Chapter 210: I Came Here First
"Drink it, Your Majesty," Geoffrey said. "If only so Mrs Crowe does not turn her attention to the rest of us."
Henry took the cup. After one swallow, he set it down. Mrs Crowe folded her arms. He picked it up again. "Does my mother know yet?" Henry asked.
"I came here first," Geoffrey said. "I shall go to Whitehall when I leave."
"Do not tell her. I feel better."
"With respect, you look like hell."
Henry gave Geoffrey a tired look. "Your loyalty overwhelms me."
"My loyalty is precisely why I am telling you the truth. Your back is bandaged. Do you truly think the Queen Mother will not notice? She is already paranoid enough to hear treason in a curtain."
"She will not know," Henry said.
The firmness in his voice brought silence.
Henry’s fingers tightened around the arm of the chair. "I do not want her influencing anything for her own gain."
Theodora had spent too many years turning every disaster into a ladder. If she learned he had been attacked, she would see opportunity. She would use it to direct suspicion.
Geoffrey stepped closer. "Very well. For now, I shall say only that you are resting under guard and cannot be disturbed. But this secrecy cannot last. And if she discovers it before you tell her, she will be furious."
Henry gave a faint, humourless smile. "My mother wakes furious."
"True."
Henry set the cup aside, ignoring Mrs Crowe’s immediate glare. "Any news on who shot me?"
"Lord Ashcroft is out with some of the men," Geoffrey said. "They are following the trail from last night. We should have word soon."
Henry nodded once, then pushed himself to his feet.
Stephen stepped forward at once. "Your Majesty—"
Henry lifted a hand. Stephen stopped, every line of him suggested he was one bad breath away from shoving the king back into the chair himself. Henry planted his feet carefully on the floor and forced his body to obey.
Geoffrey cleared his throat. "Shall we postpone the wedding, Your Majesty?"
Henry looked toward the window. Morning light pressed thinly through the curtains doing nothing to improve the mood. "No...I shall be well enough by then. Proceed as planned."
"As you command."
Henry turned to Mrs Crowe. "Where is Livia?"
"I had to wrench her out of that chair this morning before she collapsed from exhaustion," she said. "She kept watch through the night. She should still be asleep in one of the rooms."
He looked away quickly. Livia had stayed. After everything, she had stayed. "Have her packed and prepared for Whitehall. But do not wake her."
"Yes, Your Majesty." She curtsied and left the room.
The door had barely closed behind her when Lionel entered, travel-stained, tense, and still carrying the cold of the morning on his coat.
"Your Majesty?" His gaze swept over Henry at once. "Should you be on your feet?"
"I’m fine. What did you find out?"
"It is confusing, Your Majesty," Lionel said.
That was rarely a comforting beginning.
"We followed the trail as far as we could," Lionel continued. "The shooter was alone."
"One man?" Geoffrey asked.
Lionel nodded. "From the tracks, yes. One horse. One rider. No sign of a second accomplice nearby. Whoever he was, he left in haste." Lionel reached into his coat. "In his hurry, he dropped something. His clothing snagged on a branch near the lane. We found this beneath it." He extended a seal dangling from a broken chain.
Henry took it carefully and turned it toward the light. The design had been pressed deep into the face of it—a crest.
Geoffrey stepped closer. Henry’s expression changed before he spoke.
"Yes," he murmured. "I know this mark."
Lionel watched him closely. "It belongs to a royal house?"
Henry lifted the seal slightly. "Italian."
Geoffrey’s head snapped toward him. "Did you say Italian?"
"It bears the arms of one of the Italian ruling houses," Henry said. "Italy is a nest of duchies."
Lionel’s brow furrowed. "Does that mean something? We have no quarrel with the Italians," he added. "Unless I have missed a war while His Majesty was unconscious."
Geoffrey had gone still. Henry saw it at once—the slight draining of colour, the tightening around the mouth.
"Geoffrey," Henry said.
The Lord Chancellor swallowed. "Your Majesty, I..." He stopped, then began again. "I believe I may have made a mistake."
Henry’s patience, already wounded, began to limp. "What did you do?"
"The good news," Geoffrey said carefully, "is that you were not the target of the assassination."
"Do not tell me..." Henry’s face changed before Geoffrey could speak.
The colour drained from him so quickly Stephen took an instinctive step forward thinking the king might collapse where he stood. He looked truly frightened.
Geoffrey lowered his gaze. "It is Miss Valenti."
Henry stared at him. "What did you do?"
"I..." Geoffrey began.
"Speak."
Geoffrey drew a breath. "When I met her, I became curious, Your Majesty. Her name seemed familiar with the way she spoke and carried herself."
"Her name was not yours to investigate."
"I understand that now." Geoffrey continued. "I made a discreet inquiry through Italian contacts attached to the embassy and merchant houses. There are parish records, family registers, old notices of births and deaths. I did not expect anything to come of it."
Henry’s hand closed around the seal. "Fuck." He turned away, one hand gripping the back of a chair. Pain shot across his body from the sudden movement.
Lionel stepped forward at once. "I will dispatch men to the port. We will question harbourmasters—anyone who may have seen a man carrying that seal or travelling under an Italian name."
"Do it," Henry said.
"I will also send riders to the main roads leaving London."
"Quietly," Geoffrey added. "If whoever sent him realises we found the seal, they may run deeper underground."
Henry turned back, breathing hard. "We need to find out why they would want her dead."
It turns out Livia Valenti was not only a woman with a sketchy past. She was a woman whose past had apparently reached across borders with a blade in hand. Beaumont’s had been one horror. This was another.
