An Affair of Poisons

by Addie Thorley

  I shoot the bastard prince a wicked grin. “Dare I ask how you know when the maids come to the river to bathe?”

  “Be quiet and take a dress.”

  “Will they recognize you?”

  “Only if you keep talking and draw their attention.”

  We slink forward on our bellies to where the girls left their clothes, and I pull on a scratchy slab of wool with a grunt. It’s still warm with body heat and the underarms are slightly damp. My eyes flick to the river. Some poor girl’s going to come out of the freezing water to find nothing but pebbles and reeds, but I haven’t time to feel overly guilty because when I look to my left, I see that Josse has somehow squeezed himself into a gray maid’s dress as well. I laugh and slap my hand over my mouth.

  “Not a word,” he says as he viciously ties the bonnet strings beneath his chin.

  The pathway from the river to the palace is short, and we reach the postern gatehouse in a blink. Thankfully, the masked sentries are too busy playing cards to notice a pair of maids in ill-fitted uniforms, so we hunch our shoulders and shuffle inside without trouble.

  At once, we are enveloped in a flurry of activity. Masked Society members swarm the outer courtyard. Some march in single file while others spar with rapiers and daggers. Colonels in plum-colored livery pace atop the curtain wall, barking orders. The sight makes my breath catch. I knew the Society was large, but it’s staggering to see them all in one place. And even more unsettling to see them drilling like a proper army.

  Josse gapes around the courtyard, then looks at me askance. As if I singlehandedly recruited every one of them. Or conveniently forgot to tell him that Mother had legions of soldiers. But I’m every bit as shocked. This isn’t who we are.

  “Let’s keep moving.” Josse says, his voice low. “The servants’ outbuildings are located behind the castle proper.” He leads us along the curtain wall and around the nearest watchtower, but the moment he enters the courtyard, he slams to a halt. I crash into his back and start to curse him for smashing my nose, but he’s already cursing enough for us both.

  “Damn, damn, damn.”

  A massive steel cage has been erected in the center of the square. The crude bars are as thick as my middle and rise higher than the castle walls. Inside, Lesage’s smoke beasts snort and snarl. There looks to be around ten of them—half created during the battle with the Paris Police and the other half from the procession. Their semi-translucent bodies slither and glide over one another like a tangle of shimmering yarn. The grass and cobbles around the pen are scorched, and a pillar of smoke billows skyward. I choke on the foul stench of brimstone.

  I created those monsters. Without my alchemy, they would have dissipated like smoke. But I gave Lesage the power to make them tactile. I was so desperate to prove myself to Mother, I didn’t consider the consequences. Just as I didn’t consider the consequences of making the poison she used to kill the king. Maybe Josse is right. If I weren’t so hungry for acknowledgment, I would have been more prudent. At the very least, I should have rendered the blood draught so I could control the beasts as well. They are half mine.

  Which means the fault will be half yours when Lesage releases them again.

  Shame and regret nip at my heels as we run down the narrow paths that snake around the cage. The beasts blow fire at our backs, attempting to incinerate anything that moves, and we narrowly dodge the flames. My feet burn like they’ve been branded by a hot poker. Josse’s boots hiss as he splashes into a puddle, but it seems we’ve gotten off easy. There’s a long line of servants with blistered arms and singed petticoats hobbling into the castle through a creaky wooden door near the midden heap.

  We fall in line, and I glance nervously at the other servants, laden heavy with linens and barrows and missives. We’ll stand out like a violet in a patch of belladonna if we don’t appear to have a duty.

  “Relax,” Josse whispers. He grabs a water bucket waiting behind the door and hefts it to his hip. Then he leads us down the hall and past the kitchens, which smell of rye and roasted duck, to a corner stairwell.

  I take the lead from there, guiding us down into the depths of the palace. The air grows colder as we descend, prickling across my skin and sitting damp and heavy in my lungs. It smells of rot and urine, and I pull my sleeve over my nose and quicken my step. While I miss my work and Gris, I haven’t missed this miserable place.

  Doors blur past, branching off into holding cells and torture chambers, and a cacophony of discordant music follows us down the twisting halls: the clink of iron manacles, the shouting of guards, and the painful wails of prisoners. Shivers overtake me, and I practically run the last few steps to the familiar gray door.

  I crouch and check the gap to make certain it’s empty—not even Gris should be working at such an early hour—then I burst into the laboratory. My feet carry me straight to the board, and I trace my fingers over the wood, touching every bottle and phial and spoon. Expecting them to welcome me like old friends. But everything feels cold and unfamiliar. The warm, pungent air assaults me like a bouquet of awful memories: Louis XIV’s foaming lips, brewing Viper’s Venom for Mother, Lesage’s scarecrow arm dripping blood across the board.

  This place is a cruel mockery of my garden laboratory. An insult to the Shadow Society.

  I hate it.

  “Fascinating,” Josse says, perusing the shelves. He leans over to inspect the athanor and swings the furnace door open and closed.

  I slap the back of his hand. “Don’t touch anything. Stand over there and keep watch.”

  He grumbles but moves to the door. I retrieve several empty satchels from the cabinet and get to work, eager to be free of this place. I stuff fistfuls of fresh herbs and entire jars of the dried variety into the sacks followed by mortars and pestles and phials. Everything I’ll need to resume healing. It will be obvious the laboratory has been pillaged, but I must collect as much as possible.

  Gris’s goggles call to me from their nail beside the hearth, and I run my finger along the leather strap, wishing more than anything for his help. But I leave the goggles be. Better that he’s not involved in this madness. It would be selfish to ask him to take such a risk. And I’m not certain he’d side with me. I may be his best friend, but Mother is his savior. Not to mention I’m working with a royal—albeit it a bastard royal, but I helped the others as well.

  In a matter of minutes, I have three bursting satchels waiting by the door and I’m teetering on a stool, reaching for one more sprig of juniper berries, when Josse mutters a black oath and dives behind a cluster of cauldrons in the corner.

  That’s all the warning I get.

  A second later the door swings open and Gris strides into the laboratory, as if my longing summoned him. He immediately spots me on the stool, and the sack of eye bright in his hands hits the floor. “Do you know what happens to maids who steal from the Shadow Society?”

  His voice rattles the shelves like the boom of a cannon, and I stand there paralyzed, seeing him for the first time how others must. Not as my clever and kind-hearted best friend but someone to be feared; he’s as tall as a house and thick as a bull, with sinewy arms and a broad, heaving chest. His hands close around my wrist, but before he can hurl me from the stool, I throw my cap back and shout, “Gris! It’s me!”

  His eyes widen, and he releases me, reeling back against the table. “Mira?”

  Up close, I see that his usually tanned face is deathly pale, and his tunic is so rumpled and stained, I doubt he’s changed in weeks. The bags beneath his eyes are the color of a new bruise: purple and red, bleeding into blue. Mother’s working him to death.

  “You’re alive,” he chokes out. “How? Where have you been? Why are you dressed as a maid?”

  “Thought I’d try my hand at cleaning.” I flash a small grin, but Gris continues blinking as if I might vanish. Tentatively, he reaches out to touch my cheek. I lean in, the gentle brush of his fingertips sending shock waves through my body. I place my hand over his and
a cry bursts from my throat—relief and comfort and something I can’t put into words. Like waking from a horrifying nightmare to a world of brilliant, golden sunlight.

  “You’re alive,” he says again, pulling me into his arms. “Everyone will be so relieved. La Voisin said the royals refused to negotiate for your life and slaughtered you to send us a message. The Society’s been in a frenzy ever since, planning our retaliation.”

  Lies. Like always. “Mother is the one who refused to negotiate for my life.”

  Gris lifts a heavy brow as he guides me to a stool. “What do you mean?”

  “When the royals sent word they’d captured me, she gave them leave to slaughter me.”

  He sucks in a breath and shakes his head, his honey-colored curls flying. “No. She wouldn’t—”

  “Are you certain?”

  After a long pause, he collapses onto the stool next to mine like an empty bellows. “I’m sure she thought it was the only option. Or that rescuing you would put the Society at too great a risk. Or maybe it was a show of faith—she knew you could escape. Speaking of, how did you manage it? The royals would never let you go unless …” His voice takes on a note of wonder. “Did you kill them?”

  “I took care of them,” I say tightly, clutching my stays to push down the discomfort thumping in my belly. Technically, it’s the truth, but Gris would never guess that I literally took care of our enemies.

  “So why come to the lab? Why not go straight to La Voisin and tell her the good news? It was wrong of her to abandon you, but now that the royals are disposed of …” Gris shoots to his feet. “This will change everything.”

  “I’m not returning to the Shadow Society,” I interject.

  “Why not? Why are you here then?” His gaze wanders around the ravaged laboratory, stopping on the overflowing satchels.

  “Mother’s so obsessed with securing the city, she’s forgotten our most important duty is to the people. While she’s busy doling out poison and vengeance, I plan to resume making tinctures and curatives, and I need supplies to do it.”

  “But the unrest is only temporary. Until we quiet the dissenters.”

  “And when will that happen?”

  Gris buries his fingers in his hair. “What would you have your mother do? The nobles swear fealty then betray her right and left. She asked them to contribute funds to rebuild the merchants’ shops and homes that were burned during the procession. Not only did they refuse, but they organized against her! They’ve left her no choice. The only thing we can think to do is threaten them with Viper’s Venom.”

  A small intake of breath comes from behind the cauldrons. Gris’s eyes narrow and he turns.

  “You see!” I clench Gris’s shoulder and spin him back around. He nearly topples from his stool. “It will never cease! And what happens to the common folk in the meantime? They’re forgotten, as they always have been. I have no wish to be a part of Mother’s killings and carnage. I want to give life.” Make amends, I think, but I know better than to admit this aloud. Gris would argue that we have nothing to be sorry for. “I won’t force you to help me against your will. Just don’t tell Mother where I am. Or what I’m doing. At least not yet.”

  Gris purses his lips and stares at me like he did the first time I suggested we alter some of Mother’s recipes.

  “I’m not doing anything contrary to the Society,” I assure him. “Only what we’ve always done. Think of the people.”

  Eventually, he nods. “What do you need me to do? And please tell me you weren’t going to stroll past the porters with all that?” He points to the bursting satchels.

  “It isn’t so much… .”

  “Devil’s horns, it’s a good thing I caught you, or you really would be dead.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, then casts me a withering look. “I’ll deliver your supplies, as well as some kettles and cauldrons so you’re not limited to small quantities of medication. Just tell me where to find you.”

  “Thank you!” I throw my arms around him and kiss his cheek. “You can have my portion of meat for a month.”

  That makes him laugh; it’s the same silly promise I made when I wanted him to scrub my share of the cauldrons when we were children. I look adoringly up at his face. With that broad smile crinkling his eyes, he almost looks like his old self—if I can ignore the purple bags.

  Gris ruffles the remnants of my hair. “We’re family. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, Mira. You know that.”

  His tender words slide between my ribs like a dagger and the grin melts off my lips. How can you betray him like this?

  But it isn’t a betrayal so much as a small omission about my involvement with the royals—and it’s for the greater good, like Mother always claims.

  “I’m working in an abandoned millinery on the rue de Navarine in Montmartre. Right between two gambling dens.”

  He leans over the board to make a note. “Finish collecting everything you need, and I’ll bring it later tonight. I’m supposed to meet La Voisin in her solar now to discuss this week’s order.” He crosses the room but pauses in the doorway. “Take the servants’ stairs when you go; they’re less crowded. And, Mira?” His eyes lock with mine. “Be careful. I couldn’t bear to lose you a second time.”

  12

  JOSSE

  As soon as La Voisin’s lackey lumbers down the hall, I spring to my feet and get all tangled up in my bedamned skirts. “Did you hear what he said?” I demand as I emerge from behind the cauldrons.

  “He’s going to help me procure supplies,” Mirabelle says with a clap. “That went far better than I could’ve hoped.”

  “That went horribly! Your mother is planning to execute the remaining nobility. I may not know much about alchemy, but I’m going to assume something called Viper’s Venom isn’t pleasant.”

  Mirabelle looks away, suddenly very interested in a doublebarreled contraption on the counter. “It’s not.”

  “We have to stop her. Or help the nobility. Something.” I wait for Mirabelle to agree, to erupt with righteous indignation and suggest—no, insist—we rush to their aid as she did for the common people. But she simply watches me stalk back and forth. “Well? You dragged me into this palace full of poisoners in the name of the people. Shouldn’t that include poor and rich alike?”

  Mirabelle folds her arms across her chest. “Of course I’d help them if I could, but there’s no antidote to Viper’s Venom.”

  I gape around the laboratory, at the hundreds of colorful bottles lining the walls, refusing to believe that none of them contain the necessary elixir. “Nothing?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Well, then make something. You are an alchemist, aren’t you? How hard could it be?”

  “Viper’s Venom is the most sophisticated poison known to man. My father, who was a far better alchemist than I, developed the compound, and his grimoire full of notes is locked in my mother’s strongbox. In her bedchamber. If she hasn’t destroyed it.”

  The way she tacks on the last excuse suggests this isn’t likely. La Voisin has the book. We just have to steal it. My eyes flick up to the ceiling. “How hard could it be to pop abovestairs and take a book?”

  “Out of the question. It’s too dangerous.”

  “Too dangerous? We’re already inside the palace! What’s a little more risk?”

  “A lot more risk,” she fires back. “I have what I need to resume making curatives. That’s enough. I see no reason to—”

  “You don’t care what becomes of the nobility.” I bang my fist on the board, rattling the phials.

  Mirabelle slams her own fist down with equal force. “Why do you suddenly care so much? I thought you despised the nobility. You’re always so adamant you’re not one of them.”

  “I’m not … Not wholly, anyway.” I groan and drag a hand down my face. “I don’t know what I am, but I do know—no matter how much I loathe the aristocracy—if we allow La Voisin to exterminate them, we will never have enough strength to overth
row her, which will seal her hold on the city and make it impossible for my sisters and I to flee.”

  “Ahhh, there it is. The real reason.” Mirabelle gives me a condescending pat on the cheek. “This may be difficult for you to believe, princeling, but there are others to consider beyond you and your sisters. Hundreds of thousands of them.”

  “Exactly! Your mother is desperate and grasping and dangerous. Things are no better for the people under the Shadow Society than they were during my father’s reign. He may have ignored the rabble in favor of the rich, but how is that different from exterminating the nobles? Half the city is still forsaken. More than half! You’re stealing alchemy supplies because the poor are being neglected.”

  She opens her mouth to argue, so I quickly add, “How much can you honestly hope to accomplish—a single alchemist, working alone, in hiding?”

  Mirabelle tilts her head back and lets out a loud breath. “What do you suggest we do? There’s no solution.”

  Oh, there’s a solution. But it’s so preposterous, I’m afraid she’ll laugh me out of the Louvre. I suppose people have been doing that all my life. “We do what neither my father nor your mother could accomplish. We unite the nobility and the common people.” She barks out a laugh.

  “It could work! The noble families still have enough power and influence to overthrow La Voisin, but only with the strength of the commoners behind them. Then, once the Shadow Society is removed from power, we reestablish the monarchy.”

  Mirabelle scoffs. “Only the aristocracy will be in favor of that. If you want the people’s support, they need a voice, a vote. Representatives from among them who will bring their concerns to the king, along with a guarantee that he will address them promptly and to their satisfaction.”

  “I’m certain Louis could be open to that …” I say, even though I’m not certain at all. If we get to that point, I’ll make him open to it.