Free Queen's Own Fool by Jane Yolen

might as well just say the very first thing that comes into my head.”
    â€œI do not think you can beat that argument, Uncle,” said the queen, laughing.
    â€œAnd what about me, girl?” the cardinal asked, his round face unreadable. “Do I think enough before speaking to satisfy you?”
    â€œI could not rightly say, Your Sanctity,” I admitted. “I did not understand a single bit of your sermon this morning.”
    â€œAh, but I was merely preaching the Word of God,” he said. He folded his hands over his belly, looking like a man who had just won at counters.
    I was beginning to enjoy playing the fool and answered, “If God has only spoken one word— the Word—He must think very hard and for a very long time before He speaks, unlike a fool who thinks very little but talks without a pause.”
    â€œPerhaps it would be a good idea to preach a shorter sermon next time, Uncle,” the queen teased. “Otherwise people might assume you have not been thinking hard enough.”
    The cardinal’s face got as red as his robe but he did not respond.
    â€œEnough of this nonsense,” snapped the duke. “Such wit is for the dinner hour, not for the midday. And certainly not during a discussion of state matters.” He beckoned the king, who—rolling his eyes dramatically—followed.
    They paused in the doorway and the king looked back. He whistled for his dogs and they scampered after him.
    For a moment, the cardinal scrutinized me closely. Although he was not as lean as his brother, there was a sharpness in his eye that led me to believe he was quite as capable of leading men into battle as the duke.
    â€œChild, if you are to have the ear of the queen, you must be properly educated,” he said. He started towards the door, then glanced back. “I will see to it.” Then he was off in a swirl of rich crimson.
    Educated? Me? I was only astonished that I had not been instantly beheaded for insolence. Even Uncle would have battered me senseless with his cane for such answers. But evidently as the queen’s fool, I served at her pleasure. And her uncle, the cardinal, seemed to honor that.
    For now.
    Â 
    The minute the men were gone, the four Maries—who had been silent the entire time—began to talk in a mixture of French and Scottish. I scarce understood one word in ten.
    Looking secretly pleased at something, the dowager stood and held her hand out to Princess Elisabeth. “Come, daughter,” she said. “We have much to do before tomorrow’s progress.”
    The princess got up immediately, and she and the old queen walked out of the door without so much as a nod to the others.
    â€œYour Majesty,” Regal Mary began.
    The queen waved her away with a flick of her hand. “Leave me. All of you. I am tired of chatter.” Then she looked at the dwarf. “You, too, ma Folle.” When I started after them, Queen Mary said, “Not you, Nicola. Sit here by me.” She gestured to one of the chairs near her.
    I sat.
    â€œSo what do you think, Nicola?” the queen asked.
    â€œI think, Majesty, that all uncles have some things in common, whether they are nobles, priests, or showmen.”
    â€œAnd what is that, my Jardinière?” asked the queen.
    â€œThey do not like girls who talk too much.”
    â€œBut that is exactly why I want you here,” she said, lifting one finger. “To talk and talk and talk as much as you please.”
    â€œEven if it is all nonsense?”
    â€œEspecially then.” She leaned forward as if confiding in me. “If burning down houses is sense, then the more nonsense we have the better.” She picked up her embroidery frame and looked at it critically, before plucking out one of the threads that made up the tail of a little monkey.
    For a long moment we were silent, and then I sighed.
    She shifted in her chair but did not look up from her work.