Free Court of Conspiracy by April Taylor

he ran through to the shop and put his ear to the wood.
    “Who is there?”
    “Master Ballard, I come from the King,” a low voice answered. “Open in his name.”
    Luke looked at Joss, who had followed him, but she exhibited no signs of fear or impending danger. He undid the door. A hooded figure, accompanied by another greyspring, slipped into the shop. Luke relaxed.
    “Mistress?”
    “Master Ballard, we must talk.”
    “You said you came from the King. How can I aid His Majesty? Are his own advisors not available?”
    “You have an opportunity to serve the crown and, by doing so, England.”
    “I do not talk to faceless people, Mistress. How do I know you come from His Majesty?”
    The stranger threw back her hood. Luke dropped to his knees more in shock than respect. Now he knew he was in deep trouble.
    “You may rise.” The Queen’s voice was quiet, but Luke heard the steel in it.
    “I do not understand how I can help you, Your Grace.”
    “You knew this boy that was hanged?”
    Luke paused to wonder how Gethin’s death affected her, but he dared not stay silent.
    “Certainly.”
    “And you believe he was innocent? Speak your mind without fear. We have no time for prevarications and from my intelligences, I understand that the baker has questioned your loyalty because of your seeming grief at the boy’s death.”
    Luke felt the blood drain from his face and cursed himself for a fool. He should have known Twelvetrees would curry favor by denouncing him. He glanced at Anne Boleyn’s face. She looked back at him without expression, save for delicately raised eyebrows.
    Through his fear, Luke felt his chin lift in resolution.
    “Aye, Your Grace. I knew Gethin. He loved horses. He would never have harmed the King or Jasper. I believe with all my heart that he was a loyal, truthful boy, falsely accused.”
    “I am glad you do not mince your words. It is as I feared then. The boy was merely a scapegoat?”
    “I believe Gethin Pitt was a loyal subject, wrongly executed. It was an injustice.”
    The Queen paced the earthen floor of the shop. Her greyspring stayed by the door. “What care I for the fate of some ragamuffin boy when I have the King’s safety at heart?” she asked.
    Luke bowed. “I know that we minnows are of little account, Your Grace, but Gethin’s mother is left destitute without his wages, and his death touches all who knew him.”
    “Prove that he was innocent and I will give the woman a pension.” Her eyes, hard with determination, met his.
    She was not a woman to cross. The final years of Great Harry’s reign had proved that. Luke tried to swallow the sudden spear of dread and knew by her smile she had seen it. The two greysprings, heads high, watched with unwavering concentration as their owners sat opposite each other on the settles in Luke’s shop.
    “Aye, Master Apothecary. You know me by my dog just as I know you by yours. The Great Whore they called me, but none can deny that it was my name, Anne Boleyn, that his late Majesty called in his last delirium and I who gave him the son he craved. They accused me of witchcraft, but I am an elemancer, just as you are.”
    Luke sensed a huge chasm opening under him, imagining the agony of hot irons on his feet and the bite of the rope as it throttled life from him. He wondered what enemy had betrayed him to this most powerful of women. He licked dry lips, his fear and confusion heightened as he realized she found his mounting terror amusing.
    “How can such as I aid Your Grace?” he asked, mortified at the audible shake in his voice.
    Her lip curled. “You will discover who conspires to kill our son. They have failed twice. They will try again.”
    Whatever Luke had expected, this was not it. The reproof was out before he could stop himself. “You know we are not permitted to use our gift to trap people, that we have sworn to work only for the good of all. Surely there are those at court more fitted to investigate such a