This seems to appease him somewhat. “Thank Camulos someone has the sense the gods gave a turnip.” While Beast’s anger has faded, it is replaced somewhat by hurt. As if my not telling him has wounded him in some way.
“The only reason I did not tell you,” I rush to explain, “was because I was afraid you would try to stop me.”
He stares at me, eyes beseeching me to see reason. “And I would have.”
“Tried.”
He stares at me a beat longer. “How am I supposed to face Charlotte and Louise—?especially Louise—?if I must tell them something happened to you? Something you did not even trust me enough to tell me you were doing?”
His words are like a bucket of cold water and make me feel small. “Nothing happened.”
“This time,” he points out. “But surely even you recognize you cannot always be so lucky.” He opens his mouth to say more, closes it again, then shakes his head and walks away.
* * *
On my way back to my room, I pause on the floor of the king’s apartments. I can see the large double doors to his bedchamber from the landing. With thoughts of Marguerite heavy in my mind, I cannot help but wonder what sort of man he must be. A confusion of chivalry and noble ideals wrapped up in a lack of confidence and a need to assert himself. But only able to truly do so with those who are on an unequal footing with him. An eleven-year-old princess. A queen he has stripped of all power. It is an unattractive collection of traits, and yet he does not feel evil or cruel. It is more that he is unsure of his own abilities, and until he becomes confident, we will all suffer.
The door to his bedchamber opens, followed by light feminine laughter and the lower rumble of a male voice. I duck back into the shadows in time to watch a woman emerge from the room. Katerine says something over her shoulder, then lifts her skirts and makes her way down the long hallway to the queen’s apartments.
Katerine from the garden, who held Brittany in such contempt. Katerine, who claimed to have no interest in the queen, yet watched her closely. Now her interest makes sense. She is having an affair with the king. Of course she would want to pay close attention to the queen’s comings and goings. And no wonder he visits the queen so infrequently.
I cannot help but feel as if the Nine themselves have all decided to piss right where I am standing.
Chapter 75
Genevieve
n spite of Maraud’s dire prediction, I manage to catch a few hours’ sleep. When I wake in the morning, Tomas and Crespin have added some of their own supplies to the remains of our pottage from last night and are heating it for breakfast.
There is little opportunity for Maraud and me to talk, but I manage to pull him aside when we go to saddle our horses. “How do we get rid of them?”
“I don’t know that we do.”
“We don’t have time to be haring off on their behalf. Every day I linger, more innocents are at risk. I will poison them. That is the only answer.”
“All of them?”
“What choice do I have?”
“We wait. We’re traveling in the same direction as they are. Once we’re out on the open road, our options will be greater. Besides,” he adds. “There is safety—”
“In numbers. Yes, you’ve said. Here.” I slap the vial of antidote in his hand. It is impossible to administer it without the others seeing.
He stares at it for a moment. “How I’ve longed to hold this very thing.” His gaze flits briefly to our captors. “And now that I finally do, it is useless to me.” He takes a quick swig, then hands it back.
“Not useless,” I point out, tucking it back into my pouch. “It still keeps you alive. You just can’t grab it and run.”
“Hurry up,” Jorn growls at us. “There’s enough light to ride by.”
“We’re ready,” Maraud calls back.
I lean in close. “If they are still holding us back once we clear Poitiers, I am poisoning the lot of them, the English crown be damned.”
“I am sure Henry the Seventh would reward you most handsomely,” Maraud says wryly.
* * *
The next two days’ travel is relatively uneventful. And Maraud is right, there is a certain sense of safety when traveling in such large numbers. We even make better time because Maraud is no longer looking over his shoulder.
We spend the second night in Poitiers at an inn just inside the city gates, and I am grateful for a true bed, even one of lumpy straw. At dinner that night, Maraud is able to convince the claimant’s party to continue northward with us for two more days. While it was four days’ ride straight to the coast from the abandoned village, to reach the coast near Nantes will take longer. By traveling north with us, then cutting over to the coast at Sainte-Maure, they will be using a much less conventional route and will therefore be better able to avoid their enemies.
After giving Maraud his antidote the following morning, I slip all of my poisons—?the night whispers and the few remaining wax pearls—?out of my pack and set them in the small pouch I carry at my waist. I also secure the poisoned needles up my left sleeve. I do not wish to cause these men harm. They are committed to a cause they believe in, and I admire that. But I will not allow them to divert me from a cause I believe in just as fervently.
Chapter 76
Sybella
t takes me a few days to decide how I want to handle the issue of Katerine. I could approach her directly, but there is a chance she would not heed my warning to leave. And if I do what I must to convince her, well, it would be easy enough for her to report such actions back to the regent, who would be only too glad to use such accusations against me.
Besides, the more I think upon it, the more I wonder if the regent herself isn’t behind this. If she cannot share pillow talk with her brother, what better than to have a loyal attendant fill his bed and report back to her?
It will be a most delicate conversation, one best had away from listening ears. So when the morning’s mass is over and we all begin to file out of the chapel, I linger behind, waiting for the regent and her party to pass. “Madame Regent.”
She peers down her nose as I slip into place next to her. “Lady Sybella, to what do I owe this pleasure?” Frost drips from her words.
“If it pleases you, I fear I have learned of something, and believe you are the most qualified person to guide me on the matter.”
The disbelief on the regent’s face is matched only by her curiosity. She glances over her shoulder at her maids of honor, motioning for them to precede her. “Pray with me,” she offers.
We turn back toward the front of the church. Because I hold the cards in this game for once, I decide to stir the waters a bit.
“I was surprised to hear that Princess Marguerite was within riding distance. I had assumed she would return to Austria to be with her father.”
The regent looks straight ahead. “Her father has not yet arranged for her transportation.”
“Surely he would be eager for a chance to see his daughter after so many years?”
The regent looks at me. “I am sure that he is, but the travel arrangements and logistics are complex. Now, what is this problem you wished my guidance on?”
I kneel before the altar and stare at the cross that hangs above it. With a sigh, she does the same.
I fold my hands, as if praying. “There is no way to sweeten this, so I will just say it straight out.” I turn from the cross and look directly at her. “One of your ladies in waiting is having an affair with the king.”
Her face grows immobile, as if she has just been turned to a pillar of salt. “Who?”
“Katerine.”
“That is a most serious accusation to make. Why do you think this is the case?”
“I saw her coming out of the king’s bedchamber, straightening her gown.”
The regent’s mouth purses in annoyance. “Have you been following the king?”
“Indeed no, Madame. I merely happened to be coming down the stairs while she
was emerging from his room. The door is visible from the landing,” I remind her.
She is quiet a long moment. “That is not proof.”
I shoot her a reproachful glance. “Madame, it would be enough to ensure the dismissal of any lady of court.”
She sighs then and shakes her head, as if weary. “Men have different needs, needs that a woman of your young and noble sensibilities cannot be expected to understand.”
It is hard—?so hard—?not to laugh outright at this. “I’m sure that is true,” I concede.
“And kings, even more so.”
I must tread carefully here. “While serving the king in any capacity is an honor, does not the queen’s honor bear some consideration?” Before she can answer, I continue. “The ladies surrounding the queen, indeed, the entire royal family, must be above reproach. Are those not the ideals you have instilled in countless young women?”
“Of course.” Her voice is terse, like a piece of ribbon pulled too tight.
“It is hard to imagine what the families of all those girls would say if they learned—”
“You have made your point. What is it you want?”