An Affair of Poisons(67)
Josse waves a hand overhead. “I am the bastard son of the late king and here on behalf of the royal family—”
“Not to disparage your status, as I’m certainly in no position to do so”—Ameline tugs on her ragged skirts coated in mud and fish guts—“but sending the royal bastard and runaway daughter of La Voisin to do their bidding hardly inspires confidence.”
“His Royal Highness wishes to walk among you, of course,” Josse grinds out, “but you must understand how dangerous—”
“Exactly!” another man cries. “How do we know the dauphin lives at all? These could be cruel, empty promises. We were betrayed by another champion this very night. Seems foolish to put our trust in someone we can’t even see, who could be hiding in a lavish castle, swathed in velvet and silk, while we are poisoned and left to perish.”
“Louis and my sisters are living in conditions no better—”
“Prove it!” someone yells. And then all of the Quai de la Grève is shouting it.
Josse steps down from the crate with a heavy thunk and rakes his fingers through his soaking hair. “I give up. There’s nothing I can say to please them.”
“We appreciate what you’ve done for us,” Ameline calls above the tumult, “but if we’re to believe your promises, if you want commoners to rally behind royals who have always reviled us, we need to see them with our own eyes. And if it be as you say it is, then we’ll cast our lot with yours.”
A hundred Ayes rise up in agreement, followed by a hundred more.
Josse gives a curt nod and stalks off. Desgrez follows. I linger slightly longer, forcing a smile and calling out assurances. Then I rush to catch up to Josse and Desgrez.
“The healing was impressive, I’ll give you that,” Desgrez says. “But the response wasn’t quite as enthusiastic as promised.” He casts goading smiles at Josse and me in turn.
“Save it,” Josse says.
“That went differently than expected,” I agree, “but we knew we would have to include Louis sooner or later.”
“I was hoping for much later,” Josse growls.
“Not looking forward to your glorious family reunion?” Desgrez continues. “But Louis has missed you so!” He tries to sling his arm around Josse’s shoulders, but Josse buries his elbow in Desgrez’s side. After a long, drawn-out wheeze, Desgrez chuckles. “Not to worry—I’ll protect you.”
I accidentally laugh, and Josse shoots me a glare. “We’ll both protect you,” I say. Then slowly, so as not to draw Desgrez’s attention, I slide my fingers between Josse’s and give his hand a faint squeeze.
20
JOSSE
A foul taste lingers in my mouth from the Quai de la Grève, and it has nothing to do with the fish.
Once again, I am not enough.
Once again, I’m cast aside in favor of my brother, who hasn’t lifted a bedamned finger.
Granted, we haven’t asked for his help, but Louis wouldn’t have offered it even if we had. Not willingly, anyway. He couldn’t care less about fishmongers. Or the poor and sick.
Yet still they cry for him.
Still I am forced to grovel at his feet and beg for his support—then give him credit for everything I’ve accomplished.
I suppose I knew it would come to this—I proposed returning him to the throne. I just didn’t expect to feel this bitterness churning in my belly. These sharp claws of jealousy dragging through my skin.
Desgrez keeps snickering as we walk, as if this is all a hysterical joke. I want to punch him in the throat, but hold back because he’s finally warming to our plan.
Mirabelle squeezes my hand, trying to get me to slow down and look at her, but I charge ahead, my fingers rigid against hers. I haven’t a clue why she wants anything to do with me—I clearly have nothing to offer.
I turn to start up the rue Saint-Denis toward the millinery, but Mirabelle and Desgrez stop and look the other way—down the rue Saint-Honoré toward the patisserie.
“Now?” I groan.
“There’s no reason to delay,” Mirabelle says. “The sooner we enlist your siblings, the sooner we can recruit more allies.”
“But it’s so late… .”
Desgrez rolls his eyes. “The sun has barely set. And you know time means nothing down below.”
I groan again, louder.
“I know you’re anxious to see Anne and Fran?oise,” Mirabelle persuades.
Their names stop me short. Anxious is an understatement. Two tiny holes have been drilling into my chest since the day I left the sewer. I’d do anything to see them, to protect them. Even face Louis. “Fine.” I let Mirabelle pull me toward Madame Bissette’s, but I drag my feet as if I’m marching to the gallows.
“Quit being so dramatic,” Desgrez says. “This was your idea, was it not? Uniting the nobility and the peasants?”
“Yes, but I never considered who would do the actual uniting.”
“Who better than the noble commoner?” Desgrez opens the patisserie door and waves me in with a gallant sweep of his hand. “After you, my lord.”
I bite my thumb at him and slip inside. By some miracle, Madame Bissette is in her apartment abovestairs, so I lift the hatch and descend into the tunnels without her pecking and pestering.