It was strange to be back after so long away, but the Kniverts, now Viscount and Lady Rivers by the King's decree, settled back into court life easily enough. They missed their girls, but that was to be expected, after all. "The Queen extended an invitation to me," Kate told her husband, and Anthony glanced up from the document he was reading.

"Oh? And what does she want of you?" There was something there, some edge to his voice that Kate couldn't decipher, but she pressed on.

"She wants our girls," she explained. "Ellie is of an age with the little Princess, Joanna not even two years older, and she wishes to make them part of Princess Elizabeth's household. Not yet, not for another year at least, she said, but she's already made offers to her sister Lady Mary for her and Northumberland's youngest girl, and to her stepbrother Lord Beauchamp for his and Ann Stanhope's child should it be a girl. Jane said the Queen wanted little Lady Eleanor too, even though she's older, because she's the princess' cousin, but your friend Suffolk wants to keep his daughter at home if he can."

Anthony set aside the paper he was reading and stood, crossing to the window. He wasn't looking at Kate when he said, "Perhaps we should follow Charles' example."

"What?" Kate frowned. "Anthony, what's happened?" She went to pick up the paper he has set down, skimming it - and then she understood.

"Dear God. It's to be a matter of treason now?" She dropped onto the window seat, the paper slipping from her suddenly numb hands. "So Fisher… He's been locked up, but now…" She shook her head. "What of More? He's been quiet, and the King still loves him, I should think, but he's such a devout Catholic, if he's forced to the Oath he won't sign it, will he?"

Anthony shrugged. "I don't know. Mayhaps - he loves his family, wouldn't come to court full time because he preferred his home. Not that I blame him, in hindsight. But he once said to me that he did not think, if his head should bring the King something he wanted, that the King would hesitate to cut it off. He was only joking at the time and yet… I can't help but wonder."

Kate shook her head. "I begin to think not only should we keep our girls from the royal household, but perhaps we should leave court and return to the country."

"That's just it, we can't. If we do, it'll insult Henry. But we do need to be careful, because I don't think things are going to calm down anytime soon."

She approved of the new religion. It appealed to her sensibilities, the idea of personal, private faith. A priest to aid and guide was all well and good, but how could the true connection between a man or woman to God not be deeply, intensely personal? Her husband, she knew, was not all that devout, and he was more concerned with the upheaval caused by the changes. Thinking about this, about Fisher in the Tower and More like to join him…

The King's good friend.

As Wolsey had been the King's mentor, a father figure in many ways.

Dear God. Perhaps Anthony was right to be more concerned about the effects. But there was little they could do, except try to keep themselves safe. Though Kate didn't really know just how they were going to do that. She, for one, was going to serve the Queen loyally as her husband served the King, and give no one reason to suspect them.

It was all she could think of to do thus far.

His stepfather did not approve of Edward leaving court, but he'd be damned if he would let Ann be alone when she was so close to her time. It hurt his reputation as a cold fish, the reputation he and his wife shared of being a calculating pair of schemers rather than marrying for any sort of personal affection, but he really didn't give a damn. Ann herself might tell him off for it later, he knew - she liked the misunderstanding the rest of the court had of them - but he could deal with that.

He wasn't going to be at court when - if -

Complications in childbirth were too well known.

Ann had retired to Wolf Hall as the time for her to be confined drew near; Edward had another manor now in the King's gift, one that had come with his ennoblement as Viscount Beauchamp, but they'd both thought the next Seymour should be born in the family home. And so he rode into the yard that was still full of so many memories for him, both of his father before the fever took him and of the time he'd spent here as master after leaving university.

He arrived later than he'd meant to, and so he chose not to disturb Ann that evening. Instead he retired to the study that still felt like his father's, seating himself behind the desk and realizing that there was a part of him that actually liked being here. It was quiet, and there was something about being able to slump back, his worries for his wife and the overall concerns surrounding the family's place at court obvious. Here no one would carry tales - or at least, it was unlikely. Edward knew there were spies everywhere, but Wolf Hall was so rarely occupied by anyone but servants that it was unlikely anyone had bothered.

He had enough to occupy his mind, after all. Anne and her new pregnancy, Tom. Mostly Tom, because there was nothing that could actually be done about the child in Anne's belly. It would live or not, it would be a son or a daughter, there was nothing anyone could do about that. Anne could be careful and eat things thought to make a boy, and pray. They could all pray. But that was all.

Tom, on the other hand…

Tom was a problem. He had always been a problem. Edward knew his younger brother felt slighted, and perhaps he had been, in a way. Oh, not by the King - Tom had done nothing to earn anything more than what he'd been given, and he was not close enough to Anne to get it any other way. George and Edward himself were active in the King's service; Tom had the charm but no real head for the game of court.

Still, if he wasn't given something soon to occupy himself, he'd become real trouble, rather than just Edward's frustrating younger brother. Ann and Jane said he had an interest in Jane Parker, Lord Morley's daughter and heiress. Perhaps marriage would settle Tom, and Edward rather thought Lord Morley would agree to a marriage. Cousin to the King or no, he wouldn't turn down an alliance with Anne's family. He'd offered his daughter for George but the dowry demanded had been too much and the negotiations with the Greys all but complete in any case.

He might like a more accessible offer.

And perhaps, if Edward spoke to Anne, she might speak to her uncle, Norfolk. They could find Tom some military post - from what little Edward had spoken with his brother on such matters, there Tom did seem to have some skill. As a boy, it'd been the only part of history lessons where he'd excelled. It was worth the trying if -

Noise carried in Wolf Hall. The screams were faint but he could hear them, and Edward was out of the study and racing to Ann's chamber door before he knew what he was doing. He did not enter - he knew he'd only be in the way, might hurt the level of care his wife got if he was in the way, and part of him feared to see his flippant, cool-headed wife in that state, to know he had been…

He did not enter, but he stayed outside, as the night and Ann's screams wore on. There would be pauses, brief silences that made him even more worried because there was no cry of an infant. Then she would cry out again. The sun was full up and getting in his eyes from the east-facing window when silence fell again, broken this time by a baby's indignant wail. That was when he entered, not waiting to be told.

Ann, slumped on the pillows, opened one eye halfway, scowling faintly. "You're supposed to wait," she said, tone arch even as she was clearly exhausted.

"You have a fine daughter, my lord," the midwife said as she cleaned the baby up.

"Margery," Edward said absently. They'd agreed on the name already, and he didn't need to think about it. Couldn't, through the wave of relief. He understood the King's need for a son, but… How could the disappointment not be washed away in relief for a healthy wife and child when it was so very strong?

"My time has been taken up dealing with the Oath - Fisher and More, the Carthusians… The point is, I'm going to be busy for some time yet. So I'm going to need your help, Michael. The Portuguese… Almeida's up to something, and I need you to find out what it is," Cromwell said, barely glancing up from his papers.

"He told Edward something vague about revitalizing the Anglo-Portuguese Alliance," Michael pointed out. "I thought I -"

"Mentioned that? Yes, you did, but there's… There's more to it than that. You saw him and Fraser at Christmas?" Cromwell cut in, looking up properly this time.

Michael nodded. "I did, yes. And I know he's been closeted up with the envoys from Saxony and Cleves. But…" He paused, eyeing Cromwell thoughtfully. "You know something."

That earned him a tiny smile - a rare, valued thing. "Know? Not entirely. Suspect, yes. Almeida talks to your brother-in-law, the Queen's stepbrother, of alliance. He befriends the Scottish ambassador and snubs both Chapuys and du Bellay. Meanwhile, his king marries a bride of Cleves, and my sources speak of Portuguese envoys arriving in Denmark, Sweden, Navarre… Something is happening, Michael. Not the Reformation, not this. It's something else, and I can't put my finger on what. But King Manuel is angling for something, and he sends us his cousin as ambassador. A man he was raised with as a brother. His closest, most trusted man, it's said."

"They need us," Michael guessed. "Whatever the game, England is central."

"Exactly."

Michael nodded. "The King of Portugal has marriageable sisters, and a young son," he said thoughtfully. "The Scots King needs a wife, and a betrothal would give our little Princess Elizabeth more legitimacy in the eyes of Europe. Manuel has things to offer. The question, of course, is what does he want in return?"

Cromwell shrugged. "That I don't know, not for certain. Which is why I need you, Michael."

"I know you don't know," Michael said, voice a bit sharper than he'd meant it to be. "But you suspect - what? You said you suspected something." Even as he said the words, he had a feeling he knew what it was. Clearly, alliances, but a network of them…

"Some sort of league, would be my guess," Cromwell said, eyebrow raised at the edge in Michael's tone. "Not the in name only alliances of Europe that Wolsey attempted to craft - the Perpetual Peace, the Eternal Peace. No, this is… If I'm right it's something else, something new. Manuel is young, idealistic, and deeply ambitious. Those who followed the late Princess Margaret to Portugal noted that he barely bothered with a pretense of grief at the death of his father. He'll have something dramatic in mind. With our King, with King Francis and Emperor Charles, it was war, once they came to the throne. Manuel, though, he seems to want something else. I am certain it's meant to be some glorious enterprise, and what else fits the evidence?"

If Cromwell was right, and if it could be done, Michael thought, King Manuel might get his wish. But first, they had to know if it really was the plan. And for that, he needed to get close to Cristovao Almeida.

It took weeks of observation and casual conversations before Michael worked out just how to do that. It took one to know one, a man whose gaze discreetly followed not the ladies of the court, but other men. There was a certain humor to it all, Michael reflected. Considering who wanted him to do this. Considering why he would do just about anything Cromwell asked.

But then, life was full of such little ironies, wasn't it?

Harry Fitzroy had been kept far from the court as his father continued on his quest to marry Anne Boleyn, living fairly quietly at Sheriff Hutton. He had not even attended court for Christmas, choosing instead to go and see his mother. It seemed wise not to appear, to remind people that there was a son of the King alive and well. His father had not summoned him either, perhaps for that very reason.

However, he wanted to see his sisters, and so he had written his royal sire to ask permission to visit Hatfield. Officially, he was only going to see Elizabeth, of course, but Mary lived there too. He barely knew her - she'd been away from the court every time he'd been brought there - and of course Elizabeth was a baby, but…

He was curious. And lonely, in a way. Though he had his companions at Sheriff Hutton, he was both more and less than they were. More, in his official rank and royal blood, less in that his bastard status meant he had no real family. But maybe… Maybe if he tried, that could change. His half-siblings through his mother were little, and tended to take their attitude toward him from their father. Elizabeth, of course, was even younger than they were, but Mary…

At Hatfield, of course, he was obliged to pay his respects to little Elizabeth first. The baby stared at him with curious blue eyes, wisps of red hair escaping her cap. She's a sweet child, he thought, not that he had enough experience with small children to really know one way or another. She didn't cry, at any rate.

When he asked to see the Lady Mary, the governess, Lady Bryan, eyed him suspiciously. But Harry gave her his brightest smile, the one everyone said made him look like his father. That seemed to decide her; she sent a maid for Lady Mary, who was in her chamber, as she was not part of the current rotation of ladies waiting on Princess Elizabeth. She waited on her in the morning and early afternoon, and it was now late afternoon.

Lady Mary curtsied only a little to him - the proper degree for a princess to a duke, he thought, but he didn't quibble. Instead he offered her his arm. "Sister?"

She stiffened, eyes narrowing, but eventually took his arm, letting him lead her outside. As soon as they were out of earshot, she said in a low voice, "You ought to address me properly; you are a bastard, duke or no, and I am the rightful Princess of Wales."

Harry said nothing until he'd led her to a bench in the knot garden and sat beside her. "Well, that's as may be, madam," he said, using the neutral title his friend Will Parr had advised he use. Whatever Mary was, she had royal blood in her from both sides of the blanket, which commanded respect even from Harry, a King's son and technically the ranking peer in the land. Or so Will had said, and Will usually had the right of it about such things. "But our father has declared it treason to call you that, and I for one would like to remain outside the Tower, if it's all the same to you. So I shall call you madam or sister, because those are nice, neutral titles that we can't fight over, don't you think?"

Mary's eyes - lighter blue than Harry's own, but a near-match to Elizabeth's - flashed. "I think that I have no idea why you wish to speak to me - brother." She held herself so stiffly, like she expected some kind of attack. That made sense, actually - she must have felt under attack since the day their father had bastardized her. Still, he gave her the same smile he'd given the stern governess.

"I thought someone could tell you things aren't all bad. Being a royal bastard isn't such a hardsh-"

"I am not a bastard! My mother, Katherine of Aragon, is the rightful Queen, and however much he may want to, my father can't change that! The Pope declared -"

"No one's listening, not among those who make the decisions," Harry told her, trying to be friendly. "I don't pretend to understand all of this. I'm even younger than you, and I'd rather be outside riding or swordfighting or anything else but being in the schoolroom. So I don't know who is right and who is wrong. I just know that our father, the King, is the one who has the power here. He made me a duke, when he could have left me to a stepfather who hates the very sight of me. He decided to put your mother aside - whether Elizabeth's mother seduced him to it or not, he chose it. He chose to send you here."

"He didn't! He would never - she ordered me here, I know it!" Mary snapped, but she did not get up. She seemed almost curious to see how far he would go.

"Perhaps she did. Perhaps she asked that I not come to court this Christmas, as I did in recent years, because I would draw attention to her recent failure to bear a son," Harry said with a shrug. "But she's not our mother, only our stepmother. Our father is the only one who truly decides how to dispose of us."

Mary stared at him, rigid still but expression puzzled now as well as angry. "Why are you telling me this? Are you saying I should do what they all want, deny my rights, deny my mother?"

Harry tried to imagine having to deny his own beloved mother. He didn't think he could do that. "I'm saying… You and I are family, and both of us are bastards by English law." He saw she was about to object, so he continued quickly. "Whatever the great truths of it all, whether the Pope is right or Archbishop Cranmer is, here in England we are both bastards by law. It makes us both more and less than those around us - it's a strange state to live in. For you, it also seems a punishment. I thought… I might meet you properly, so that we are not so alone in that."

He didn't know if it was good or bad that Mary didn't seem to know how to reply to that.

Ann had been disappointed that she'd borne a daughter, even if baby Margery looked to be a pretty thing, with her dark hair and Edward's pale eyes. But just now, she was grateful. She'd left Anne only briefly, but came back just in time to catch the King leaving, expression stormy as he cornered Dr. Linacre.

"How could this happen? Was there any sign? Did you miss something?"

"Her Majesty appeared perfectly healthy, Your Majesty."

The King shot a dark look at Anne's closed door, and seeing the sudden fear in Edward's eyes, Ann spoke up. (Wiltshire, George, and Tom were likely frightened too, but Edward mattered.)

"It may have been too soon."

Wiltshire gave her a vicious look, but the King's gaze was merely suspicious. "What are you talking about, Lady Beauchamp?"

"I have heard that myself, Your Majesty," Linacre spoke up. "It is impossible to know in advance, or to even be sure at all. But some women, though they are quite fertile, need time between birth and the next conception. All women do better with a little time - one benefit of the length of confinement. Others' wombs need a longer rest, though after it are as likely to bear healthy children as any woman. I would recommend giving the Queen time before resuming marital relations."

The King's face twisted, a remarkable mix of frustrated anger and careful thought. Then he turned on his heel and walked out. Linacre went to check on Anne, and Wiltshire rounded on Ann.

"What, if anything, were you thinking? Now he will keep away from her even longer! Edward, keep your wife silent!"

"There are men in the Tower like to die because they believe the King wrong," Ann fired back before Edward could speak. "If he takes this as a sign -"

"He can't set Anne aside, not without taking back Katherine," Edward cut in. "But if he begins to think this union is also accursed, he may never touch Anne again. Better he thinks she was too fertile for her own good, conceiving too quickly for her body to handle." He frowned at Ann. "But that was still risky. How did you even know?"

"The midwife said that killed my mother," Ann replied, trying to sound offhand about it. She didn't really remember her mother but she remembered the old woman's rough voice explaining the whys of her death to her father. It had been chilling, especially since she'd already had a vague idea that marriage and childbed were her concerns as well.

"It's done, and with any luck the gamble works," George said, before turning on his heel and going to comfort Anne. She'd called for George and Jane both, and Jane was already inside. As for the rest of them, they were silent.

The stakes had just gone up again for them all. What was there to say?

The return to court was not something either Mary or Hal had wanted to do, but in the wake of Anne's miscarriage her father had summoned them, and Mary had convinced Hal to go along with it. They had been at work for Anne in the north, doing what they could to turn support of Katherine and the old order into neutrality if not support for Anne. But Hal was furious about Cromwell's inspectors and the damage they wrought on the Church in the north. Mary had used that to help argue for a return, because if they were at court, Hal could fight it. Not directly, of course, but perhaps there were ways to balance things. If nothing else, at court he could see who else agreed with him.

So back to court they both came, however reluctantly. They arrived in the middle of Thomas More's trial for treason, London somber and unsure. It wasn't that More himself was necessarily deeply loved - he was thought to be a supporter of Katherine's, though, which did win over Londoners to his cause - but no one really knew what to make of it. No one in city or court had really thought More would die, knowing how the King had once loved him.

At the palace, the King lashed out and brooded by turns, and Jane said that her husband Brandon believed Anne was to blame for this. "I don't know if he thinks she's encouraging the King to proceed or if he just means in general, but…"

"Well, haven't you tried to talk him out of it? I doubt he has any reason to complain of you, surely you must have some influence by now," Mary said, shaking her head. Jane shrugged, pacing the floor of the chamber Mary and Hal had been granted. Hal was off talking to someone, Mary didn't know who.

"He appreciates it, especially my bringing his bastard daughter to court as one of my ladies, but it doesn't make him listen to me, whatever his feelings. It's no hardship, honestly. Sarah is a pleasant girl, eager to please, and I much prefer her company or little Kathryn Howard's to that of Catherine Willoughby."

"Catherine Willoughby? Oh, that's right, she's your husband's ward, correct? A wealthy young heiress?"

"Yes, but more than that she's the daughter of Maria de Salinas. Remember? Katherine's favorite lady, who came with her from Spain? Even with that, Anne's offered to take her off my hands, because I think she may hate me even more than she hates Anne. I mean, we could put her with Ann - meaning Edward's Ann - but that might be considered an insult, and also I expect they'd kill each other. I'm actually surprised Tom hasn't hinted he ought to marry her yet."

"A wealthy heiress would solve much of his grievances," Mary agreed, remembering their first night in London, when Tom had joined them for the evening meal at her and Hal's London house. "He's quite bitter over his lack of advancement, you know - specifically as compared with Edward. He's angry that Ned was ennobled while he is only a knight banneret. Angry too that Ned is married to an heiress, I imagine."

"Angrier still that Ned managed to be in love with his wife," Jane chuckled. "He is, you know. The two of them are very much in love, but pretend you don't notice, they don't seem to want anyone to realize their marriage isn't just business. Anyway, about Catherine. I can't be sure but I think she may have had designs on marrying Brandon herself. So we think that it might be best if she was removed to become one of Anne's ladies-in-waiting."

Mary nodded. "I'm sure you'll do what's best. But I have to ask, is Brandon right? I mean, Anne's not incapable of poisoning the King's mind. She did it with Wolsey. Could she have been involved?" It wasn't something Mary wanted to think of her baby sister, but she knew it was a possibility.

"No, at least I doubt it," Jane said. "They've barely spoken since she miscarried, and Ann's little suggestion - she told the King that our Anne might have gotten pregnant again too soon after Elizabeth's birth - may have been useful in terms of absolving her from some of the blame for the miscarriage, but the side effect is that he's staying away from Anne's bed longer to ensure that she'll be ready when she's next with child."

"Well, that's good in the long term if the plan works - even if the King loves Anne less, a son will wipe most of the troubles away, but I can see why it might be bad right now."

"That, sister dear, is an understatement. Anne's… Well, she's increasingly on edge. Thinks he's got a harem somewhere at one of his hunting lodges. Ann tried to tell her it was actually better if he had mistresses rather than a woman who held him off as she did once, but she sent her away. So I've yet to dare to point out that Anne is better off if he actually has a harem, since that means no one woman will be able to influence him."

Mary winced, thinking about her sister's likely reaction to such practical observations. Anne had never really been practical when it came to this sort of thing - she still remembered how Anne had railed at the King when he offered her the role of maitresse en titre. In hindsight that may have been wise, unless things got much worse than they currently were, of course, but the way she'd refused the title had been foolish and risky.

"So, essentially, things are not quite in shambles, but no one is happy. Except, apparently, Edward and his wife. Who would have thought it?"

"Why do you think you were wanted back?" Jane said with a sigh, and Mary had to laugh.

There was no point in doing anything else.