An Affair of Poisons(33)

9



MIRABELLE


I’ve nearly drifted off to sleep when shouting erupts down the tunnel, followed by the slap, slap, slap of boots on stone. I bolt upright. Cool tendrils of fear trickle down my neck, and I shiver as I stare into the blackness. The bastard prince is coming to kill me—or the officer, more like. Why wait until morning? The only thing my reckless negotiating bought me was a few less hours of life.

The steps grow louder. Nearer.

Move, Mira.

I thrash against my bonds, but the ropes cut deeper into my wrists. Thankless, rutting royals! Healing the police captain should’ve convinced them that the Shadow Society isn’t wholly wicked—that some of us are still reasonable and capable of incredible, lifesaving innovation.

Serves you right for betraying us, Mother hisses.

A frustrated scream burbles up my throat, but I’m not sure who I’m screaming at: Mother for being right, the royals for being heartless, or myself for being so stupid.

“You! Girl!” The bastard’s voice echoes around the corner, gruff and strained and manic. A second later, he materializes through the shadows and barrels toward me like a bull. I’m sure the loathsome officer isn’t far behind. Wild with panic, I press myself against the dripping wall and will the rocks to swallow me. I tense every muscle, waiting for a blow to the head or a sword through the ribs, but I feel a whoosh of air instead. The boy drops to his knees beside me, carrying a limp sack of something.

No.

Someone.

“Heal her,” he begs.

I blink at him. Mold must’ve sprouted in my ears. Or perhaps they’ve frozen shut.

“Please.” He chokes. In the low light, I can just make out the tears coursing down his face and the shape in his arms—a small girl. Sallow and thin. So very, very still.

“You didn’t come to kill me?” I whisper.

“You said you can save her.” He fights to keep his voice steady, but his shoulders lurch and he buries his face in the scraps of the little girl’s dress. “Do it. I’ll give you whatever you want.”

I purse my lips and wait until he meets my gaze. “You know what I want.”

The bastard swallows hard but nods. “I’ll let you go, I swear it. Just help her. Quickly.”

He’s lying. Mother’s voice cracks like a whip. You know he cannot set you free. Don’t let one pitiful girl cloud your judgment and threaten all we have accomplished.

And what exactly have we accomplished? I want to shout back at her. How is executing our opposition and reigning with an iron fist any better than the Sun King forsaking the peasants?

I look down at the girl and finger the satin hem of her dress. She wasn’t a willing party to any of this—she was caught in the crosshairs. Like myself. We are all cannon fodder in our parents’ war.

Mother’s voice grows louder and more frantic: If they live, the nobles will continue to rise against us. But I clench my teeth and banish her from my mind. I’m through dancing like a puppet at the end of the Society’s strings. They refused to negotiate for my life. And barred me from the laboratory. I owe them nothing. I would rather cling to the original goal of the Shadow Society and rely upon my healing concoctions—hold fast to my convictions like Father—than be poisoned by power and ambition like Mother.

“Cut the ropes,” I say. “We haven’t much time.”

With a strangled gasp of thanks, the princeling lays the girl on the floor and severs my bonds. At first, my arms refuse to move. After being bound for so many days, they’re creaky and stiff, and my shoulders are on fire. I grit my teeth and wrench them forward, shouting a stream of curses that would put even Fernand to shame. Then I crawl through a puddle to where the little girl lies. She’s breathing, only just.

“Right, then—I can work here, but I’d prefer better lighting and drier floors.”

The bastard looks from his sister to me and then down the tunnel, biting his lip into a pulp.

I huff out an exasperated breath. “The longer you waste mistrusting me, the worse she gets. I am not your enemy. I knew nothing about the attack on Versailles, I helped you escape Lesage’s beasts, and I healed the police captain when I should have killed him.”

He looks at me, actually looks me in the eye for the first time in days, then lifts the girl and motions with his head for me to follow. Neither of us speaks as we wind through the pitch dark. It takes all of my concentration to navigate the slime-covered floor thanks to my bleary eyes and weak, aching muscles. Sweat dribbles down my cheeks, but I welcome the wetness. It means my fever has broken.

We round several corners and ascend into a chamber lit with flickering torches. As soon as I duck through the grate, the quiet clip of conversation ceases and three pairs of blue eyes lock on my frame. I nod at each of them, but the royals don’t return my greeting. Madame Royale, who looks to be my age, regards me like the walking plague, scrunching her nose and narrowing her eyes. The girl beside her, a slightly older replica of the one in Josse’s arms, dives behind her older sister’s skirts, while the dauphin sits in the farthest corner, his blond wiglet dangling in his piqued face, his arms crossed over his blue and gold doublet.

He shoots to his feet. “This is an outrage! She’ll poison us. Or attack us with her wicked magic.”