An Affair of Poisons(94)

A smile flutters at the corner of his lips. “As you may recall, I saved your life several times at Notre-Dame… .”

Several times is generous, but I grit my teeth and nod. “And I thanked you.”

“Such a life debt deserves more than a mere thanks.”

I glance miserably at the door. All I want is my girls. And Mirabelle. And to leave behind my brother and the battle and all of this. “Why don’t you tell me what you want so we can be done with it?”

“It’s most inconvenient for a new king to have a bastard brother milling about. You are uncouth and unpredictable. Some of my new ministers have advised that I banish you from court… .”

My mouth falls open and I gape at the noblemen standing behind Louis. We fought side by side only yesterday. And, before that, I spared their lives with antidotes. A surge of old, familiar pain bubbles inside my belly, but instead of lunging at them as I would have done before, I ball my fists and stand my ground. Let them whisper and jeer. I have nothing to prove. I am enough. “Thankless, scheming sots,” I mutter.

Louis laughs. Even though nothing about this is funny. He fans his face with a gloved hand. “While my ministers think I would be better off without you, I am of a different opinion. I made a promise to my people, and it would reflect poorly on me if I ousted their champion straight away. So I’ve another proposal for you. It seems I’m in need of a new police captain, and I believe you are the man for the job. An old friend claimed it would suit you.”

“What?” All the anger drains out of me, puddling in my boots. My eyes sting. “You want me to take Desgrez’s place?”

“I need someone I trust patrolling the streets, and it would please me greatly if that man was you.”

I shake my head slowly. I could never fill Desgrez’s shoes. And I don’t want to fill them. Not if it means moving on. Forgetting him. I have other responsibilities, besides.

“I can’t. The girls …”

“Have been placed in excellent care.”

“What do you mean, they’ve been ‘placed in excellent care’? Where? With whom?” I look all around the room, as if somehow Anne and Fran?oise will appear.

“Madame de Montespan’s elder sister, the Marchioness de Thianges, volunteered to oversee their upbringing, and I thought it a splendid idea.”

“How could you think that? They need to be here. With me.”

Louis steeples his hands and waits for me to stop shouting. “Be reasonable, Josse. It isn’t fitting for little girls to be raised by us. They will be happy with their aunt. And it’s not as if they’ve been sent across the sea. They’re on the other side of the city. You can visit as you please.”

“Doesn’t the marchioness prefer to be at court?”

“She thinks they will benefit from living somewhere quieter for a time, to recover. But they’ve a place here whenever they wish to return.”

The thundering in my chest slows, and I grudgingly nod. “You could have at least waited until I awoke. So I could see them off.”

“You would have never let them go. You’re allowed to be both a brother and an officer, you know. And the girls aren’t your only sibling in need of assistance.”

Behind him, Louis’s ministers whisper at this admission. He stiffens in his armchair. “I expect an answer in the morning, Josse. Now run along.” He lifts a gloved hand and waves me away. “I’ve important matters to attend to that are far above your station. I’m sure you’ll find the company in the millinery more suited to your tastes.”

This makes his ministers chuckle, but a ghost of a smile floats across Louis’s lips and his blue eyes twinkle with mischief.

I manage a bewildered bow and drift out of the palace and up the streets. Toward Mirabelle and the millinery. Marveling at how everything has changed. And how everything in the world feels oddly right.





29



MIRABELLE


The millinery is dark and I am alone—basking in the stillness, luxuriating in the comforting darkness that seeps around me like steam. It’s so warm and quiet. So opposite the fray at Notre-Dame.

I sit beneath the window, legs tucked against my chest and chin atop my knees, and stare at the moonlight passing through the papered windows. It paints the floor with brushstrokes of pewter and indigo, and I twirl my fingers idly in the light.

Mother and Lesage are dead. Marguerite and the members of the Shadow Society who surrendered are locked in the Chatelet, awaiting trial. Gavril and the orphans have already taken up residence in the Palais Royal. Ameline and the fishwives returned victorious to the wharf. And Louis and I carried Josse to the Louvre, though I left directly after administering the cure for désintégrer.

That palace makes my skin crawl. I saw Mother’s face in every stone and tapestry. Her voice echoed down the halls and hovered in the silence of Josse’s sickroom. So I started walking, hoping to outrun the horrifying images of her writhing on the scaffold at Notre-Dame. But the memories followed me clear to the millinery—I suspect they will follow me always.

And not just the ones of Mother.

Gris’s warm brown eyes haunt me from the goggles resting on the table. His crooked smile shines in the glass of every phial. I hear his laugh in the belly of each cauldron. A tear slides down my cheek, and when I wipe it away, I recoil at the metallic scent of blood.