anything about Robert Cotton?”

“No,” Madinia said. “He’s boring, and so are you.”

“He’s a recluse,” said Margaret. “He never comes to court. All he cares about is his library and greenhouse.”

“What about—?” Petra began.

“What about going for a walk down Goldsmiths’ Row to look at jewelry?” Madinia interrupted. “Just to look.”

The twins dodged any more discussion of Gabriel Thorn and the court.

There were two other people Petra could question. One of them was Agatha Dee, but Petra never saw her. If it weren’t for the fact that Petra was able to slip from Czech to English with perfect ease, she would have thought that her encounter with Agatha Dee had been a feverish hallucination. Whenever she asked a servant where she could find Agatha, she was told with cold finality, “The mistress doesn’t want to be disturbed.”

There was one person left: Kit.

She saw him every day. Petra had steadily improved in her ability to fence, and was able to parry and dodge Kit’s sword with natural grace. But she rarely managed to strike a blow of her own, or succeed in a counterattack. Sometimes her sword managed to slip past Kit’s defenses, but Petra was never good enough to put him in any real danger.

Petra often wished that she was able to bring Astrophil with her into the practice room. But there was no good way for Petra to hide him except under her clothes, and Astrophil had immediately put a stop to that idea.

Yet perhaps it was for the best that the spider was not in the room with Petra and Kit today, because he would have disapproved of how close Petra was to asking the boy for help. Kit said himself that he is untrustworthy! Astrophil had scolded her when she suggested that they enlist Kit’s aid to find Thorn’s murderer. Nevertheless, Petra wanted to take the risk.

When they had finished their last bout, Kit said something unexpected. “The winter ball is this Friday night. Are you going?”

Petra snorted. “No.”

Kit was silent. He set his sword very carefully on its rack.

“Why?” Petra asked. “Will it be interesting?”

“Not if you don’t come.”

She couldn’t tell if he was joking.

“I’ll be there,” he said. “Yes, I know. Silly, isn’t it? Walsingham used to drag me to every dance when I worked for him. Throw the entire court together, pour wine down their throats, and what do they do? They say things they shouldn’t. Of course, I haven’t been officially on the guest list since I was fired, but the guards and I are old friends.”

“So you think balls are fun,” Petra said skeptically.

“I didn’t say that.”

“Then why . . . ?”

“The free food.” He grinned. “Also, I like to keep my hand in the spying game. I don’t get paid for it anymore, but I still enjoy knowing what’s going on.” He paused. “Petra, can I be frank with you?”

“Yes,” she said. “I’d like that.”

“That’s what I thought. Actually, it’s one of your problems in fencing. You are too frank. Every move you make is obvious. You’re too direct, and you expect everyone else to fight the same way.”

She folded her arms. The conversation had quickly moved from being confusing to being irritating, and she said so.

“There!” Kit pointed. “You see? What if you had to pretend that you liked somebody? Could you do it? I don’t think so. I hate to talk in clichés, but your face is an open book. And it’s been hard for me to see you almost every day, when I have no idea why I’ve been hired to train you, and why you look so”—he took a breath—“so lost.”

Petra was silent.

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” said Kit, “but I think there’s something wrong, and I’d like to help.”

She hesitated. “What would going to the winter ball have to do with helping me?”

“Petra, you don’t belong here. I can tell. You didn’t even know who Walsingham is! I’ve spent more than a month of afternoons with you, and I can say that you are as clueless about England’s politics as you are about its history, towns, and countryside.”

Petra instantly regretted (again) that she never brought Astrophil to sword practice. He would have been able to fill in the holes of her ignorance.

“You look like no English girl I’ve ever seen,” Kit continued. “You speak my language perfectly, but you’re a foreigner. I know what Agatha Dee can do, and I think she’s done it to you. Let me show you around Whitehall Palace. I can tell you who’s who, and take your mind off whatever is bothering you.”

Petra looked away.

“And if you don’t come to the ball,” Kit persuaded, “I’ll end up stuffing myself full of quail eggs, and will be utterly bored.”

Petra was weakening.

“Can I bribe you?” asked Kit. “How about this: I promise to teach you a neat little sequence with the sword. I invented it myself. To your opponent, it will look like defensive moves, but they’re actually steps of attack.”

“You’re supposed to teach me things like that anyway.”

“Yes, but if I see you in the Watching Chamber in four days’ time, I promise to teach it to you nicely.”

18

The Winter Ball

PETRA SET DOWN the iron key and reached for a silver bracelet, the second item to be covered in that day’s lesson with John Dee. “I’d like to go to the winter ball,” she told him.

“You would?” Dee arched one brow.

You would? Astrophil nearly fell off her ear. Petra, are you feeling ill?

“What?” she said to both of them. “Do you think I can’t dance?”

I know you cannot, Astrophil replied.

Dee folded his hands. “I suppose you believe you can gather some information about Gabriel Thorn from the courtiers. Anybody who would know anything is not going to talk about it to a thirteen-year-old girl. We made an amusing little bargain, my dear, but I don’t see how you can keep it. Perhaps you should give it up. Focus on your training.”

Petra flung the bracelet across the room.

“Oh, very well,” said Dee. “If you insist on being childish, then perhaps you belong in a room full of self-absorbed courtiers. And, as it happens, Madinia and Margaret have been pressuring me for weeks to make you go to the ball.”

“They have?” Petra hadn’t thought that the sisters cared whether she went or not.

“Yes. But I assumed you would not enjoy it, and I didn’t think it was wise to force you to do yet one more thing against your will.” He paused, then added, “It is helpful that you wish to attend the ball. Queen Elizabeth is curious to meet you.”

“What? Why? What did you tell her about me?”

“Everything. She is my queen.”

“But you told me to be careful! To keep my identity secret! What about Kit? You told me not to tell him.”

“He is an entirely different matter than the queen of England,” Dee said sharply. “I hired him to train you because he is highly skilled, and roughly your size and age. But he is not to be trusted.”

“I don’t trust you.”

“I know that, my dear. Now, fetch that bracelet. Open your mind and answer these questions. Where does it come from? What was it before it was forged? Who used to own it, and how did it come into my possession?”

LAUGHTER ECHOED OVER the twilit Thames as the many boats drew closer to Whitehall Palace. The Dees, however, were silent. Petra studied Agatha Dee. The woman’s face was as blank as ever. It was unnatural.

But when they reached the dockhouse, Petra forgot about Agatha Dee as her stomach swarmed with nervousness.

Petra and the Dees slipped into the stream of guests walking down a mirrored hallway, and she caught a glimpse of herself. She looked like a stranger.

She wore an old garnet-colored dress of Margaret’s with a high collar that hid the Gristleki scar, and the neckline was square-cut, just enough to expose the small wings of her collarbone. “That’s too plain!” Madinia had shrilled. “You’ll look frumpy!”

“Good,” replied Petra.

Sarah had lengthened the dress. Then she fussed over Petra, combing and trimming, braiding and pinning, twisting and curling. When Petra had asked Madinia if she could borrow some silver hairpins, the girl agreed, and gleefully jabbed them into place. Later, Madinia was too excited about the ball to notice an extra metallic glint in Petra’s hair. It was Astrophil, clutched like a flower-shaped pin around a small braid.

Petra followed the Dees into the Watching Chamber, where torches blazed. A long table was heaped with roasted meat and candied fruit. Musicians played their string instruments in a corner, and people danced in the center of the room. The swift, complex dance was dizzying to Petra’s eyes.

Ready to join the dancers? Astrophil said wickedly. I promise not to count the number of times you step on people’s feet. If the spider had seen Petra fencing with Kit, he might not have teased her like this. He would have realized that she moved gracefully when she was confident that she could.

Petra looked at the dancers and shuddered.

“Come.” Margaret reached for Petra’s hand. “We are going to greet the queen.”

Petra walked between the sisters, behind their parents. John Dee ignored Petra, which was more than fine with her.

As they drew closer to Queen Elizabeth, Petra’s jaw tightened with determination. She had a question to ask.

A bubble of space surrounded the seated queen. When she spoke with a lord or lady, their conversation was both private and public. It was private, because no one could hear what was being said. It was public, because no one could mistake the expression on the queen’s face. Just as John Dee had said to Petra during her first visit to the palace, there was always somebody watching in the Watching Chamber, and tonight they were all watching the queen. Right now, several eyes in the room were turned toward the man kneeling at her feet, and everyone could see the frown on Queen Elizabeth’s face as she spoke. The old woman pounded the arm of her throne, her bullet-black eyes wide with anger. The man slunk away.

Then Petra and the Dees were brought before the queen. Petra had thought she would be forced to wait while the adults said whatever dull things they had to say, but Dee waved her forward. “This is the girl in question, Your Majesty.”

Petra stepped in front of the throne.

“Come closer,” the queen ordered, so Petra did.

Queen Elizabeth’s face was sunken, her gaze sharp. Petra could tell that her orange hair was a wig, but the queen wore it like a battle helmet.

“Well, child, did no one teach you how to kneel?”

Petra obeyed. Then she drew her breath to speak.

But Queen Elizabeth spoke first, her hand lifting Petra’s chin. “Petra Kronos, our little Bohemian refugee.” The queen studied her. “So young, and so ready to break hearts.”

Petra asked her question: “Your Majesty, do you have any news of my father?”

The queen’s eyes shot to Dee. “No,” she said in a final tone.

“But will you—?”

Dee looked appalled.

The queen’s grip on Petra’s chin tightened. “People so rarely recognize when they have become tiresome. Why is that, do you think?”