Traitor Angels by Anne Blankman

through the air as though seeking something. “And my serving girl,” he said. “I must say farewell to her.”
    Somehow I pushed one foot forward, then another. I took Father’s hand and pressed it to my cheek, trapping my tears between the flesh of his palm and my face. He smiled slightly.
    “You’ve been a loyal servant to me.” He leaned closer. I couldnot breathe. This was the moment. He would tell me what I needed to do in order to save him, and I would move Heaven and Hell until I released him from whatever place they were taking him—
    “ L’avezza giovinetta pastorella ,” he murmured.
    A familiar young shepherdess? This was what Father had chosen to say to me at our parting—a nonsensical phrase in Italian? There must be something else he was trying to tell me, some secret woven into the Italian words.
    He opened his mouth to speak again, but men seized his arms. “That’s quite enough,” one of them said, and they marched him from the room.
    While my sisters whispered to one another, I ran after Father. In the garden, men were lashing him onto a horse. Even as I raced toward them, a man mounted my father’s horse, then reached around Father’s waist to grasp the reins.
    “Wait! Please!” I shouted.
    Father turned in the direction of my voice, mouthing my name. Elizabeth . My heart twisted. How could I stand by while he was ripped out of his life? How could I say good-bye to the person who meant more to me than anyone else in the world?
    In the dirt road waited a wooden cart pulled by two horses. It was clearly intended to carry us and our possessions to London. Buckingham had come prepared to bring my entire family to the capital, I realized, a chill racing down my spine. Before seeing Paradise Lost , he had already made his decision. Why? And what did that mean for my father’s fate?
    “Remember,” Father called, still turned in my direction, “the mind is its own place!”
    Tears filled my eyes. Father had often said those words to me. Your mind can become your heaven or your hell , he had counseled in his gentle way. Only you determine what it shall be, Elizabeth. But you must build it carefully. Leave no holes or there’s no telling what may slither inside .
    In a flash, I understood what he was telling me now: I must build the walls so fear could not come in.
    The man he rode with kicked the horse’s flanks, and they were gone, racing along the dirt road. The other horses in the party thundered past me, their hooves kicking up clouds of dust, choking my vision until I had to cover my face with my hands. Blinded, I listened to the hoofbeats grow fainter and fainter, carrying my father away from me.
    When the air had cleared, I squinted into the distance, searching for the moving black dots formed by Father and the riders. But they had already rounded the curve in the road and disappeared from sight.
    Numbness spread through my body. He was gone. Moving like an automaton, I trudged across the yard into the cottage. I had failed Father. I should have disobeyed him and attacked those men or begged to be taken with him. I never should have let him leave alone with them.
    The door banged shut behind me. I stood in the hall, frozen. Somehow the effort to walk even a few more steps seemed insurmountable. My ears strained to pick up the murmurs of my sisters’ voices and the thumps of trunks being opened. Soon my family, too, would be gone.
    Act ordinary , I ordered myself. As far as the king’s men were concerned, I was a serving girl, who would hardly be overly saddened by the departure of her employer’s family. Setting myshoulders, I wiped at the dampness under my eyes.
    I climbed the ladder to my bedchamber. Everything in here could remain—the furniture had come with the rented cottage, and my meager possessions should stay with me—so I went into Anne’s room, where we gathered her clothes in silence under the watchful eyes of one of the king’s men.
    By the time the house was