“I wouldn’t call it conjuring,” Miri objected. “But yes, the rings are magic. Ariane can use hers to summon the comte anytime she is in trouble. But she can only do so three times and then she will have to marry him. And she has already used the ring twice.”
“And this makes you unhappy?” Simon asked softly.
Miri sighed. “I—I don’t dislike Renard, but if Ariane married him, she would have to go live in his château on the mainland and perhaps I would, too. I love Faire Isle. This is my home and I don’t want to leave.”
Simon squeezed her hand. “Do Ariane and the comte always wear their rings?”
“I am not sure about the comte, but Ariane takes hers off sometimes.”
“And what does she do with it?”
“I don’t know.” Miri squirmed, Simon’s interest in the rings, his questions beginning to make her feel strangely uneasy. “Why do you ask?”
Simon shrugged. “Only because I would be much more easy about surrendering to your sister if she wasn’t wearing that evil ring.”
“But I don’t think there is any need for you to worry. If I speak to Ariane first—”
“No!” Simon said sharply, then forced a smile to his lips. “I prefer to speak for myself, but I must be sure Ariane won’t summon Renard to slay me.”
“She wouldn’t—”
“She already did once. Miri, I am sure your sister is a good woman. But I only want to be safe.”
“I want that too.”
“Then help me.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Just notice when Ariane removes the ring, find out where she keeps it and come and tell me. I’ll know then that it would be safe to approach her. And if she is as wise and compassionate as you say—”
“She is!”
“Then I will renounce my profession and stay here on Faire Isle forever.”
Miri turned Simon’s request over in her mind and could not quite see the harm in it, but she still felt deeply troubled.
Simon squeezed her hand. “You do want me to be able to stay with you, don’t you?”
“Oh, yes.” Miri could scarcely remember wanting anything more. She had often felt so miserable and lonely since Papa had left and Maman had died. The advent of Simon into her life had somehow changed all that.
He leaned forward and her heart missed a beat when she realized what he intended to do. She shyly tipped up her face, closing her eyes. Simon touched his mouth to hers, so lightly, but the kiss seemed to blossom inside her, sweet and warm.
Miri drew back immediately, blushing hotly and pressing her hand to her lips. She scrambled away from Simon muttering, “I had better get back before I am missed.”
Simon rose as well, asking anxiously, “But you will come back again soon?”
Miri nodded, too bashful to meet his eyes. But after a brief hesitation, she planted a kiss on his cheek, then darted away, quite overcome by her own daring.
Simon stood and watched until she reached the edge of the woodland. She paused at last to glance back with a bashful wave. Simon smiled and waved back. But as Miri disappeared from view, he lowered his hand, his smile fading.
He was certain that he had just given Miri Cheney her first kiss. A moment that should have been quite special and full of wonder . . . for him as well. Instead he felt like Judas.
“Is she gone?” a cold voice demanded.
“Yes, master.” Simon turned as Le Vis stole up behind him. These days he would have been hard-pressed to convince anyone that his master was not evil or mad. His robes were torn and stained, his face haggard, his eyes so raw from lack of sleep, they were almost like two burning coals set into the sockets of a skull.
“Well, does the girl trust you? Will she do as you asked?”
“I believe so,” Simon said miserably.
“Good.”
Although he knew it to be futile, Simon made one more attempt to persuade his master to the course he had been urging for days.
“Please, master. Would it not be best if we simply uncovered the boat and left Faire Isle?”
Le Vis gave him a dark look that caused Simon to shrink back. “Would you have us leave with our work undone?”
“But Miri told me that Captain Remy is gone and no doubt the gloves as well.”
“Remy? Bah! That heretic is of no importance when set beside that—that—” Le Vis spluttered, all but frothing at the mouth in his pent-up fury. “That son of Satan. Renard.”
“But we are no match for him, master. There are only two of us left and—”
“Yes, because he slaughtered the rest of our order, or have you forgotten that? Or what he did to me?”
Le Vis thrust his hand wrapped in bloodstained bandages up close to Simon’s face. Simon flinched. He had done his best to tend to the master’s wounds and although the demon man had not severed any of Monsieur Le Vis’s fingers, Simon doubted that his hand would ever heal properly to be of use again.
And yet Simon could not help reflecting that none of these disastrous events need have occurred if they had not attempted to attack Belle Haven in the middle of the night like a parcel of brigands.
He feared that some of his rebellious thoughts must have shown in his face because the master loomed over him scowling, his good hand gripping Simon’s shoulder so tight, he nearly cried out.
“It was you who warned me about Renard and those cursed rings,” he growled. “I should have listened to you. Now you must heed me and prepare to avenge the blood of our brothers. We must destroy the demon comte and his entire coven of witches.”
“But not Miri.” Simon tipped up his chin in defiance. “She is not like the rest of them. I hate telling her all these lies, deceiving her.”
Le Vis sighed, easing his grip on Simon. “Of course you do, because you are a good honest lad. But sometimes one must employ the tools of the devil in order to defeat him.”
“Miri is not the devil.”
“No, but she is being led astray and you can save her from the curse of witchcraft, as you were never able to do with your sister or the rest of your family. Or will you simply turn tail and run, abandon your little friend to the powers of darkness?”
“No,” Simon whispered.
“Then you know what you have to do.”
Dark magic was easier to succumb to the second time. Or so Evangeline Cheney had always warned her daughters, but it was an admonition Ariane chose to ignore as she descended into the hidden workshop.
She fetched down the ancient books of forbidden spells and laid out the copper basin and black candles. She had only the merest qualm as she remembered promising her mother she would never resort to practicing this kind of necromancy again. But if anything she was far more desperate than she had been the first time she had summoned Evangeline’s spirit.
Ariane bustled about the workshop with an almost feverish determination, lighting the black candles and setting the incense to burning. As the heavy fragrance filled the chamber, she prepared the potion and downed the bitter-tasting brew in one gulp.
The powerful mixture burned through her veins as the incense clouded her mind, spiraling her deeper into the trance that would enable her to part the veil between two worlds, that of the living and that of the dead.
“Maman . . . please, appear to me. I need your help.”
She bent over the copper basin and peered into the water, doing her best to bring her mother’s image into focus. When Evangeline’s face appeared at last, her features were a little more blurred than the other time Ariane had performed this dark spell.
But there was no mistaking the sad reproach in her mother’s voice.
“Oh, Ariane, you promised . . .”
“I—I am sorry, Maman. But I could not help myself. I needed to talk to you, even more desperately than before. Everything seems to be getting worse and—and I missed you so.”
Ariane paused to catch her breath, her voice breaking a little as she continued, “I just needed to s
ee you one more time. I don’t even understand why this is so wrong.”
“Conjuring someone back from the dead?” Evangeline’s voice echoed with her disbelief. “Oh, my dear one. My time in your world is over. You must stop grieving for me and get on with your life. And do you remember nothing that I taught you of the dangers of dark magic? This necromancy could go so easily awry. You could open up a portal into hell and let loose something truly evil.”
“More evil than the Dark Queen?”
Evangeline’s voice waxed sharper. “Catherine has been troubling you again?”
“Yes, she has sent witch-hunters after us, twice now. The last time, they even attacked Belle Haven.”
“Witch-hunters?” Evangeline murmured. “Is Catherine truly that much lost to the darkness?”
“She is plotting something terrible against the Huguenot king and she has come to regard me as a threat to her plans.” Ariane choked on a bitter laugh. “The sad truth is that I am as afraid of the Dark Queen as the most ignorant peasant wench. I should have found some way to solve the mystery of those gloves and bring her to justice. Perhaps I should have even accompanied Captain Remy on his quest to—”
“No, Ariane. You cannot hope to challenge Catherine alone. Your province is here, protecting your sisters.”
“I have not exactly been doing so well at that,” Ariane said glumly. “Miri was completely devastated by the bloodshed here at Belle Haven. She has been behaving strangely of late, so quiet and—and tense.”
“Miri will recover. Your little sister is far tougher than you might imagine. And what of our Gabrielle?”
Ariane grimaced. “I had hoped we were drawing close again, but now Gabrielle is angry with me because—well, she accuses me of having allowed a man to invade Belle Haven.”
“The witch-hunters? She can hardly blame you—”
“No, not a witch-hunter. The man who saved us from the attack. The Comte de Renard. He has now set up camp in our woods.”
Evangeline Cheney’s image in the water grew clearer. Ariane could now easily detect the disapproval in her mother’s eyes.
“This man saved you all and yet you oblige him to sleep in a tent? My dear child, this is not the hospitality of the lady of Belle Haven. Why did you not offer him a bed?”
“Because I am afraid he might end up in mine,” Ariane blurted out. An embarrassing admission to make to one’s mother, but she had always been able to tell Evangeline anything.
Her mother’s image shimmered, that beautiful careworn face seeming so alive, so real, Ariane nearly sobbed. She swallowed past the aching knot in her throat.
“Oh, Maman, I fear it is Renard who troubles me beyond anything. He is the son of a daughter of the earth and that strange ring he gave me is full of a most powerful magic and you always told me such charms could not be real.”
Evangeline offered a sad smile. “Eventually you must come to the realization all children face. That even one’s maman is not all-knowing and beyond making mistakes.”
Ariane could never think of Evangeline as less than perfect. “Well, Renard’s ring certainly does work.” She held up her hand so the light glinted off the strange metal band encircling her finger.
“All I have to do is clasp the ring to my heart and reach out to him with my mind and he comes. I have already done so twice. Once more and I must marry him. I am desperately afraid that I will use the ring again and for no other reason than I find myself wanting him. Sometimes late at night, the longing to be in his arms is so strong, I can scarcely bear it.”
“Is that such a terrible thing, then? To want a man?” Evangeline asked quietly.
“That is how Gabrielle lost her magic, trusting the wrong man. I am afraid Renard may succeed in overcoming my reason. There are times when he seems so guarded, so hard-edged and cynical. But other times—” Ariane trailed off. The harsh contours of his face, his massive size, could be so alarming and yet she had seen him be more gentle than any other man she had ever known.
“What I am most afraid of, Maman . . . ,” Ariane said in a low voice. “Even more than Renard seducing me to his bed, is that he may succeed in touching my heart. I never thought I could be so weak.”
“You see love as a weakness, my daughter?”
“Yes, because it is . . . isn’t it? I don’t want to become that dependent upon any man’s love the way you—” Horrified, Ariane checked what she had been about to say. But her mother understood her all too well.
“The way that I was with your father.”
“Yes!” Ariane could not keep the bitterness from her voice. “You gave him all the devotion of your heart only to have him betray you.”
“It pains me to hear such anger when you speak of your father, child.”
“Do you never feel anger at him?” Ariane asked.
Evangeline smiled sadly. “Whatever hurt and anger I felt passed a long time ago. I understood my poor sweet Louis.”
“You understood why Papa would betray you with another woman, then abandon you when you were dying?” Ariane demanded.
“Your father is a man of great courage when it comes to swords, battle, risking his life. What he could not face was watching me grow ill and die. It is often thus with even the most valiant of soldiers when facing the loss of the woman they love.”
Ariane’s lips tightened stubbornly. “If Papa loved you so much, how could he have been seduced by that creature of Catherine’s?”
“That was partly my fault. I never cared for life at court. All I wanted was the peace of my island, my girls. I knew that that was not enough excitement for your Papa. I should have spent more time in Paris with him, kept watch. Louis was never as strong as I, something that I always realized and accepted. It did nothing to diminish my love for him and that is why I was able to forgive him.
“You need to forgive your father his weakness too, child. And not allow it to cast a shadow over your own pursuit of love.”
“I fear I could never be as wise and understanding as you, Maman,” Ariane murmured.
“We are different in many ways, child. The sort of union that I had with your father would never do for you. You must find a man who is your equal in strength.”
“You mean . . . Renard?” Ariane frowned. “His grand-mère was this old wise woman, a peasant from the mountains. She claims to have had visions of Renard and me, that we would one day be together. But you always taught me not to set store by such things.”
“And yet I always had a great respect for those old women from the hills. Their learning does not come from books but from a wisdom as deep as the bones of the earth.”
“Then you think old Lucy was right and I am fated to be with Renard?”
Evangeline gave a gentle laugh. “Alas my dear, I cannot tell you that. The only wise woman who can chart your destiny is you. But I will give you one piece of advice.”
“Please do, Maman,” Ariane said eagerly.
“Remove the ring from your finger and lock it away where you will no longer be tempted to use it. Whatever conclusion you reach about Renard, you should not be influenced by either the magic of a ring or an old prophecy. Only your heart should decide.”
Ariane saw the wisdom of her mother’s counsel. But before she could promise to heed her mother’s words, the water rippled. Her all-too-brief time with her mother was once more at an end. She could only watch sadly as the water in the bowl clouded, Evangeline Cheney’s face vanishing in the mist.
Ariane raised one hand in a desperate attempt to reach out to her mother, but her arm dropped back to her side, feeling as heavy as her eyes. She swayed a little, then slumped forward. As she pillowed her head against the hard table, the potion did its final work and she fell into a deep sleep.
Even hours later she remained oblivious to the footfall on the stairs, the shadow of the man that towered over her.
“Ariane?” Renard called softly, tensing when he spied her inert form slumped over the table. He set down his own candle and b
ent over her, brushing back the silky brown hair from her pale face.
“Ariane!” He gave her a slight shake, alarmed when that failed to rouse her. He pressed two fingers to the column of her throat and was relieved to discover that her pulse beat strong and steady. She was merely lost in the deepest of slumbers and when his gaze roved past her to the articles upon the table, he understood the reason.
The black candles, the copper basin, the incense burner were objects not unfamiliar to him. He had watched old Lucy at her conjuring many times and knew enough of the old ways to guess what Ariane had been doing.
He bent over her, tenderly pressing a kiss to her brow.
“My poor chérie,” he murmured, thinking of the burden of worry and fear that must have driven Ariane to such a drastic measure. But he could not be unaware that he was part of Ariane’s burden and as for trusting him—Renard sighed. Here he was, creeping about her house, invading her most private sanctum without an invitation.
With the exception of Gabrielle, the entire household at Belle Haven stood in awe of him. Filled with gratitude, they accepted his presence, no one even questioning his movements as he came and went.
At this late hour, everyone else was long abed. But it had not been difficult for Renard to figure out where Ariane was or even how to operate the hidden spring to open the trap door. His lady’s eyes had become an open book to him this past week.
Ever since she had come to think of him as . . . as rash and gallant a fool as Captain Remy, Ariane had been far more trusting of him.
Renard stroked his fingers lightly down Ariane’s cheek with a brooding frown, reflecting that he was nothing like the idealist captain. Nicolas Remy was the sort of man who would ride to a lady’s rescue without demanding so much as a kiss in return. Renard knew that he could never be that selfless, especially not with Ariane.
Renard was far too much Lucy’s grandson not to be intrigued by all the shadowy contents of this room’s shelves, the parchments and ancient texts, power and knowledge beyond any man’s wildest dreams.
The book that Ariane had left cracked open on the table presented the greatest of temptations. But it was bad enough that he had entered Ariane’s workroom without her permission without doing any further prying while she slept, unaware.
The Dark Queen Page 35
