by EM Castellan
Dismissed by the king’s comment, Athénaïs curtsied again and turned to thank me for my hospitality. Our exchange stifled by the king’s presence, I returned her thanks and promised to see her soon, with a nod and a squeeze of her arm. Soon she was ushered out to her carriage in the rain, and Louis entered my receiving salon at last.
Maids and footmen buzzed in and out of the room for a moment, bringing in refreshments and various pâtisseries on silver plates. Taking off his gloves, Louis munched his way through several little cakes while I made small talk and pretended to drink coffee. His presence unnerved me, and the urge to fidget was strong, but I stamped it down.
The last time Louis and I had been in the same room, I had just failed to perform a spell with him and he was shouting at my husband. I had already apologized for the unsuccessful enchantment, but Louis’s surprise visit renewed my guilt and worry. He counted on me to help him realize his dreams, yet Philippe was right: I had to acknowledge my limitations. The wheezing in my lungs, the dizziness that struck me when I walked longer than a few minutes, the sleepless nights and near-constant fever made it impossible for me to rejoin court, let alone do magic. But how did one break such news to the king of France?
Louis ate another macaron, and my anxiety rose further. Maybe his visit hadn’t been prompted by his concern for my health or our failed spell. Had he heard the rumor about Armand? If he had, the situation couldn’t have made him happy. If there was one thing the French royal family didn’t need, it was a scandal. Good behavior wasn’t required, but discretion was mandatory.
At last the servants’ ballet ended and we were left alone. My throat dry with trepidation, I waited for Louis to speak first. Wiping his fingers on a lace handkerchief, he surveyed me with his inscrutable gaze, silence growing heavy between us until he spoke.
“You look pale, Henriette. And the doctors tell me you aren’t fit to leave your house.”
Shocked by the bluntness of his words, I forced a smile on my face. “They’re always so pessimistic. I’ll be all right in a handful of days.”
He sighed and stood up, his jeweled hand resting on the back of his upholstered armchair.
“Your health isn’t my only concern, I’m afraid.”
He fixed his attention on the rain dripping down the panes of the nearest window, and the fact he avoided my gaze chilled my limbs. I put down my coffee cup to prevent it from rattling in my hands.
“When we performed the spell,” he said, “something went wrong for me too.”
I had already opened my mouth to renew my apology, but I gaped mutely at his last words. The spell had gone wrong for both of us? I thought I was the one who’d lost control—was he telling me the spell itself had been doomed from the start?
“When I tugged at your magic,” he went on, his attention still on the storm outside, “I immediately felt something wasn’t right.”
A frown now pulled at my brows, as I tried to recall the order of events. I had spoken the spell, then he’d taken my magic, which I had followed before losing myself in the enchantment.
“You see,” Louis added, “I drew your magic, and it was so, so weak. Almost … insubstantial. I could barely grasp it, and then I lost it, and you collapsed.”
My frown deepened, and my heart beat faster. What was he saying? Of course my magic had been there. Golden flecks floating toward the mirror in a bright swirl. Glittering particles, like stars in a clear night sky. If anything, my magic had been so strong I had been unable to let it go so he could perform the spell with it.
I bit my lip, too many thoughts swirling in my mind for me to express in words. He resumed his seating position and grasped my hand in his, as if comforting me after delivering terrible news. Except his news made no sense.
“Henriette,” he said, his patient tone belied by the coldness in his eyes. “I think that the weaker you become, the more your magic … wanes. It’s barely there anymore, and I can’t access it to perform spells.”
I opened my mouth to protest, then stopped. His stern expression made it obvious he believed what he was saying with absolute certainty. For some reason, he had been unable to use my magic for his mirror spell, and he blamed me for it. Contradicting him was impossible, because it would mean laying the blame on us both, or even on him. But he was the king: He didn’t make mistakes, and he was always right.
And maybe he was right. Maybe the magic I knew to be present in my body was weakening along with it. Louis gave me a sad smile that felt more automatic than true.
“I’m sorry, Henriette. I know you hope this is only temporary. But I want you to focus on your health now. I’ve decided to take on a new Source, someone strong enough to carry out the spells I’ve planned and to help me with my ideas.”
I blinked, the weight of his words—and all his unspoken ones—settling on my chest. So he’d arrived to the same conclusion as Philippe after all. And, more important, he’d found a replacement for me.
Louis kept talking, but the conversation barely registered after this. The succession of announcements was catching up with me, and tiredness made my shoulders sag. My attention drifted to the untouched cakes on the low table, their shine and colors dulled in the declining light. They were all Philippe’s favorite—hopefully he would enjoy them when he returned home from court tonight.
“I see I’ve exhausted you.” Louis’s voice cut through my wandering thoughts. “I’ll take my leave now.”
Despite my weak protestations, he stood up and forbade me from seeing him out. Too drained to argue, I let him leave and stood by the window as servants came in to light the candles around the salon. Rain still streamed down the glass panes, and the blurry silhouette of the king’s carriage rattled out of the courtyard among the puddles, his guards already soaked.
A sigh escaped me, and I wrapped my arms around my chest to fight the rising chill.
“Shall I fetch you a shawl, Madame?” a young maid with bright eyes asked. “The fire will be lit in just a moment.”
Whether on Philippe’s instructions or not, all the staff in the house showed a concern for me that I didn’t feel I always deserved. I made a point of treating them well and of making certain everyone else did, yet looking after an ailing English princess couldn’t have been the most exciting position in Paris.
The girl’s gentle question brought a smile to my lips. “I think I’ll just retire to my chambers for now, thank you. But would you bring me ink and paper? I need to write a letter.”
For if I wasn’t the king’s Source anymore, I needed to ensure I didn’t lose my place at court in the process.
* * *
To my relief, the Comte de Saint-Aignan accepted my invitation the next day as if he’d never had any plans to begin with.
“My dear Madame!” he gushed as I welcomed him in one of the smaller receiving rooms.
Yesterday’s rain hadn’t abated, and I shivered in the bigger salons. Both of us sat in comfortable armchairs in front of the fireplace, with Mimi sprawled on the carpet at our feet, and we chatted for a while in a relaxed manner. The count had been the one who’d saved Philippe’s life with Prince Aniaba after Fouquet’s plot last summer, and he remained one of my closest allies at the French court. He was also a magicien, which suited my purpose well for the day.
After Louis’s visit the previous day, I had spent my evening replaying our conversation in my head. And despite his proclaimed concern for my health and his announcement about a new Source, a doubt nagged at me. He’d used my waning magic as the motivation for his decision to let me go, yet I stood unconvinced of its veracity.
And the only way to know for certain whether my magic was weakening was to perform a spell with another magicien. Someone who couldn’t refuse me anything.
Slight guilt needled me at the thought of using the ever-kind Comte de Saint-Aignan for my own purposes, but I was out of options: There were only a handful of magiciens at court, and the count was the only one who could be convinced to help me.
“I hear you’re putting together another wonderful entertainment for His Majesty,” I said. “What clever spells have you thought of this time?”
The count chuckled, folding his hands over his prominent stomach.
“So you’ve heard? His Majesty wants the most wondrous entertainment yet. It will be the court’s first time at Versailles, and he wants everything to be perfect. He’s handling the majority of the artistic decisions and spells, of course, but I’m helping in my small capacity.” Sweat dampened his forehead in the firelight as he leaned toward me conspiratorially. “I have a few new ideas for fireworks, but shhh…”
He winked, excitement shining in his eyes. If anything, Louis’s increasing interest for magic meant pressure off the count’s shoulders. As an aging man, I could see how he didn’t mind it in the slightest. He remained at court, liked by all, yet with more time to enjoy his stay here.
“Any games?” I asked, memories of the magical hide-and-seek he’d organized at Fontainebleau coming back to me. Although it had ended in chaos, with Fouquet attacking Prince Aniaba and getting shot by Moreau, it had been a remarkable enchantment. “I did love that jeu de cache-cache last summer.”
He waved the memory away. “Of course, of course. But I’m thinking of ways to amuse His Majesty’s guests with magic as well.”
“Yes, I meant the magic you used for the hide-and-seek game.”
Confusion crossed his features, and I paused. Was he thinking of another game? For he had definitely performed a portal spell that evening at Fontainebleau, allowing guests to move at random between rooms in the château.
A deep frown now linking his bushy brows, the count hesitated. “I apologize, Your Highness, but I don’t recall using magic for the game you mention.”
His gaze on me was concerned, as if I were the one confused. Impatience rising in me, I insisted, “You used a portal spell, to connect the rooms. It was an impressive enchantment.”
The count burst out laughing. “Oh my dear Madame, you’re always so entertaining!” To my dismay, he patted my hand, his deep laugh echoing under the ceiling. “What a wonderful sense of humor you have! A portal spell! As if such things existed. You should give this idea to Monsieur Perrault for his fairy tales!”
He kept laughing, as my annoyance rose to replace my surprise. Was the man mad? Or playing a joke on me? He wiped his eyes with a large embroidered handkerchief, mirth still all over his features, and not a hint of malice there. Suspicion tugged at me. The count was many things, but he wasn’t a good liar, nor a cruel man. He clearly couldn’t remember casting the portal spell. Something was wrong.
I made myself smile. “I couldn’t resist a little jest. I know you’ll forgive me. Although I did enjoy that game at Fontainebleau, despite its lack of magic.”
“That’s the secret,” the count said, his breaths easing as calm returned to his expression. “Mixing the mundane with the magic. Keeping people guessing.”
His face kind and serious, he patted my hand again. “Young people like you and His Majesty always dream of casting incredible spells. But if I’ve learned anything in all my years, it’s that simple ideas and simple enchantments are often the most effective. Who needs to open portals onto other places when one can simply turn a pretty clock into a magical one?” He pointed at the enchanted clock on the mantelpiece and grinned.
I forced myself to return his smile, but anxiety now gnawed at me. How could the magicien believe a spell he’d cast himself didn’t exist? And was he the only one to have forgotten it? I did my best to behave like a lady for the remainder of the conversation, but I ached to bolt out of the room and discover the truth.
Philippe hadn’t been there for the game, but Athénaïs had. I could write to her and find out what she remembered. And if something were amiss, I would need to tell Louis as quickly as possible.
At long last the count bid me farewell, with many compliments and good wishes for the future. I let him go, hoping he would blame my curt manners on my poor health. Then I half ran upstairs in my haste to ensure that I wasn’t indeed the one going mad.
In the bookcase in my apartments sat an old grimoire, which Louis and I had used to find the ancient binding spell that had defeated Fouquet. If there was a book that contained the portal spell the Comte de Saint-Aignan had performed at Fontainebleau, this would be it. I dumped the heavy volume on my desk in a cloud of dust and leafed through the yellowed pages at a frantic pace. Ancient spells were organized in alphabetical order, which made it easy to locate them once one knew their names. I reached the page of the portal spell—Ouvre—and let out a small dismayed sound. On the left-hand side, the spell to give someone an order they couldn’t refuse to obey was scribbled in a near-faded handwriting. And on the right, the page was blank.
The portal spell was gone.
CHAPTER IV
The Louvre Palace had already been one of the royal residences for a few centuries when Louis became king, and its complex layout stood as the result of various architectural endeavors layered atop—and mounted beside—each other over the years. A more recent addition to the general pile of pale stones was an extended western wing that housed Louis’s apartments and a chapel where he attended mass every morning.
Following my discovery of the missing spell the previous day, I had spent a restless night, troubled even further by Philippe’s continued absence. When a gray dawn grazed the Paris slate rooftops, finding me already awake in my large bed, I resolved to no longer postpone what appeared as my duty: if a plot involving the disappearance of spells was afoot, the king ought to be told without delay.
Dismissing my maids’ polite protests, I dressed for a court appearance in a yellow silk gown and ordered a carriage to be brought around. The vehicle rattled on the cobblestones along the palace’s tall facades, jolting me as it hit potholes and navigated the busy street by the Seine to the entrance of the royal residence’s main pavilion. Thick clouds hung above the capital, and a draught caught my heavy cloak as a guard helped me out of the carriage. A shiver ran along my body, and cold air stung my lungs. I coughed into my handkerchief, holding on to the guard’s arm longer than appropriate. A look of alarm crossed the soldier’s youthful face.
“Madame, shall I fetch someone?”
By now the palace’s guards and footmen also had their attention on us, and I shook my head as heat spread to my cheeks. I put away my handkerchief.
“No, thank you. I’m only going to attend the service. Please be here when I return.”
Attending mass was my excuse for coming to the palace without my ladies and for contriving an opportunity to speak with Louis in an informal manner. My intention was to make my presence at court as discreet as possible, but I should have known better than to plan for a stealthy visit: I was too recognizable. I wasn’t halfway up the large stone staircase leading to the chapel on the first floor of the ornate building when Louise, my lady-in-waiting turned king’s secret mistress, caught up with me.
“Your Highness! What a pleasure to see you here. I heard you were unwell.”
Another princess might have pointed out that, as one of my ladies, she ought to have done much more than just hear about my illness. But the love of a king made her face glow with such undiluted happiness that I had long ago given up on reminding her of her supposed duty to me. She was my lady only in name, to offer her the safety of an official position at court when she in fact devoted all her time to Louis. I didn’t resent her for it—glad that at least one young woman at court enjoyed a love story worthy of a fairy tale, even if it was a clandestine one.
“I’m feeling better now,” I replied with a
reassuring smile.
My breath was short after climbing the stairs, and sweat gathered along my temples, but Louise, oblivious to those symptoms, linked arms with me.
“We’ve missed you here! The French court just isn’t the same without you.”
A gaggle of early-rising courtiers gathered at the chapel doors, and I acknowledged their bows, curtsies, and murmured greetings with polite nods. Their whispers trailed after me as I passed the oak double doors. Inside, we dipped the tip of our fingers in the stoup and crossed ourselves before sitting in the front pew reserved for the royal family. We were a few minutes early, and while the small chapel filled, Louise chatted about the court entertainment I had missed. My replies to her were short and perfunctory, my focus divided between my efforts to keep my breathing even and my rehearsed speech to Louis.
At last the bells rang and the assembly rose to greet the king and queen with the appropriate show of respect. Louis and Marie-Thérèse made their way to the front—his face an impenetrable mask and hers a pouting expression of annoyance with the world in general and the courtiers in particular. They both acknowledged me with a nod but remained quite indifferent as Marie-Thérèse sat next to me and Louis took his position in a gilded seat to the side.
Mass was uneventful, and Bishop Bossuet’s sermon was blessedly short for once. At the end of the service the assembly rose, some making a swift exit while others mingled and waited for a chance to get the king’s attention. I was already trying to think of a strategy to catch Louis’s gaze when Marie-Thérèse moved to speak with the bishop and her husband made a beeline for me and offered me his arm.
“Henriette, such a pleasure to see you back among us,” he said loudly enough for others to hear.
“A brief spell,” I replied in the same tone, “thankfully all over now.”
