The Queen's Rising (Untitled Trilogy #1)(62)

And so I whispered, “Let it be done, Lady.”





NINETEEN


SUMMER’S END


September 1566


Two days before our second strategic meeting, I came down with a fever. Agnes commanded me to remain in bed, where in vain I drank every healing tonic, ate every nutritious root possible, and sipped copious amounts of slippery elm tea. But it was to no avail; I burned steadily off and on, as if I were a fallen star trapped on Earth.

Luc came and saw me, right before he, Jourdain, and Liam were to leave for the Laurents’ dinner. He laid his hand on my brow and frowned. “Saints. You’re still burning, Amadine.”

“I can go,” I panted, weakly attempting to push the heap of quilts away. “I can go to the meeting.”

I was worried Jourdain would try to upend my plans, and Luc saw it in my glassy eyes.

“You are not going anywhere,” he insisted, sitting beside me on the bed, tucking the blankets firmly about me. “Don’t worry; I will make sure your plans are upheld.”

“Jourdain will try to undo them,” I croaked, which prompted Luc to reach for my cup of lukewarm tea.

“He will try, but he will not go against the queen,” my brother said, tilting the cup to my lips. “And the queen is drawn to your ideas.”

I took one sip and then had to lie back on my pillows, my strength fading.

“Now rest,” Luc ordered, rising from the bed, setting my tea on the table. “It’s more vital that you heal from this so you are ready to cross the channel soon.”

He was right.

I didn’t even remember hearing him leave my room. I fell into a tangle of dark, feverish dreams. I was at Magnalia again, standing in the gardens, the fog thick on the ground, and a man was coming toward me. I wanted it to be Cartier; I nearly ran to him, my heart overflowing with the joy of seeing him again, until I realized it was Oran—Tristan’s older brother. He was coming to cut me down for stealing pieces of his brother’s memories. And I had no weapon but that of my two feet. I ran through a never-ending maze for what felt like hours and hours, until I was ragged and exhausted, until I was ready to kneel down and let Oran cut me in two, until light seeped into my eyes.

I woke, achy and drenched, but the sunlight that streamed in through my windows was pure and sweet.

“She’s woken!”

I turned my head to see Agnes there, her rosy, plump cheeks trembling as she jumped up from her chair. “Monsieur! She’s awake!”

I winced at her hollering, winced at the urgent creaking of the stairs as Jourdain appeared, halting on my threshold, as if he was too embarrassed to enter my room.

“Tell me,” I tried to say to him, but my voice cracked into pieces.

“I’ll go fetch you some water,” Agnes promised, touching my brow. “Ah, the fever has finally broken. Praise Ide.” She scurried from the room, which enabled Jourdain to ease inside, still a bit hesitant.

He finally settled in the chair Agnes had abdicated, at my bedside.

“What did I miss?” I croaked again, feeling as if coals had been raked down my throat.

“Shh, just listen,” Jourdain said. He acted like he wanted to reach for my hand, but was too shy to do it. “Everything you planned is going to occur. The invitation has been forged; we have the sum of money Allenach requires for the hunt. D’Aramitz is going to cross the channel next week. He will be staying at Damhan under the pretense of the hunt, but he is also there to quietly gather and ready my forces. In addition to that, I have requested that he keep an eye on you, that he be your shield, your protection, your ally should you need him.”

“But, Father,” I rasped, “I do not know what he looks like.”

“As I know. We prepared for this, though. The first night you are at Damhan, when you go into the hall for dinner, wear this in your hair.” Jourdain retrieved a delicate silver rose from his pocket, the edges crusted with tiny rubies. He set it into my palm. “This is how d’Aramitz will identify you, although you will likely be one of very few women there. He will be wearing a red jerkin with this emblem stitched over the center.” He withdrew a piece of parchment. I blinked, my vision still blurry from the illness, but I could see it was a drawing of a great oak, encompassed in a circle. “We discussed this at length, and everyone has come to the conclusion that it is best that once you make the acknowledging eye contact with him the first night, you avoid d’Aramitz the remainder of the time. Should he be caught, I do not want you to be caught with him. Do you understand?”

Ah, fatherly orders. He sounded so stern, so formidable. But that gleam was in his eyes again, that star of worry. I wished I could extinguish it somehow.

“Yes,” I said.

“Good. Now, another conclusion we made the other night: when you go to Lyonesse, to appeal to Lannon . . . if Allenach is not present when you enter the royal hall, do not make the appeal for my admittance. You will have to wait until the following Thursday, and Liam has a list of safe houses we still need to get you. . . .” He patted his pocket, frowning. “All this has been decided because if you make the admission before Lannon, without Allenach’s presence, you will most likely be held in the keep of the castle. You understand? You move forward only if you see Allenach, and he stands to the left of the throne and will be wearing his coat of arms. You remember the Allenach coat of arms?”