Read Chapter 29: The Poison's Cipher

The palace gates loomed before Thomas like the jaws of a trap, their iron bars casting long shadows across the cobblestones. His lungs burned from the run through the city streets, the Queen's prayer book already delivered, already in her hands or worse—already open.

Two guards flanked the entrance, halberds crossed. Thomas slowed, forcing his breathing to steady. He had no warrant, no seal from Cecil, nothing but a desperate truth that would sound like madness.

"I need to see Lady Jane Grey," he said, his voice cracking with urgency.

The guards exchanged a glance. "Her lady serves the Queen's household. Visitors require appointment through the Chamberlain's office."

"Then make an appointment. Now. Tell her Thomas Finch is here—the printer's apprentice. She'll know the name."

The larger guard snorted. "A printer's apprentice demanding audience with a lady of the court? You've lost your mind, boy." He lowered his halberd, pointing it at Thomas's chest. "Move along before I have you whipped for vagrancy."

Thomas's hand drifted toward his belt, where the ruby necklace lay hidden beneath his doublet. The mark of the spy ring. He'd used it to enter their meeting—perhaps it could open other doors.

"Look closer," Thomas said, pulling the ruby out just enough to catch the light. "Do you know what this is?"

The guard's eyes widened, recognition flickering across his face. He straightened, his posture shifting from dismissal to wariness. "You're one of *them*?"

"Lord Howard expects me. The prayer book—I have a message about the prayer book."

The second guard shifted uneasily. "The book was delivered not ten minutes past. The Queen's almoner took it to her chambers."

Ten minutes. Thomas's heart seized. If the poison worked on contact with ink—if she'd already touched the pages—

"Let me through," Thomas demanded, his voice dropping low. "If Howard's plans fail because you delayed me, your heads will decorate London Bridge before sunset."

The threat worked. The guards parted, and Thomas swept through the gate, breaking into a run the moment he was past them.

The palace corridors twisted and turned, a labyrinth of stone and tapestry. Thomas had never been inside the royal apartments before, but his father's stories had painted the layout well enough—and the frantic activity of servants gave him direction. Everyone moved toward the chapel wing, where the Queen's private chambers overlooked the garden.

He rounded a corner and nearly collided with Anne.

Her face went white. "Thomas! You can't be here—Lord Howard's men are patrolling the east wing. They know someone's been asking questions about the prayer book."

"How is that possible?"

"I don't know. But they're searching every corridor." She grabbed his arm, pulling him into an alcove behind a tapestry. "The Queen's chamber is through the next door, past the guard station. They're changing shifts in ten minutes."

"Anne, the book is already there. The poison—"

"I know. I heard Lord Howard's man say it would be done by nightfall." Her voice trembled. "I'm sorry, Thomas. I didn't understand what I was delivering. I thought he was courting the Queen's favor, not—"

"It's not your fault." Thomas squeezed her hand. "But you have to help me get past the guards."

Anne's eyes searched his face. Then she nodded, reaching into her sleeve and producing a small pouch. "One of the steward's keys. I borrowed it last week and never returned it." She pressed it into his palm. "The guard station key is different—it opens the door to the left of the main entrance, the servants' passage. But it's watched."

"Then we'll have to create a distraction."

Anne swallowed hard. "What kind of distraction?"

"Loud kind."

She managed a thin smile. "I did cause a fire in the kitchens once. The mistress still talks about it."

Minutes later, Anne walked toward the guard station carrying a candelabra, her expression calm and faintly bored. Thomas watched from the shadows of the alcove, his muscles coiled.

She reached the station and paused, leaning toward the younger guard. "Forgive me, sir—I've misplaced my prayer book, the one with the ivory cover. Would you check the chapel antechamber for me? I'm meant to attend the Queen's evening devotion and I can't be seen without it."

The guard frowned. "I'm not meant to leave my post—"

"Please, sir. It was my grandmother's. I fear one of the pages took it, and if it's sold before I can retrieve it—" Her voice cracked with practiced distress.

The guard sighed, glancing at his companion. "Watch the door. I'll be back in a moment."

He disappeared down the corridor. Anne kept the remaining guard engaged in small talk, her voice light and charming. Thomas slid from the alcove, staying low, moving fast. The servants' passage door stood to the left, exactly as Anne had said.

The key turned with a soft click.

Inside, the passage was dark and narrow, barely wide enough for Thomas's shoulders. He moved quickly, counting doorways. The chapel wing had four servant entrances. The Queen's private chamber would be the last one, positioned near the altar for discreet access during services.

Behind him, he heard shouting. Anne's distraction had escalated—or failed.

He reached the final door and pressed his ear to the wood. Muffled voices—two, maybe three. A woman's voice saying something about ink. The Queen.

Thomas gripped the handle and pushed.

The chamber opened into a small antechamber hung with velvet. A man stood before an inner door, hand raised as if about to knock. He turned at Thomas's entrance, eyes widening.

"Who the devil—"

Thomas didn't hesitate. He lunged, driving his shoulder into the man's chest. They crashed against the door, and it burst open, spilling them into the Queen's private study.

Queen Mary sat at a small writing desk, a heavy leather-bound book open before her. Her fingers hovered above a page, tips dark with ink where she'd been tracing the illuminated letters.

Thomas's blood ran cold.

"Your Majesty—do not touch that book!"

The man beneath him clawed at his throat. Thomas rolled off, scrambling to his feet. The Queen stared at him, face frozen between outrage and confusion, her hand still hovering over the poisoned page.

"Guards!" the man shouted. "Guards, treason!"

Footsteps pounded in the corridor. Thomas lunged for the desk, sweeping the prayer book off its surface. It clattered to the floor, pages splayed, and he stomped on it, grinding the leather cover against the stone.

"What are you doing?" the Queen demanded, rising to her feet. "That is my prayer book—"

"It's poisoned, Majesty." Thomas turned to face her, breathing hard. "The ink in these pages carries a slow venom. Lord Howard had it prepared."

The inner door slammed open. Three guards rushed in, swords drawn. Behind them, a man in Howard's livery pointed at Thomas. "Seize him! He attacked the Queen's devotion!"

Thomas didn't move. He looked at the Queen, meeting her eyes. "Majesty, look at the page. The letters beneath the illumination—they form a cipher. I can decode it for you."

The guards grabbed his arms, wrenching him backward. The Queen bent slowly, retrieving the damaged book from the floor. She turned to the page where Thomas had crushed it, squinting at the marred surface.

"These marks," she said quietly. "They are not from the illuminator's hand."

"An overlay," Thomas said. "A second layer of ink, clear to those who know to look. It describes the plan—who was to administer the book, how the poison would work, and who instructed them. It's all there, Majesty. Coded, but readable."

The Queen's eyes flickered to him. "And who are you, to know such things?"

"Thomas Finch. Printer's apprentice." He met her gaze steadily. "And I served your father in a small matter years ago—as did my own father before me, John Finch."

Something shifted in her expression. Recognition—or memory. "John Finch's son."

The guard holding his left arm loosened his grip. The Queen studied Thomas for a long moment, then looked down at the page again.

"Release him," she said. "And bring me Lord Howard. It seems I have questions for him about my prayer book."