Page 13 of Six Wild Crowns

“It must be Quisto,” Cromwell says immediately, holding a pair of reading glasses to his eyes as he peruses the messenger’s letter.

“You suspect they are funding Lothair?” Henry says.

Lord Wolsey casts a dark look at Cromwell. “I cannot think that Queen Aragon’s family would cause aggression against Elben. They wouldn’t undermine her so.”

Cromwell spreads his hands and bows his head reverently towards the older man. “With every respect towards the Queen of Daven,Quisto knows that her usefulness to them has faded given her inability to provide the king with an heir.”

“But to organise an attack upon us – what possible good could that do?” Wolsey says.

“The trade deal with Capetia,” Henry says.

Wolsey shakes his head, fretting at the rings on his fingers. “It’s not announced yet. They don’t know about it.”

“Are you certain about that?” Boleyn says from her place at the window. The men look at her in surprise. This is the first opportunity she’s had to attend such a meeting. Henry may know that she’s more than equal to such discussions, but the others don’t. She joins them at the table and sits, spreading her hands across the wood.

“My father makes it his business to know about such deals before they are announced. Surely you are not naive enough to believe that Quisto don’t have equally astute representatives within our court, Lord Wolsey?”

Wolsey flushes. Cromwell, smiling gently, intervenes. “Your father is an excellent ambassador, Your Majesty. I do not think that he has a match. However, perhaps Her Majesty is right, Lord Wolsey, and our news has found its way to Quisto before we are ready?”

And therein, Boleyn thinks, lies the difference between the two men. Wolsey was once as careful as Cromwell in his dealings with anyone of power. But the ageing lord has now turned into one of the men he once sought to manipulate. Boleyn will enjoy seeing whether Cromwell goes the same way, if he continues to rise through the ranks.

She continues: “Let us consider. Quisto hears that Capetia is about to sign a trade deal with us that places Quisto at a disadvantage. They know that their influence with Henry is waning, but they cannot afford to lose the use of Elben’s ports, sitting as we do in the middle of their empire.”

“We sit in the middle of many empires,” Wolsey says. “Who’s to say that Capetia is not behind this move, and is using the trade deal to mask their involvement?”

Boleyn frowns at Wolsey. She knew he favoured Queen Aragonand Quisto, but not to this extent. Why is he so eager to lay the blame with others?

“Lothair relies on trade at its ports to survive, given its land has little of value,” she says. “But it is overshadowed by Elben and Perfugi. It has little to offer, and little to threaten. There can be no doubt that if any nation were to be its puppet master, that nation would be Quisto. Quisto could absorb Lothair into its empire in a matter of weeks, should it choose to. So why does it not choose to?”

“They see Lothair as a useful tool,” Henry says, reaching to take her hand.

“Exactly, my love. They can make Lothair play their more unsavoury games. If Quisto funds Lothair to attack the bordweal in anticipation of Queen Blount’s passing, then Quisto can deny its involvement.”

Cromwell addresses Henry. “If you remember, Your Majesty, I showed you reports of Quisto breeding several large dragons in their eastern provinces. I did not think it so strange at the time – of course Quisto has always valued brawn – but Lothair is not known for its large dragons. Their native breed is slenderer and more suited to hunting if I recall correctly. I did raise a mild concern at the time.”

“So you did,” Henry laughs. “Wolsey dismissed you then as well, didn’t you, friend? Do we think that those war dragons are Quistoan, then?”

Wolsey straightens in his seat and purses his lips. “I can see where this is going, Your Majesty. If Lord Cromwell is correct, then I will of course admit my folly. I merely wish to be certain where the blame lies before starting a war with an empire that we cannot, to be frank, hope to defeat.”

“Do you have so little faith, my lord?” Henry says. His free hand – the one not holding Boleyn’s – is flat on the table. He presses it to the oak, his skin blanching. The divine magic shimmers down his arm, and a moment later the wood cracks, splinters rising like ice around his fingers.

In the silence that follows, Boleyn inhales the earthy bloom of magic. She cannot stop staring at the cracked wood, and thinking of her husband’s strength and power. She wants that power inside her, urgently.

“You should destroy them, my love,” she says.

Wolsey and Cromwell look at each other in alarm. “Your Majesty, we are already at war with Alpich. It would be unwise to stretch ourselves on two fronts,” Cromwell says.

“The last thing we need is to antagonise Quisto when the bordweal is weakened,” Wolsey adds.

“It wouldn’t be antagonising Quisto,” Boleyn says, her eyes never leaving Henry’s.

“Just as they are using Lothair to mask their involvement, we can claim that we are merely attacking Lothair, not Quisto,” Henry says.

Boleyn shifts closer to him. “Exactly. And Lothair is small and weak. We –you– are strong.”

Henry pulls her onto his lap. “I will destroy their ships, and when I have done so I will take our fleet and sail to Lothair and wage swift war on them.”

“It will send a message to Quisto that we should not be underestimated,” she says, running a hand down his chest.

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