I covered my ears, trying to block out the screams, the sound of gunfire, the crashing of horses’ hooves. Finally she yanked the door open and rushed inside, pulling me sharply behind her.I followed her up the narrow stair, clutching my gown so I wouldn’t trip. Mary moved with purpose, her quick, sure steps conveying what I refused to face: She was now the queen of England.At the top of the stairs we came to a long corridor with Persian rugs and dark wooden moldings, where a row of shaded candles illuminated our way. Somewhere in the great maze of halls I imagined I could hear Hollister’s army approaching.On a door up ahead, a string of rainbow-colored blocks spelled out JAMIE’S ROOM. I tore the sign from the door, the thread breaking in my hand, the blocks tumbling to the ground. I had helped Jamie make the sign when he was four years old. I remembered sitting together in front of the fire, drinking hot chocolate with honey as we strung the blocks together. Even though it was after the Seventeen Days, that memory suddenly felt like it was from a different time—so long ago that it was impossible to reach.Mary swept past me and pushed open the door.
