He might as well have poured golden honey all over me, his promotion had been so blatant. But to see their faces—those fickle courtiers! They applauded as we climbed into the king’s carriage. They congratulated an exhausted-looking Lionne for his successful fête. As Venelle climbed into the carriage behind us, I could just make out in the garden torchlight one face that didn’t feign flattery. Pimentel looked like he might breathe fire.
CHAPTER 38
Cardinal Mazarin answered that he was master of Marie, and would stab her to the heart, sooner than elevate her.
—MADAME DE MOTTEVILLE’S MEMOIRS
I’d fallen into bed at dawn, expecting to sleep until after noon. But midmorning, I awoke to a terrible crash. I sat up, clutching my coverlet to my chest. My uncle stormed through my bedchamber, knocking the dishes and bowls of unguents off my dressing table. They broke and splattered on the floor.
He noticed me sitting up and pointed to the mess. “What potions are you brewing here?”
“They are merely face paints.” I leapt from the bed in full alarm. “Facial plasters and beauty elements. Nothing bad, Uncle, I swear.”
He poked a manicured finger into a pot of rouge, then sniffed it. “You’ve become a slave to vanity and pride?”
All the excitement and hope from the prior evening evaporated.
He wiped off the rouge with one of my handkerchiefs, then touched the Mirror of Portugal, resting in its casket on my toilette table. He grinned, then slammed the casket closed and tucked it under his arm. “Search her things.”
The Cardinal’s Guards swept in, opening trunks and cabinets, shaking out books, and looking into every pot and jar in the chamber. He is searching for an excuse to confine me. I tried not to look at the guard rifling through my cassone. I bit my lip as he tossed out my linen underclothes. Finally the guard held up a lace garter, saying, “There’s nothing here.”
Mazarin stepped to me and whispered, “Where is your father’s book?”
I struggled to hide my astonishment. Does Mazarin use my father’s necromancy books? I didn’t move, not even to blink. “What book?”
Mazarin moved away and tossed me a robe de chambre. “You managed to make a good show of yourself.”
I hastily wrapped the robe around myself with new fear of my uncle’s power.
Mazarin went on as if he’d never mentioned the book. “Good enough to perpetuate the war I keep trying to end.”
“Did you expect me to crawl under some rock?”
“You mistake me, Marie. I knew full well what you would do. And I let you.” He laughed, and the sound had a triumphant ring.
I felt a sinking sensation in my gut.
“How did you expect the Spanish dignitary to respond when you started prancing around like the Queen of France? You know the marriage article is in the treaty.”
“That article is coming out.”
“But it isn’t out yet. You’ve endangered the entire treaty by threatening that single article. Shame on you for making the king seem untrustworthy. Now you’ll pay.”
“I won’t discuss this without the king present.”
“This is not something you will discuss at all. This is my peace treaty, and my word is final.”
The guards finished their search and awaited orders.
Every fiber within me twitched. “You cannot send me away! King Louis will not allow it.”
“He won’t allow it yet.” He turned to the guards. “Give her one hour to pack. Deliver her to the Mancini apartments at the Louvre and stand watch. She sees no one without my permission.”
“What is this?” I wanted to claw his face.
He shrugged. “It’s time I started to keep a closer watch on you, supervise your activities better. I must prove to Pimentel I have you under control. What better way than to bring you into closer quarters with me?”
“But it’s also closer to the king’s quarters.”
“And all those courtiers with their watchful eyes. Besides, it will simplify things when it’s time for you and King Louis to say farewell.”
He glanced around one last time, ignoring my shock, then walked out quietly. The guards started filing out.
One barked over his shoulder, “One hour.”
Moréna crept out of her alcove.
Alone, we looked at the mess. “One hour, Moréna.”
She gave me a meaningful look. “And how long do we have after that?”
I understood. “I don’t know how long my uncle intends for me to stay at the Louvre. But King Louis will put a crown on my head and make it forever.”
* * *
Moréna tried to make me use a vizard mask so we wouldn’t have to waste time on face paints, but I insisted on showing my face so those watchful eyes at the Louvre wouldn’t think I hid in shame. I stepped out of the carriage, gazing up at the stone walls and shiny windows, hoping they’d see. Let them judge whether the glint in my eye be one of sorrow or determination. Guards on my right and left ushered me inside the Mazarin apartments like a prisoner with Moréna trailing behind. Footmen carried in my trunks, rolled out my Turkish carpets, hung my tapestries and bed drapery. I made sure my cassone went into Moréna’s closet, out of sight. I stood at the window, calm as the servants flitted about.
Colbert de Terron arrived as they finished. “His Eminence asked me to remind you that the king forbids you to wait on the queen mother. You are not to wait on her at table. You will instead dine with His Eminence. Any invitations you receive must first be approved by His Eminence. You are not to leave the Mazarin apartments without permission from His Eminence.”
“May I use the chamber pot without permission from His Eminence?”
Terron stifled a laugh.
I considered carefully how to handle this man. A young cousin of the powerful Colbert might seize an opportunity to please the king. I let sadness tinge my tone. “Am I to have visitors?”
“Only if His Eminence allows.” A flicker of unease crossed his features.
His Eminence be damned! “Surely the King of France need not get clearance from His Eminence before visiting a wretch like me.”
He paused. “You would have to find a messenger.”
“Would I need a discreet messenger?” I stepped closer. “One willing to speak to the king without going through His Eminence?”
He thought about it, then nodded.
I smiled.
“What should I tell him?” He put on his hat.
“Tell the king to come to me without delay.”
* * *
Bless Terron, for the king arrived within the quarter hour. He rushed to my side. “Are you well?”
“How can I be well? My uncle said we must separate so he can salvage the peace treaty.
“Pimentel is angry.”
“My uncle provoked us into flaunting our love before the court because he knew it would anger Pimentel. He says you will send me away.”
“I won’t.”
“Never?”
He smoothed my hair. “Do you trust me?”
I wanted to but found I couldn’t say it. He pulled me close. I put my head on his chest, and he rested his chin atop my head.
Moréna’s voice sounded from the corner. “My lady!”
King Louis and I started.
The cardinal stood in the center of the chamber. “I knew I would find you here, Your Majesty.”
King Louis stepped to him. “By the side of my future queen.”
“Her mother and father, God rest them, entrusted her care to me. It is incumbent upon me to make decisions for her regardless of her wishes.”
“You must do as your king wishes.”
“Must I?” The cardinal flicked a piece of lint from his sleeve. “Her presence at court endangers the one thing you have pursued your entire life. Peace.”
“The marriage shouldn’t have been entered. You said you would take it out.”
“King Philip of Spain has too much territory to lose.” The cardina
l held out his hands. “Without the marriage there will be no peace.”
I could stand it no longer. “You don’t care about peace, territory, money, or even the greatness of France. This is about you and Condé.”
My uncle didn’t look at me. “If we don’t get our hands on Condé, he will make other enemies for us. We would be at war again.”
King Louis made a dismissive gesture. “King Philip should give up territory and Condé. He is as good as beaten.”
“But he isn’t!” Mazarin stared King Louis down. “Do you wish to keep sending your subjects into battle? The strong men and boys who plow the fields so the women and girls have bread to eat—do you wish to keep sending them to their deaths? We must make peace with Spain. And because of King Philip’s pride, he cannot make concessions to anyone other than a son-in-law.”
I shook my head at Mazarin. “You never intended to make me queen. Even before the possibility of peace, you used me to control King Louis.”
Mazarin shrugged. “Think what you will. You’re leaving either way.”
“You’ve been lying to me since my birth,” said King Louis. “About my father, your love for my mother, my sovereignty. Why didn’t you ever tell me you’re my real father?”
The cardinal looked puzzled. “I have never wronged you.”
“I never should have trusted you,” said King Louis.
Mazarin put his hands out again, palms up. “There is none you can trust more than me. My son.”
The king stared in utter silence. The anger in his stance melted. Neither man moved on the declaration. It dangled between them like a hangman’s noose.
Finally, King Louis took my hand. “If I am your son, I am not the rightful king. I can marry whom I choose for the sake of love rather than country. I choose Marie.”
“The boy I raised cannot choose Marie over France.”
The king hesitated for a wisp of a second. “I already have.”
The cardinal shook his head. “Think it through. If you are my son, then you are kin to Marie. You cannot wed her in the eyes of God without a dispensation from the pope. Obtaining one would reveal your paternity to the world. Parliament and the law would brand you an imposter, a bastard. The people would tear the crown from your head. They would tear your very head off with it. Every greedy noble and monarch in Europe will encroach on France.”
“I’ll wed her without dispensation.” He squeezed my hand hard. “God knows your own marriage wasn’t sanctioned.”
Mazarin shook his head again. “You’d need more than a dispensation. You’d need permission. From her guardian.”
“Grant it, Cardinal. If you ever had an ounce of love for me, grant me her hand in marriage.”
Mazarin took two steps toward me. “I would kill her first.”
The king and I took a step back. Though I squeezed his hand as hard as I could, it seemed King Louis was slipping out of my grasp. We glanced at each other.
He turned back to the cardinal and said, “Swear you won’t send her to a convent.”
“Louis!” I cried.
The king ignored me. “We can revise our demands. I’m willing to make concessions if King Philip is not. Swear you won’t send Marie to a convent while we remove the marriage article.”
The cardinal curled his mustache.
King Louis went on. “I will call off the peace and muster the army for a campaign in the west tomorrow if you do not assure me Marie remains within my realm while we work on the treaty.”
At last the cardinal nodded. “She may remain in France, but not in Paris. She’s leaving.”
“To a city of her own choosing.”
I pulled his arm. “Louis!” It cannot end this way!
“Very well,” said the cardinal. He turned to go, calling over his shoulder, “She leaves within the week.”
King Louis grabbed my shoulders and whispered low, “I’ve never seen him this way. He would have sent you to Italy, where I might never find you.”
“The cardinal’s prediction was correct,” I said in disbelief. “He made you send me away.”
“I’ve bought time. I can convince him.”
“Once Mazarin gets you to himself he will make you forget me. He’ll let you argue your cause all the way to the altar, and it will be too late.” I sat on the floor in a heap of silk and tears. “Recruit Condé. Invite him into France with his Spanish troops to overthrow Mazarin.”
The king knelt beside me. “Condé would overthrow me in the process, my love.”
“Ally with King Charles of England. He’ll soon be restored to his throne, and then you will have the might of the English army.”
He shook his head, unbelieving.
He’d made up his mind—he had outgrown my influence. But if King Louis couldn’t use his power to keep me at the Louvre, would he ever have the power to marry me? “What can we do?”
He took a deep breath. “I’m going to try talking to my mother.”
CHAPTER 39
Evil will not depart from the house of him that pays evil for good.
—PROVERBS 17:13
King Louis left. I remained on the floor, leaning on the window casement. “The cardinal has bewitched him! Moréna, you must obtain the king’s urine, bake it in a cake, and feed it to a stray dog to break the spell.”
“You think I haven’t tried?” she asked. “The king’s valet is in the cardinal’s pay.” She grabbed her birch besom and swept the cardinal’s evil residue out the door. “I could finish him painlessly. A tasteless potion.”
“You cannot kill my uncle. We wouldn’t be able to live with ourselves.”
“I would,” she said proudly. “It’s no worse than his kind have done to my people in slavery.”
I could easily mention Mazarin’s mustache comb, where she’d find stray hairs to mold into a wax poppet that she could drop in the River Seine. “Whatever harm we wrought in this life comes back to us. Leave Mazarin to God.”
She went back to arranging my things. I stayed on the floor and watched a sliver of sky turn from afternoon pink to twilight ink. Would it make any difference if I brought out all my tools to read the stars now? Perhaps I shouldn’t have resisted using magical elements to attain my desires. After all, I’d been trying to alter fate.
When the servants came in with supper, Venelle arrived with Hortense and Marianne.
“We’re to stay with you,” said Hortense, crouching beside me.
I didn’t move. “Venelle must take the other chamber with Marianne. I don’t want her in here.”
Hortense gestured to Venelle, who moved to the adjoining chamber with no argument. Her job would be easy now.
I clung to Hortense’s hand. “Do you remember how to make that charm for protection Papa always made for us? The one of rue and a cross of brown agate?”
She left to find the necessary objects. But she never uncovered a cross of brown agate, and brought a cross of jet instead. I stayed put as she wrote the prayer, mixed the bag, and hung it around my neck. She sat with me until everyone else had gone to sleep and her own eyes drooped heavily. “You must come to bed,” she said.
“I won’t.”
She took me gently by the hand with such a sweet look that I couldn’t argue. She led me to bed and tucked herself beside me and held me while I cried myself to sleep.
* * *
Venelle and Marianne’s chamber had the larger dining table, which is where we broke our fast in the morning. The cardinal sent up servants with asparagus soup and dainty pastries and ham in parsley and butter. Moréna looked terrified when I accepted a porcelain dish full of a prized golden brew from the east called tea. She’s leery. I loved tea; it smelled heavenly. Then I thought back to all those Italians traipsing in and out of Palazzo Mancini back in Rome, with their stories of poison and the ease of disposing of rivals. I wondered how well I knew Mazarin, a cardinal who’d torn my room apart looking for a book on necromancy. I thought of the look in his eye when he’d said to King Louis,
I’d kill her first. I shuddered, dropping the porcelain dish. Venelle rushed to clean the mess. I left my food untouched and moved to a chair Hortense had dragged to my post at the window.
A commotion arose beyond my door midmorning. The voices of the musketeers standing guard outside mingled with the king’s. The king denounced them angrily, and it was quiet again. I glanced at Moréna, who nodded. She slipped out through the servants’ passage to learn what she could. She didn’t return for hours.
* * *
“The king has gone from the cardinal to the queen and back again in a rage,” said Moréna when she finally returned. My sisters sat in the other chamber for dinner, and Moréna arranged herself at my feet by the window.
“The cardinal will travel to Saint-Jean-de-Luz to meet the Spanish prime minister, review the treaty, modify it, and finally ratify it,” she said. “The process will take months. The king and queen mother will accompany him as far as Bayonne, so they will be nearby if difficulties arise. A large portion of the court will go.”
“So I can stay at the Louvre?”
She shook her head. “You leave before anyone else.”
“Why? What happened?”
She hesitated. “After the king railed at the cardinal for denying access to your rooms, the king went to his mother. He begged her to order the cardinal to grant your hand in marriage. She insisted he couldn’t choose you over France. He … he threw a fit. Yelling, screaming, and crying, he threatened to elope.”
“Really?” I felt a glimmer of hope that faded as its meaning sank in. He was willing to give up France. “I suppose she cursed my name.”
Moréna shook her head. “No. She became so alarmed that the king might elope, she followed the king to the cardinal’s chamber. She actually urged the cardinal to let you go to Bayonne. To not separate you and King Louis.”
“She wouldn’t. She hates me.”
“She fears you. And fears what the king might do if he can’t keep you.”
“Keep me? You mean as a mistress?”
Moréna nodded. “The queen mother considers it a compromise.”
“That is an an insult after being promised a crown.”
Moréna looked down. “The cardinal refused anyway. You leave for a city of your choosing in two or three days.”
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