Stepsister(106)

The blackbriar wall had sunk back into the river after the Battle of Devil’s Hollow. Isabelle had returned to the linden tree, knelt down, and tucked a medal that she’d been given for valor into the hollow.

“For you,” she said, bowing her head. “Thank you.”

A footman, hovering at Isabelle’s elbow, cleared his throat now, pulling her out of her memories. “General, the king and queen are waiting in the Grand Hall,” he informed her.

Isabelle nodded and followed him. He led her down a long corridor, to a pair of gilded doors. Giving them a mighty push, he entered the palace’s Grand Hall and announced Isabelle’s name.

At the far end of the hall, seated on golden thrones, were King Charles and Queen Ella. Lining both sides of the room, three rows deep, were the noble heads of France, dozens of courtiers, ministers, officials, and friends.

As Isabelle proceeded down the centre of the room towards the royal couple, she saw Hugo and his new wife, Odette. Tavi was there, in her scholar’s robes. At the queen’s urging, the king had decreed that all the universities and colleges in the land must admit female scholars. Maman stood next to her, beaming at this duke and that countess. She had apologized to Ella, they had reconciled, and she now spent her days in the palace gardens, talking to royal cabbage heads.

Felix was there, too, and Isabelle’s heart danced when she saw him, dressed up in a new jacket. The man to whom he’d sold the wooden soldiers demanded that Felix return his money, but the king had been so grateful to Felix for making the army that had saved France, that he paid the man back himself and gave Felix a scholarship to Paris’s finest art school. Felix was busy every day learning how to sculpt stone, but he made time to ride with Isabelle every evening in the king’s own forest.

Isabelle had reached the king and queen now. She stopped a few feet away from them, bowed her head, and knelt.

The king rose. A gloved servant stood nearby holding a gleaming ebony box. He opened it, revealing a heavy golden chain of office nestled in black velvet. The king lifted the chain out of the box, walked to Isabelle, and put it over her head. He settled it on her shoulders, then bade her rise and turn to face his court.

“Lords and ladies, citizens of France, we are all here today because of the courage and strength of this young woman. I can never repay her for all that she’s done. And I will never part with her. I have come to rely upon her wise counsel. Her bravery and strength inspire me with hope as we move from the destruction of war to the golden days of peace. I have made sure she will always be by my side. At meetings of my nobles and ministers, and, should it ever come to it again, on the battlefield.” The king smiled at Isabelle, then said, “Good people, I give you France’s bravest warrior … and my new grand duchess.”

The applause was deafening. Shouts and cheers echoed off the high stone walls.

Isabelle’s heart beat strongly—with joy, with gratitude, with pride—as she looked at the faces of all the ones she loved.

Ella joined Isabelle and the king, and together they walked down the steps to greet the court. Well-wishers mobbed Isabelle. Family and friends hugged and kissed her. Nobles wanted to hear her recount her battles. Ministers asked for her thoughts on the state of fortifications along the border.

The attention was dizzying. She stepped back for a moment to ask a servant for a drink. As she did, she saw another face in the crowd. And for an instant, it felt as if time had stopped and the king and queen, and everyone in their court, had been frozen in place.

The Marquis de la Chance smiled. He was tossing a gold coin in the air. He flipped it at her. She caught it. Then he doffed his hat and disappeared into the press of people.

Isabelle watched him go, clutching the coin tightly in her hand.

She never saw him again.

She never forgot the day she’d met him, or how his friends had told her to want to be more than pretty. She never forgot Elizabeth, Yennenga, Abhaya Rani. She wore his gold coin on a chain around her neck until the day she died. But the thing she treasured most was the memory of his smile, a smile that was a wink and a dare. A wild road on a windy night. A kiss in the dark.

A smile that had given her all she’d ever wanted—a chance.

A chance to be herself.





Epilogue


The boom of the large brass knocker, so rarely used, echoed ominously throughout the ancient palazzo.

The mother looked up from her work. Candlelight played over her face. “Are we expecting visitors?” she asked.

“Who is it?” the crone barked at a servant.

The servant scuttled to the map room’s huge double doors and opened them, then he hurried down several flights of stairs to the street doors.

A man was standing on the threshold, dressed in a brown velvet frock coat. His long black braids hung down his back. A large satchel was slung over one shoulder. A monkey was perched on the other. The servant gave the man a dark look, but he ushered him inside and led him upstairs.

“You had to bring your blasted monkey,” the crone said, as the man walked into the map room.

“Nelson’s very well-behaved,” Chance said.

“You have an odd idea of good behavior,” the crone commented. “What can I do for you?”

Chance pressed a hand to his chest, feigning offense. “Do for me? I’ve come only to enjoy the pleasure of your company, not to beg favors,” he said.