An Affair of Poisons(60)

“I can help you, but I need to know how far the sickness has progressed.”

Two children grunt and poke the boy in the back. The straw-haired boy glares at me, stone-faced. “The first of us noticed the sores last week.”

“There’s still time, then. I haven’t a curative with me, but—”

“You know the remedy?”

“I do. I can distill it and bring it to you later tonight.”

The boy shakes his head. “You’ll do it now. Under our watch.” He gestures down the road with his ax, like a gaoler marching prisoners to the stocks. I suppress a smile. This boy is unflinching. Exactly the sort of ally we need.

“I’ve one condition,” I begin, but Josse clears his throat and steps in front of me.

He points at the hulking shell of the smoke beast. “That was an impressive feat.”

The boy shrugs, but a satisfied smile teases his lips. “That’s the third one we’ve killed this week. We used to rob carriages and carts coming to and from Les Halles, but after the beasties burned the riverbank, people are willing to pay dearly for protection.”

“Very clever,” Josse says.

“Aye.” The boy pulls back his bony shoulders. “We behead the monsters and harry the masked patrols. And before the king’s death, the Paris Police trembled at the mere mention of us.”

Josse studies the boy as if they are long-lost brothers. “What’s your name?”

“Gavril.”

“What would you say to a partnership of sorts, Gavril?”

“Depends what you’re offering.”

“Why would we offer them anything?” Desgrez cuts in. “They’re a group of feral brats.”

Gavril spits into the road and bunches back his shirtsleeves.

“With a very useful skill set,” Josse says in a rush, placing himself between Desgrez and Gavril. “What if I told you, in exchange for continuing to hunt the smoke beasts and badgering the Shadow Society patrols, I could offer you not only medication for your illness but all the food you can eat? And a proper roof over your heads. No more stalking the streets—unless you wish to, of course.”

The children whisper in excitement, but Gavril holds up a hand. “Who are you to offer such things? And to what end?”

“I’m Josse de Bourbon, bastard son of the late king. My brother, Louis, is alive and plans to make a stand against the Shadow Society and reclaim the throne. But he needs the help of the commoners to do so. We need your help.”

“We’ve no need for a king!” one of the children yells, and several others agree. “What did he ever do for us?”

“The dauphin will be a different sort of king,” Josse says. “He will listen to the voice of the people. You will have representatives at court and proper food and shelter. As well as medication, as I said before.”

The children sneer and roll their eyes. I don’t blame them. Every time we make these proclamations, a small measure of doubt simmers in my own belly. I want to believe our plan will work, but we’re making an awful lot of promises on behalf of a person who detests me. Who wants to kill me. Who has probably never even considered these orphans’ existence. I can’t imagine Louis will be eager to work with them—or any of our recruits.

Gavril chews the inside of his cheek and his eyes take on a mischievous gleam. “What if I said our price was the Palais Royal? Would you let us live there?”

He knows it’s a monumental demand.

So does Josse. He tugs his collar and swallows several times before saying, “Consider it done.”

Desgrez coughs so hard, I’m shocked his eyes don’t burst from his head. “Josse, be reasonable! That’s the residence of the Duc d’Orléans, second only to the Louvre in grandeur! The duc and nobility will never stand for it.”

“If he’s alive, the duc will be forced to accept it. In this new era, we all must make accommodations. The Palais Royal is a small price to pay for such an advantageous alliance.”

A delighted smile illuminates Gavril’s dirty face, and he looks up at the bastard princeling as if he were the king himself.

How does Josse do that? Make a person feel needed and confident, no matter their status. He makes you want to help him because he genuinely wishes to help in return. I think of how he spirited me from the sewer and snuck me into the Louvre, how passionately he argued to convince me to join him on this crazy venture to unite the people, and warmth rises within me like heat in a forge.

My eyes flit to his face, but he stiffens and clenches his jaw, refusing to turn.

Gavril spits into his palm and offers it to Josse, who returns the handshake with gusto. Something a true royal would never do. “A pleasure doing business with you, Master Gavril,” Josse says with a bow. The children burst into applause, whistling and clapping.

“Now, about that curative …” Gavril says.

“That, you’ll have to take up with her.” Josse gestures over his shoulder at me, and after a deliberate pause, he finally meets my gaze and grinds out, “Mademoiselle La Vie.”

A lump of emotion gathers in my throat. For a moment, I can’t speak. It’s far from absolution, but if he’s still willing to call me that, it gives me hope that someday I might be able to crawl out from beneath the weight of my crimes. It gives me the strength to stand a little taller and hold my chin a little higher and make a somewhat unorthodox request.