An Affair of Poisons(66)

“étienne!” she shrieks at the motionless man beneath me. “I forbid you to be dead!” She elbows me aside and slaps the man across the face. “Wake up this instant!”

Just as I’m about to tell her it’s useless, she slaps her husband again and his eyes fly open. He clutches his chest and is immediately gripped by a fit of coughing.

My eyes burn with tears and I bury my face in my hands, crying and laughing so hard that I can’t catch my breath.

He lives.

It worked.

“Don’t sit there blubbering!” the woman shouts at me. “The rest, girl. Tend the rest.”

Desgrez helps me to my feet and we continue our work down the river, doling out antipoison and whispering my new name, La Vie, until it’s on every tongue. Floating down the riverside. Once again shaking the bearings of my soul.

“We knew you’d come,” a girl says as she pushes up to her elbows. “Rumors have been swirling down the dock and tangling through Les Halles. They say you’re an angel, sent from God himself.”

I’m no angel, that’s for certain, but I feel something powerful, something transcendent, stir deep within me as I watch the dead return to life. Women and children rush from the shabby riverside shacks and collide with the men in great, weeping hugs. A small dark-eyed girl throws herself atop the first man I healed and clutches his face, kissing his scruffy cheeks.

My eyes sting and my lips quiver. Father’s voice drifts past me on the wind. You will be a great alchemist one day… .

This is what he meant. This feeling gave him the courage to stand up to Mother, to prize alchemy above all else. “Miraculous,” Desgrez whispers.

My eyes widen. “Is that a compliment, Captain?”

Desgrez scoffs and assaults me with the full force of his most intimidating scowl. “If you’re trying to get an admission out of me, poisoner, it will never happen.”

“I think the tears glistening in your eyes are admission enough.”

“Raindrops. Obviously.” He wipes his sleeve across his face.

A few minutes later, Josse comes tearing down the dock, whooping and wide-eyed. “It worked! Our antipoison worked!” He catches me up in his arms and we spin across the rain-slicked boards.

For a second, I can’t breathe—it’s so reminiscent of the day I healed Anne and Fran?oise. And yet, everything has changed. Instead of pushing him away, my arms tighten around his neck. My fingers hungrily clutch his tunic. And instead of freezing with horror, I bury my face in his chest.

He sets me down, takes my chin in his hands, and presses his forehead to mine. He’s laughing and misty-eyed, and his lips are so close I can practically taste them. The tiny space between us bubbles and pops. His warm breath spills across my frozen cheeks. His hands slide down my neck and tangle in my hair. It would be so easy to lift my chin a fraction.

Josse glances down, and his lip catches between his teeth.

I close my eyes and lean up on my toes.

“Focus!” Desgrez yanks Josse back by the shoulders. “This isn’t the time to be …” He waves a hand between Josse and me and makes a disgusted face. “We’ve work yet to do.” He nods to the scores of people still gathered on the wharf. “Make your speech so we can be off before a Shadow Society patrol spots us.”

I never dreamed I’d say this, but Desgrez is right. We’ve a city to retake. No time for distraction.

“Do you want to do the honors?” Josse asks me.

“And deny you the pleasure of touting your royal heritage?” He clutches his chest, as if wounded, and I grin. “You’re the link to Louis. And you’ve got a knack for making these speeches.”

A slow smile tugs his cheeks. He straightens his cloak with a flourish and climbs onto an overturned crate. “My good people! I am Josse de Bourbon and this is Mademoiselle La Vie. We bring you these healing tonics from His Royal Highness, the dauphin! He is alive and plotting to reclaim the throne from La Voisin and the Shadow Society, even as we speak. But he needs your aid and loyalty to do so. If you will join us in this battle, we will continue to provide curatives and protection. Once order is restored, you will also be given a voice in the new government. Representatives will bring your complaints before the dauphin and the Parlément de Paris.”

“Sure they will!” calls the fishwife who slapped her husband, étienne, back to life.

“Ameline, hush,” the man orders, but she elbows past him to the front of the group and stands before us with her arms crossed. “I’m just as likely to have a say in the government as I am to dip my fingers in the mucky Seine and have them come out plated gold.”

A few fishermen snicker, and the rest stare—awaiting our reply.

“I assure you—” Josse begins, but Ameline cuts him off.

“Save your assurances! We want proof!”

Josse looks down at me, and I shrug helplessly. We have no proof to give them. We haven’t needed it. The poor and sick have been so grateful for aid, they willingly put their trust in us. I had assumed the fishmongers would be the same, especially with all their happy tears and thankful cries. But Ameline tilts her head back and laughs bitterly, pointing a finger at us.

“Just as I suspected. If the dauphin is so eager to join with us, where is he? Where is any of the royal family? Shouldn’t they be the ones distributing the curatives?” She looks all around for royals who are distinctly absent and more and more of the dockworkers begin to murmur and shout.