Page 71 of Six Wild Crowns

“Come, sister.” Her voice echoes strangely in the space.

Seymour squeezes through the fissure, and the sudden smell of fish almost makes her vomit again. As her eyes adjust to the darkness, she realises that Boleyn’s torch is not the only source of light. The midnight recedes in the far corner of the cavern – the pall of daylight. She can’t understand why Oswyn had such trouble entering. It is a cave, as dank as any other.

“We must be beneath Brynd’s estate, by the sea,” Boleyn says.

Seymour nearly slips on the cave floor as she joins Boleyn in the centre. The mine shaft was as dry as a long summer, but here everything is covered in a wet sheen.

Boleyn moves away from Seymour, taking the torch with her towards one of the walls.

“No garnets, as far as I can tell,” she mutters.

Seymour tries to follow her and slips again. “Boleyn, stop, I can’t see.”

Boleyn sighs and returns to Seymour’s side, hooking an arm into Seymour’s elbow.

“ThatIshould be the one supporting you, Seymour,” she says, with a crooked smile. Seymour doesn’t humour her with a laugh. It was a mistake to join Boleyn on this journey. She should have simply met her back at Brynd.

“Ahhh.” Boleyn doubles over, bracing herself against the wall.

Seymour hovers beside her, taking the torch. “What is it? What’s happening?”

“It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

Seymour places a hand on top of Boleyn’s, over the marble swell of her stomach, trying to ignore the knowledge that in less than ayear her own stomach will be as round, as alien as this. “Look at me, Boleyn.”

For the first time, Boleyn obeys her. “What are we doing here?” Seymour asks.

Boleyn closes her eyes. The torchlight picks out the sweat on her forehead.

“I was going to be such a good queen, Seymour,” she says at last.

“You are a good queen.”

Boleyn shakes her head. “My people despise me. My body is failing.” Her voice grows shakier. “Henry hasn’t visited me in such a long time.”

Seymour stands abruptly. She will listen to a certain amount of self-pity – she has, after all, doled out plenty in her time – but she cannot listen to Boleyn’s lovesickness. Not any more.

“I wouldn’t count that as a great loss,” she says.

“It is not his fault that I love him and not you, Seymour,” Boleyn says. “And it is not his fault that you chose to marry him when he asked.”

Seymour bangs her fist against the rock, ignoring the pain glancing up her wrist. “Do you truly think any woman of my station has a choice when a king proposes, Boleyn? I knew you were naive, but I never thought you stupid.”

Boleyn starts up, flushing. “There were a hundred ways you could have turned him away from you’d if you wanted to, Seymour. Do not pretend you did not crave your crown, and all the comfort it offers.”

“Comfort?” Seymour says, her voice rising. “Comfort!” She can hardly hear herself over the pounding in her head.

Seymour’s movement is so sudden it surprises even her. She pins Boleyn against the rock with one arm, the other holding the torch aloft, too close to Boleyn’s face. “He forced me, Boleyn,” she says, her spit landing on Boleyn’s cheek.

Seymour steels herself for denial, for Boleyn to say something that will break their friendship irrevocably. That word,forced, echoes silently in Boleyn’s mouth.

“He forced me and now… now I’m pregnant.”

Boleyn’s hands fly up to Seymour’s face, cupping her cheeks.Gently, she pulls Seymour’s head towards her own, and as their foreheads meet, Seymour begins to sob.

“I have to get out, Boleyn. I thought that becoming a queen would give me the peace I needed. I thought I could bear everything that came with that, especially when you gave me those pills. But I can’t. I’ll throw myself into the Mearcdyke rather than live like this, being prey to his whims.”

“Why didn’t you ask me for help?” Boleyn whispers.

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