An Affair of Poisons(63)
The one who doesn’t know I exist.
“Gris!” Mirabelle’s voice is an entire octave higher than normal. “What a pleasant surprise. I thought I’d have to wait another two nights to see your smiling face.”
Which is the wrong thing to say, since the expression on his face is hardly a smile. His lips are curled back so far that he resembles a growling dog. And his brows crumple as his gaze darts between Mirabelle and me, as if he can see tiny, invisible threads connecting us from every place we’ve touched. He tightens his grip on his leather satchel, and his knuckles shine like bone.
“Who’s this?” Gris says, looking me up and down. “I didn’t realize you’d recruited additional help.” The way he growls the word help makes it perfectly clear the sort of help he thinks I’m providing.
I set the spoon on the counter, don my most innocent smile, and wipe my hands on my tunic before offering one to Gris. “Pleasure to finally meet you. Mirabelle speaks of you constantly. I’m Jo—”
“Just a blacksmith’s apprentice,” Mirabelle interrupts. She brushes past me, links her arm through Gris’s, and pulls him into the shop—decidedly away from me. “One of the pots cracked, and he came to repair it.”
“What’s he still doing here?” Gris asks. “He doesn’t seem to be fixing anything. He didn’t even bring tools.”
“Oh, he fixed the pot days ago. Turns out he knows a thing or two about alchemy and offered to help me,” Mirabelle says with a forced laugh, compulsively tucking the same wayward curl behind her ear.
Gris glowers down at her. “You’re lying. You’re doing that thing with your hair. The question is, why are you lying?” He glances to me.
“Don’t blame her,” I say. “It’s a common problem. Most people are embarrassed to be seen with me. I’m Josse de Bourbon.”
“Bastard son of the king,” Mirabelle cuts in, emphasizing my title—or lack thereof.
“I know who he is,” Gris mutters. “But I still don’t understand what he’s doing here. I’m happy to help you, Mira, but this … I was under the impression he was dead. And what’s all that?” The color drains from his face as he finally looks beyond Mirabelle at the carcass of the smoke beast splayed across the table. “Is that one of Lesage’s creatures?” He stumbles back, shaking his head. “What are you really up to?” He shoots another look at me. As if I somehow forced her into all of this.
“I’m only healing, as I told you,” Mirabelle says quickly. “And Josse is assisting me.”
“Why would a royal do that?”
Mirabelle shoots me a look that says she’ll toss me into one of her pots and boil the skin off my bones if I speak. “The princeling sought me out after I escaped because he wishes to be a different sort of royal than his father. One who actually cares for the people. He’s more like us than any of the nobility. His mother was a scullery maid. The king was ashamed of him and banished him to the kitchens. The courtiers rejected and reviled him.”
“I love when you extol all of my finest accomplishments,” I say, pretending to be stung. Which isn’t difficult because I do feel a little stung. I told her those things in confidence, not so she could disparage me to strangers. I part my lips, but Mirabelle shoots me another dangerous look.
“Josse sought me out because he wishes to heal the people. Who am I to refuse help? You know how having such a purpose can change a person.” She stares up at him until he grudgingly sighs.
“And the other royal children?” he asks. “Do they live as well? I’ve been hearing rumors about the dauphin and some ill-conceived rebellion.” Again, he glowers over at me, as if my brother and I are one and the same.
Mirabelle’s eyes briefly catch mine, radiating both fear and elation. News of our rebellion is spreading, just as we hoped. But neither of us had considered what might happen if the rumors got back to the Shadow Society.
I hold up both hands. “If the dauphin is alive and leading a rebellion, I’m the last person he would recruit. He loathes me.”
The lie is true enough. If the rebellion were Louis’s idea, I wouldn’t be included. Just as he isn’t included in our plans—not yet.
“When I escaped, all of the royals were ailing in a dilapidated hovel,” Mirabelle adds. “It would’ve taken a miracle for them to survive.”
Another clever half-truth. And deliciously ironic since she was our miracle.
“I’ve heard nothing about the royals or a rebellion,” she continues, “but the smoke beasts are rather worrisome.” She artfully steers the conversation to the carcass on the board. “I found this one dead in the road and decided to study it to see how I might help the innocent people caught in the crossfire of their attacks, since they are evidently roaming the city.”
“I didn’t know Lesage had set them loose.” Gris studies the beast with a concerned expression.
There are a lot of things you don’t know, I’m tempted to say. But since I’m certain Mirabelle would kill me for admitting this, I keep my lips tightly stitched.
“Thank you for bringing more supplies,” Mirabelle says, reaching for Gris’s satchel, but he steps back and holds it out of reach.
“I want to help you, Mira, but you’re putting me in a difficult position.”