Maid of Secrets by Jennifer McGowan

tonight, then, you will watch the Spanish delegation for Cecil,” the Queen commanded. “And you will watch the whole of the court for me. If you find the cause of the disturbances, you are to follow it to its core and root it out, quickly, quietly, and completely. And then report the transgressors to me, and me alone. Do you understand?”
    She waited until I’d nodded. “Do not tell Cecil of this,” she said. “Nor anyone else.” Her words were clipped. Certain. And I felt a chill roll down my spine. “Start by watching the women of the court. You will find, however, that any trail that begins with them will ultimately lead to a man.” She sighed. “It is always thus.”
    My ears pricked at that. “Is there any one man you believe is a particular threat?” I asked. The words “brutal attacks” kept swirling through my thoughts. Brutal attacks.
    A moment passed, then a second. I swallowed, finallydaring another glance at the Queen. And what I saw . . . shocked me.
    In that moment, in the full blush of youth and strength, Queen Elizabeth Regnant looked as old as my grandfather had lying upon his deathbed. Weariness had drifted over her face like a pale sheet, and her eyes glittered with dark knowledge I could not hope to understand. She placed her hand on my shoulder, as if to sear her royal decree into me. “All men are a threat to women, Meg, no matter if she is maid or monarch,” she said. “Especially those men we most want to trust. Don’t ever forget that.”
    And just that quickly the moment passed, and she lifted her hand away. I felt the weight of sovereign command lift with it. Then the Queen turned, and our audience was at an end.
    I don’t know how I made it back to my group waiting at the garden’s edge. The rest of the Queen’s maids of honor and ladies-in-waiting had flooded the garden by then, a virtual sea of linen and lace rustling in the morning breeze. The Queen had set up court again near the central fountain, but I’d had enough of her company to last me a month.
    I drew up next to Beatrice and Anna, feeling suddenly out of place standing beside them. Unbidden, the beginning of a couplet sprang to mind: Two maids of quality, one but a thief.
    “Well?” Beatrice demanded, tossing her blond curls. “What is it the Queen thinks a rat can do that better-trained spies cannot? Or have they asked you to pick de Feria’s pocket?”
    Jane had decided to join the rest of us too, her interest plain. Sophia, her eyes luminous with distress, drew in closeto Jane. The two of them made an even odder pairing, and the couplet completed itself: One maid of spirit, the other of grief.
    Shaking myself to attention, I sectioned off the Queen’s orders neatly in my mind. “No,” I said. “I’m to report on a conversation between the Spanish ambassador and one of his men. Nothing more.”
    “You?” Beatrice’s laugh laced the syllable with pretty disdain. “Why you?”
    It was Anna who replied. “Meg has not circulated through the court,” she said, as if it were obvious. “She can act like a lady of court, with de Feria not yet realizing her station. He may be freer with his words around her.”
    Jane nodded, even as Beatrice rolled her eyes.
    “But even after three months of training, Meg can barely speak Spanish,” Beatrice snipped. “Heavens, what am I saying? She can barely speak English.”
    I shrugged. “So you can look forward to my failure.”
    “But they have no reason to give you the honor of their trust,” Beatrice said, pouting, clearly not willing to let it go. Then her eyes went crafty and narrow. “Or maybe they’ve chosen you for this fool’s game precisely because they don’t trust you. They trusted Marie, after all, and look what that got them.”
    My brows shot up. That was a new name. “Marie?”
    “Beatrice,” Jane said at the same time, the word a quick rebuke.
    “Who is Marie?” I asked again, looking around the group. To my knowledge there were only