Under a Starlit Sky

by EM Castellan

  “You’ll speak with Louis, then? You’ll ask him to release him?”

  I paused before we crossed into the alley. His hand rested against my lower back, protective and light. For a long time, I had thought I had lost him to Lorraine and his own demons. It occurred to me just then how unlikely it was that I would ever lose Philippe. He might struggle to express it, or to remember it sometimes, but his love for me was one of the main constants in his life. He needed our partnership as much as I did. And he was capable of providing strength and support as much as I was. He adores you, Lorraine had said once out of spite. He had been right. Philippe and I shared a bond that nothing in the madness of our lives could break. We loved each other. We never willingly hurt each other.

  And right now, Philippe was hurting, and I was the only one who could help.

  “I will,” I replied.

  I had been instrumental in Lorraine’s arrest, and I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if he died, now that I knew his only crime had been to sell back stolen spells to magiciens. I didn’t know whether Louis could be swayed. But I was certainly going to try my utmost to stop him from executing someone whose death would devastate my husband.

  CHAPTER XXIII

  A summons from the king the next day saved me the trouble of seeking an audience with him.

  He received me in his council chamber a quarter of an hour before his advisers were due to arrive. A magical clock ticked on the carved mantelpiece while candles cast off the shadows thrown by the gray morning light. Clouds hung low in the sky outside the tall windows, and a chill infused the high-ceilinged room despite the fire in the hearth.

  “Henriette.” The king looked up from the papers he shuffled on the large table. “I’m glad we have a chance to talk.”

  He remained standing, forcing me to do the same. There was something petty about making a pregnant woman stand just to show one’s power. In a way, and no matter how hard he tried to make people forget it, Louis would always be the terrified little boy that his mother had ushered into a carriage during the Fronde all those years ago. She had taught him to hold onto his crown and his life by subduing and using everyone, but I wondered if teaching him to love and care for those closest to him wouldn’t have been a better lesson. Only time would tell.

  “As you’ve heard,” Louis said, pacing the room with his hands at his back in a regal stance, “I’m in need of a Source once more. Your doctors assure me you’ve recovered your health, and therefore I wish you to join me again in my magical works.”

  Straightforward as always. I surveyed him, weighing my reply in my mind, and conscious this was a negotiation, even if he didn’t know it yet.

  “Last time we tried a spell,” I said, “you will recall you thought my magic was waning, Sire. I fear I may not be the Source I used to be.”

  A flick of his hand waved away my objection, and he carried on circling the room, which boasted paintings of the military victories of his youth. “I believe the decline of your magical abilities were linked to your ill health. Now that you’re better, you should be able to serve me once more.”

  Serve me. He really couldn’t help himself, could he? Once, his self-assurance had fascinated me. Now it only struck me as arrogance and narcissism, and I wondered how it had taken me so long to see it.

  “I hope you’re right,” I replied, my demeanor meek.

  He clasped his hands together. “Excellent. I’m still working on that mirror spell we’ve discussed in the past, and I hope you’ll be able to lend me your help in finally getting it right.”

  “You didn’t complete it with your previous Source?” I held his golden gaze, wide-eyed to feign polite interest. I wasn’t certain how to mention Lorraine, and he had just given me an opening.

  His face was his usual impenetrable mask as he replied, “No.”

  “What’s going to happen to him?” I asked before he could regain control of the conversation.

  His features didn’t waver. “He’s a traitor, Henriette, and he’s been arrested. You really shouldn’t worry about him anymore.”

  “But traitors receive the death penalty,” I said. “And I do worry—about you. There are so few Sources in the kingdom, what will people think if you execute one, even for perfectly good reasons? Won’t they like their king better if he shows mercy and lets a man he has every right to kill live?”

  A slight frown furrowed his brow. “A king has to show strength first.”

  I bit my lip. I had to convince him, before he could suspect me of playing him. My thoughts churned. There had to be a way to sway him. He wanted to rid himself of the threat posed by Lorraine, but I had to show him he didn’t have to kill him to do so.

  “See what happened with Fouquet,” I said, struck by sudden inspiration. “He’s rotting in prison, forgotten by everyone. You didn’t have to execute him to rid yourself of him.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest, pondering my words. “Do you really think it will reflect badly on me if I have him killed? What would you have me do instead? I can’t put him in the same jail as Fouquet.”

  His questions lifted my heart with hope. He was considering an alternative to the execution. Maybe I could do this.

  “I think people will forget about him much quicker if you get rid of him without killing him,” I said.

  I didn’t suggest anything more. If this was going to work, he had to reach his own conclusions. He paced the room again, until he stopped by the fireplace and stared at the crackling fire, his golden outfit shining like a beacon in the dim room.

  “The man loved life at court,” he said, as if to himself. “I suppose stripping him of his wealth and sending him into exile would be a worse punishment than death.”

  I forced my body to remain motionless to avoid betraying my stampeding heartbeat and uplifted thoughts. Seeing Lorraine go would be hard on Philippe, but it would be far less heartbreaking than watching him die.

  A knock sounded at the door, and a murmur of conversations announced the arrival of the king’s council members. The noise drew Louis out of his deliberation. He turned to me and gestured toward the exit.

  “I’ll take your counsel under advisement, Henriette. And I shall see you very soon.”

  Knowing I was dismissed, I left the gilded room under the curious gazes of the council members in black robes. As my heeled shoes clacked against the parquet of the king’s apartments, my heart settled again. I knew Louis well enough now to trust he would choose the path he thought most favorable to him. I was almost certain he would exile Lorraine, and I would have everything I had fought to get back: my husband, my status at court, and my position as the king’s Source.

  Yet my chest didn’t swell at this outcome. Too much had happened in the past few months—too many boundaries crossed, too many lines blurred, too many decisions regrettable—for it to feel like a victory.

  Maybe this was what I had learned from it all: that being a real player at French court meant giving up a little bit of my innocence and dreams. Nothing would ever be perfect in my life here. But at least, I would have control over it.

  It would have to be enough.

  * * *

  A stack of letters waited on my desk when I reentered my apartment. I wrapped a shawl around my shoulders to fight off the chill, lit a couple of additional candles, and settled by the window to read with Mimi in my lap. My mother described her summer in Paris, while my brother asked after my health and moaned about his wife. A third missive was from Louise, who complained about her loneliness at the Palais-Royal. The fourth one displayed stains and a barely legible spidery handwriting that made my heart stutter.

  Armand’s letters had been coming at regular intervals since his departure from Versailles. Always hastily written yet unbelievably lengthy, they described in flowery prose and long-winded sentences his life at the front. All his reports of the war in Poland seemed to revolve around his own exploits, and boasted about his incredible adventures abroad in grandiloquent style. Wheth
er these missives meant to reassure me, or were proof that his way of coping with his situation was to lie to himself about it, his words puzzled and delighted me in equal measures and made me long for his return to court. Now that the instrument of his departure was removed from the scene, I dared hope it would be soon.

  His letter ended as usual with reminders of his love for me and Philippe, and well wishes for us both and the baby, whom he suggested we call Armand. I chuckled to myself and sat down at my desk to grab a quill and start on my replies.

  A knock at my bedroom door made Mimi bark.

  “Your Highness.” A maid curtsied. “The Comtesse de Soissons is here.”

  I glanced at the mechanical clock on the mantelpiece. I had sent a message to Olympe before going to see Louis, never expecting her to call on me so soon. I dismissed the maid with thanks and joined Olympe in my salon, my dog on my heels.

  “I thought you’d come by in the afternoon,” I said, lighting a few more candles around the room to cast off the persisting gloom of the day.

  Olympe removed her gloves and came to stand in front of the fireplace. “You didn’t mention a time, and you had me intrigued. Also I had nothing better to do, and this dreadful weather does nothing to help my mood.”

  I could have slapped myself for not realizing it sooner: since the death of the Queen Mother, Olympe had lost her position at court. After years as the superintendent of the Queen Mother’s household, she now found herself a courtier among others, without the favor of either the king or the queen. No wonder she sought to nurture our friendship and treated my invitation as a summon. And in a way, her reaction assuaged some of the guilt I felt as I prepared to ask her for yet another favor. Maybe I wasn’t using her for her skill as a magicienne and she wasn’t using me as a means to salvage her situation at court. Maybe we were just two women helping each other in a harsh environment.

  “You know I consider you a friend, don’t you?” I said. “And you’re free to visit me whenever you wish.”

  Her features wavered with uncertainty for a heartbeat. “That’s … very generous. I appreciate your sentiment.”

  “Nonsense.” I shrugged and pretended to ignore her emotion. “You’ve proven I can trust and rely on you more than once in the past few months. I think we have far more in common than we might have expected at first, and I would hate for you to feel isolated when we can share a lasting friendship instead.”

  To my surprise, hesitation swam in her eyes and her mouth pressed into a thin worried line. Anxiety gripped me. Was there something she wasn’t telling me? She turned away from me, her hands clasped together as if to prevent them from shaking. Suspicion rose in me.

  “What is it?” I asked, my voice more strained than I wished.

  She bit her lip and stared at a still-life painting on the wall with a faraway gaze. My heartbeat pounded quicker, and my breathing hitched. I sat down by the fire to settle my nerves, Mimi at my feet as if she sensed my discomfort.

  “You can tell me,” I said, my tone gentle and reassuring despite my rising panic.

  Olympe drew in a breath before facing me again. “You’re right. I’ve come to value what we have—our friendship—more than you can know, and I do want it to last. I do want honesty and trust between us. And if this is to be the case, there’s something you need to know.”

  I braced myself for whatever was to come, and kept silent to avoid interrupting her. Olympe had been part of the royal family’s inner circle for years. She knew all of us—all the gossip, all the secrets. What was she about to tell me? A truth about Philippe, or Louis, or one of their relations? Out of instinct, I folded my hands over my growing belly. I was about to bring a child into this world of deceit and treachery. I needed it to be safe. Knowledge and allies would help make it safe. So I faced Olympe, and waited for her to utter her revelation.

  “It’s about Athénaïs,” she said.

  Her chest deflated, as if a weight had just lifted off it, but I blinked at her, uncomprehending. Athénaïs? We had barely seen each other lately. And we hadn’t had a proper conversation since our talk at the orangerie, when she had so brazenly admitted to having an affair with Louis.

  “I know about her … indiscretion,” I said.

  “It’s not what I meant,” Olympe replied. “Although I’m glad she was honest with you about that.”

  Did she mean Athénaïs hadn’t been honest with me about other things? The thought chilled me to the bone, and I tightened my shawl around my shoulders. Olympe paced the space between the fireplace and the thick carpet, her agitation increasing my nervousness.

  “You know Athénaïs resented having to leave court to marry a man she didn’t love,” she said.

  I nodded. Athénaïs had been in love with Prince Aniaba, and although it had hurt me to see her so heartbroken, there had been nothing I could do to prevent her arranged marriage to the nobleman chosen by her parents. Girls like us didn’t get to choose our fates in these matters.

  “When she left court to get married,” Olympe went on, “I accompanied her to her carriage. She was so angry, so upset, that, for a moment, I thought she would refuse to board the vehicle. But instead, she told me a secret. She swore this would be the last time she was forced to do something she didn’t want. She said she would return, and rise so high no one would ever ignore her desires or wishes ever again. And she said she wouldn’t forget who had helped her, and who had refused to fight for her.”

  A sinking feeling settled in my stomach. Was I among the people Athénaïs blamed for her situation? I had told myself there was nothing I could have done to stop her marriage. Had I lied to myself, and to her? Louis could have intervened, and I could have convinced him to do so. Was that what she thought?

  I must have paled, or stiffened, for Olympe read my thoughts and gave me a grave look of apology.

  “And yes, she blamed you too.” She sat in the armchair opposite mine to carry on with her tale. “She returned in the spring with a plan: to undermine everyone she saw as her enemies, and to carve her way to the top.”

  My thoughts churned, replaying every interaction with Athénaïs, every discussion, and trying to see a pattern of behavior when I had been too taken by own problems and ambitions to see that my friend needed me.

  “As her friend,” Olympe went on, “I thought nothing of helping her, at first. I admit I never liked Louise, and I didn’t mind aiding in getting rid of this provincial girl.”

  I recalled the Spanish letter plot that had nearly cost her position at court. No wonder Athénaïs had known every detail at the ball. She had masterminded it.

  “It all ran like clockwork,” Olympe added. “And Athénaïs managed to become Louis’s mistress without anyone the wiser, especially not the queen. He’s besotted with Athénaïs, you know.”

  A hint of bitterness crept into her tone, a reminder she had harbored hopes of seducing the king again not so long ago herself.

  “So she has him wrapped around her finger,” she said, “and I won’t be surprised if once he makes her his official favorite, she becomes more of a queen than the queen herself.”

  The faces of Athénaïs and Marie-Thérèse flashed before my eyes, and I could very well believe Olympe’s prediction: Marie-Thérèse would be no match for Athénaïs’s beauty and wit and scheming mind.

  “So she’s where she wanted to be,” I said. “What does this have to do with me?”

  “I’m afraid she sees everyone at court as an enemy now,” Olympe replied. “Even her former friends.”

  My heart sank again, yet part of me still refused to believe the lady-in-waiting I had most trusted had turned on me without seeking to speak with me and to ask for an explanation first. “What did she do?”

  “The first thing she did was reveal a secret,” Olympe replied.

  I drew in a sharp breath, and waited for the revelation to hit me. A secret? About me? The only one worth telling was the fact I was a Source. Who had she told?

  “She told
the Duchesse de Valentinois Armand was in love with you.”

  I gaped, and the memory of Philippe’s question surfaced in my mind. She said Armand’s in love with you.

  “But it’s a lie,” I said, echoing my words of months ago. “Armand isn’t in love with me.”

  Olympe tilted her head to the side, her golden gaze frank. “Isn’t he?”

  “Of course not.”

  Anger replaced tension in my core. Of course Armand wasn’t in love with me. And Athénaïs was the one behind that rumor? She’d been insistent in mentioning it at every turn, but I had thought her persistence born of her love for gossip, or of her desire to see me happy. It hadn’t occurred to me to think she was spreading this story to undermine me. And she’d nearly succeeded, since Philippe had given credit to this tale and nearly lost confidence in our relationship.

  “In any case,” Olympe went on, “your steady denials and the popularity you benefit from meant the rumor was squashed before it could really hurt you. When even the pamphlet didn’t drive you from court—”

  “She was behind the pamphlet?” I stood up, too distressed to keep still anymore. I paced the room, Mimi following me with her tail wagging, as if in hope of an impending walk outside. Armand and I had blamed Lorraine for the pamphlet at the time, despite Philippe’s protests. Another instance when I should have trusted him instead of being overcome by my prejudice.

  “Yes, but it didn’t work,” Olympe said, undeterred by my interruption. “So she changed strategy and went after Armand instead.”

  Horror filled my chest and compressed my lungs. Athénaïs and Armand had been close friends. They’d helped me when I faced Fouquet, and shared many happy moments together. Surely she couldn’t blame him for anything that had befallen her, nothing that would warrant putting his very life at risk?

  “But Lorraine is the one who went to Armand’s father to have him sent away from court,” I pointed out. “He admitted to it himself.”