An Affair of Poisons

by Addie Thorley

  JOSSE

  A foul taste lingers in my mouth from the Quai de la Grève, and it has nothing to do with the fish.

  Once again, I am not enough.

  Once again, I’m cast aside in favor of my brother, who hasn’t lifted a bedamned finger.

  Granted, we haven’t asked for his help, but Louis wouldn’t have offered it even if we had. Not willingly, anyway. He couldn’t care less about fishmongers. Or the poor and sick.

  Yet still they cry for him.

  Still I am forced to grovel at his feet and beg for his support—then give him credit for everything I’ve accomplished.

  I suppose I knew it would come to this—I proposed returning him to the throne. I just didn’t expect to feel this bitterness churning in my belly. These sharp claws of jealousy dragging through my skin.

  Desgrez keeps snickering as we walk, as if this is all a hysterical joke. I want to punch him in the throat, but hold back because he’s finally warming to our plan.

  Mirabelle squeezes my hand, trying to get me to slow down and look at her, but I charge ahead, my fingers rigid against hers. I haven’t a clue why she wants anything to do with me—I clearly have nothing to offer.

  I turn to start up the rue Saint-Denis toward the millinery, but Mirabelle and Desgrez stop and look the other way—down the rue Saint-Honoré toward the pâtisserie.

  “Now?” I groan.

  “There’s no reason to delay,” Mirabelle says. “The sooner we enlist your siblings, the sooner we can recruit more allies.”

  “But it’s so late… .”

  Desgrez rolls his eyes. “The sun has barely set. And you know time means nothing down below.”

  I groan again, louder.

  “I know you’re anxious to see Anne and Françoise,” Mirabelle persuades.

  Their names stop me short. Anxious is an understatement. Two tiny holes have been drilling into my chest since the day I left the sewer. I’d do anything to see them, to protect them. Even face Louis. “Fine.” I let Mirabelle pull me toward Madame Bissette’s, but I drag my feet as if I’m marching to the gallows.

  “Quit being so dramatic,” Desgrez says. “This was your idea, was it not? Uniting the nobility and the peasants?”

  “Yes, but I never considered who would do the actual uniting.”

  “Who better than the noble commoner?” Desgrez opens the pâtisserie door and waves me in with a gallant sweep of his hand. “After you, my lord.”

  I bite my thumb at him and slip inside. By some miracle, Madame Bissette is in her apartment abovestairs, so I lift the hatch and descend into the tunnels without her pecking and pestering.

  As soon as my boots sink into the muck, I cough at the vile stench. After a few weeks aboveground, I had forgotten how the vaporous fingers reach down your throat. I step forward to make room for the others and walk directly into a cobweb. While I bat the sticky strings from my face, a rat the size of Rixenda’s rolling pin scampers along the side of my boot.

  I can’t do this. Especially knowing the foulest creature of all waits for me at the tunnel’s end. There must be another way to appease the people. Something, anything, else we can try.

  I pivot, ready to bound back up the stairs and run far away from this hellhole, when two high-pitched voices trill down the tunnel like birdsong.

  My heart stutters at the sound.

  My girls.

  Their laughter pulls me into the dark and dreck. I place my hands against the dripping walls and push into the blackness. Desgrez and Mirabelle follow.

  Anne’s and Françoise’s voices grow steadily louder; my heart beats steadily faster. When we round the final bend and torchlight from their chamber illuminates the pits and holes in the ground, I break into a run. Needing to see them. Needing to hold them.

  “Anne! Franny!” I shout.

  There’s a beat of silence, followed by delighted screams and claps as I burst into the chamber.

  “Josse!” Anne fists her filthy skirt and runs for me. “You’re back!”

  I kneel down and catch her in my arms. Françoise crashes into my side a moment later and we three topple over sideways and splash into a puddle, laughing too hard to care about the cold and wet. I rain kisses on their cheeks and smooth my hands over their hair, inspecting every inch of them. “Are you well? Have you regained your strength?” I can’t stop babbling and my eyes sting with tears, which is slightly mortifying, but it’s so good to see them alive and well and warm and solid and—

  “Stop!” Françoise giggles and bats my hand away. “We’re fine. Where have you been? We were beginning to worry you’d never return.”

  “Some of us were beginning to celebrate,” Louis calls from his corner.

  Marie shoots him a disapproving look as she crosses the chamber to where I sit with the girls. “This is a happy moment, Louis. No need to sully it with old quarrels. We’re glad to see you’re safe,” she says to me.

  “I’d hardly call them old quarrels!” Louis’s voice rises as Desgrez and Mirabelle duck into the chamber. “He brought the poisoner back! Captain Desgrez, how could you allow—”

  “Mirabelle!” the girls shriek over Louis. They scramble up and attack her with only slightly less gusto than they did me. They jostle for position in her lap and laugh like they haven’t since the attack on Versailles. Something squeezes in my chest, seeing the three of them together. Desgrez shakes his head at the smile creeping across my lips.

  “You look different,” Anne says, studying Mirabelle’s close-cropped curls.

  “I had to disguise myself,” she explains, “and your brother thought this would be the best way.”

  “But your curls were so big and bouncing and lovely!” Françoise laments, swirling her arms around her head just as I did outside the Louvre.

  Mirabelle chuckles and cuts me a glance. “I don’t think anyone has ever called my hair lovely, but thank you. How are you both feeling? I’ve been longing to check on you. Have the spots faded? Have your coughs ceased?”

  Anne holds out her arms for inspection, and Françoise bobs her head, insisting she’s never felt better.

  “So what have you been up to, now that you’re well?” I say, plopping down beside them.

  “We’ve been hunting rats,” Anne pronounces.

  “Rats!” Mirabelle glances at me, trying not to look disgusted.

  Françoise nods eagerly. “They like to chew our skirts, so I ripped off bits of material and put them in the corner, and when the rats came, I trapped one all by myself. I hit it with my shoe and cooked it on a stick and ate it for supper.”

  “You ate it?” I laugh. Foul as it sounds, I’m brimming with pride. Spoiled, pampered princesses would never stoop so low. My girls are strong. Resilient. A new breed of nobility.

  “We gobbled it up, even the tail. Just like our kitten who lives at the palace,” Anne tells Mirabelle. “When we return, I am going to help her hunt. I would make a good kitten, don’t you think?”

  “You would be a wonderful kitten,” Mirabelle agrees.

  “Enough of this blessed reunion.” Louis stamps to where we sit. “I demand to know why you’re here. And why you would allow it, Captain.” He glowers at Desgrez. “Josse betrayed me. And assaulted you. He can’t come parading back after weeks of carousing with our enemy and expect to be received with open arms.”

  I regain my feet and draw a deep breath. Heaven help me, it will take every morsel of patience I possess to survive what comes next. “So lovely to see you, brother,” I say. “Before you run me out, you might be interested to hear we’ve devised a new plan to see you out of the sewer and reinstalled on the throne, but we need your cooperation to carry it out.”

  Marie lets out an uncharacteristic squeal and claps her hands to her chest. “Thank goodness. I was beginning to fear—”

  Louis silences her with a look and turns back to me, his face crumpled with distaste. “Not another one of your ill-conceived plans. We’ve been through this before.”


  “You were the reason my previous plan fell through. And you haven’t even heard our proposition,” I say, trying and failing to keep my voice from rising.

  “I don’t need to. I have no faith in anything devised by the two of you. You have no experience in political matters, and it’s no secret you abhor me. Why would I believe, for a moment, that you’d wish to return me to the throne?”

  “For the sake of my sisters, and the people of Paris, and because sometimes doing the right thing involves making compromises,” I shout.

  Desgrez places a hand on my shoulder and tugs me back. “Which is what we’ve come to discuss with you, Your Royal Highness.”

  “I cannot fathom why you’d cast your lot with theirs, Captain.” Louis sniffs. “I thought you to be of a sounder mind. Josse is a heinous rebel. You told me he was dead as far as you were concerned.”

  “And I meant every word. I had every intention of punishing him for his crimes, but then I saw their plan in action. I urge you to at least listen to our proposition.” Desgrez’s voice is indulgent and he sketches a ridiculous bow that makes me want to kick him. Louis doesn’t deserve a scrap of our respect. He’s impossible. Unbearable. I don’t know why I ever thought this could work.

  “Fine,” Louis says. “I’ll listen—to you, Captain. But I promise nothing. And I shan’t withhold my feelings.”

  “I would never expect you to do so,” Desgrez says, and I roll my eyes so hard it’s a wonder they don’t get stuck backwards.

  “Josse, I need your help with the girls,” Mirabelle says, even though they look completely content sitting beside her. She thumps her palm against the ground and casts me a look that says, Before you ruin everything.

  Sighing, I join her as Desgrez launches into an explanation of how we healed the fishermen and how we intend to save the targeted nobles and unite the common man and nobleman in order to overthrow the Shadow Society. “The nobility, of course, will welcome your rule,” he says, “but in order to keep the people on your side once you’ve obtained the throne, we must prove you’re going to be a different sort of ruler than your father.”

  Louis frowns. “Different how? My father was the Sun King. There has never been a more glorious and celebrated monarch in the history of France. His military successes were unparalleled. He was an enthusiastic patron of the arts. He encouraged industry and fostered trade and commerce. Shall I go on?”

  He was so vain and drunk on flattery, he ignored his subjects entirely, I want to say.

  Thankfully Desgrez has a bit more tact. “Louis XIV was without comparison, it’s true,” he carefully agrees. “However, he was not the most mindful of his lesser citizens. And in the end, they killed him for it.”

  “So what are you suggesting?”

  Desgrez takes a deep breath. “In exchange for helping you rise against La Voisin, the commoners will be given a voice in the new government—representatives who will ensure you are aware of their needs.”

  “That seems reasonable,” Marie says, looking to Louis with hope. But his lips pinch and his face grows steadily redder until he resembles an overripe tomato. The seed pearls on his frockcoat tremble.

  “Are you proposing I work with the rabble?” he demands.

  “Brace yourselves,” I whisper to the girls. “He’s about to scream louder than when his breakfast tray arrives late to his levée.”

  Mirabelle lowers her eyebrows at me, but Françoise and Anne toss their heads back and giggle.

  “This is no laughing matter,” Louis rejoins. “I am king! Which means the common people work for me. I am the single brightest star in the sky. The sun around which they rotate. I shine down upon them.”

  “Pardon my insolence, Your Highness,” Desgrez says, “but you are none of those things yet. You could be,” he adds swiftly when Louis’s eyes flare, “but I fear you will never have the opportunity unless you agree to this proposal. Your father was extraordinary, but he was not well loved by the people. This is the only way to be both.”

  Louis gnaws on his pinky finger, spitting out bits of nail and skin.

  “It’s a small concession,” Marie says, though I suspect she’d crown a fishwife to get out of these tunnels.

  Louis looks at Desgrez, then Marie and the girls, his gaze falling last upon me and Mirabelle. He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his long nose. “I don’t like it. But since it seems to be our only option, I of course shall be the savior of my city. How do we proceed?”

  Before Mirabelle can send word to Gris about our success with the fishmongers, the orphans deliver a note from him. Three short lines: I’m fine. She’s furious. Be prepared.

  Heeding his advice, we spend the next week alternating between brewing curatives and antipoison in the millinery and readying Marie and the girls to aid in the distribution—teaching them how to act and what to say to win the people’s favor.

  “All that groveling and pleading, insisting how badly you need me, and now you wish me to stay in these tunnels and do nothing?” Louis breathes down my back as I fasten a cloak around Françoise’s shoulders.

  “It’s too dangerous for you to traipse around the city,” Desgrez says for the millionth time. “If you’re caught by the Shadow Society, we have no prayer of reclaiming the throne. You must stay hidden—for now.”

  “Forever would be preferable,” I mumble under my breath.

  “What was that?” Louis demands.

  “Oh, nothing.” I grin at his wounded expression.

  Desgrez looks like he wants to strangle me, and Mirabelle frowns, but I’m not about to be reprimanded. Let Louis see how it feels to be useless and worthless and out of place for once in his life.

  “You’re welcome to join me in the millinery,” Mirabelle offers. “I could use assistance brewing curatives.”

  Louis’s face contorts and I edge closer to Mirabelle, ready to defend her from the horrible insults sure to fly from his lips like daggers. But to everyone’s surprise, he mutters, “I’ll bear that in mind.”

  The following evening, while Desgrez and Mirabelle take Anne and Françoise to the rue du Temple, Marie and I rendezvous with Gavril and a handful of orphans in the bramble beneath the Pont Neuf. In addition to killing smoke beasts, the little tricksters have been listening from rooftops and loitering near taverns, stealing snatches of Shadow Society conversation: plans and names and meeting locations. Tonight they claim the Duchesse de Bouillon is in danger, so Marie and I head to her household on the Quai Malaquais to equip her with Viper’s Venom antipoison, should the Shadow Society attack.

  Marie presses herself against the estate wall and I present myself at the gates. An armored guard appears on the other side, his hand on his sword.

  “The duchesse isn’t receiving visitors.”

  “I think she’ll make an exception in this case,” I say as Marie steps into the light and removes the hood of her cloak.

  The guard’s eyes widen and he drops to a knee. “Madame Royale!”

  “This is no time to stand on ceremony!” I hiss. “Let us in, man!”

  He fumbles with the lock and leads us through the forecourt into the château. A tiny part of me is pleased to see these perilous times have affected even the highest born—the black and white marble tiles are smeared with muddy boot prints and the candles in the chandeliers are burnt to stubs. We find the Duchesse de Bouillon in the music room wearing a shabby muslin gown without a speck of powder on her face.

  She glances up at the sound of our footsteps. “Did I not tell you, I do not wish to see …” Her voice trails off and a stifled cry burbles from her lips. “It cannot be!” She shoots to her feet and rushes across the room, slowing a few paces away to self-consciously touch her shabby gown before taking Marie’s hand. “My dear girl. You’re alive.”

  “It’s nothing short of a miracle.” Marie smiles, places her other hand atop the duchesse’s, and guides her to a seat. I stand at a distance, melting into the wall like I always have—like a servant. The realiza
tion makes me jump forward as if the wainscoting bit me. I take a breath for courage and join them in the parlor, standing directly beside Marie. The duchesse frowns up at me, but my sister turns and smiles. “The dauphin lives as well, and it’s in large part thanks to our brother, Josse.”

  The duchesse inspects me for another moment, as if I’m a fly that has landed in her tea, then returns her attention to Marie. “Praise be to God the rightful heir lives. I didn’t dare to hope. That witch and her minions are threatening to exterminate anyone with a drop of noble blood.”

  I clear my throat, itching to point out that until recently she was a dedicated client of that witch and her minions, but Marie digs her elbow into my thigh and speaks over me. “Which is exactly why we’ve come.” She removes the small phial of antipoison from her skirt and explains how we plan to save the nobility and unite the people.

  “Yes, of course. I’ll gladly pledge my support. Whatever you need. I also know the location of the Comtesse de Soissons and the Marquis de Cessac—they’ve gone into hiding but would be most grateful for this elixir. I’m certain they’ll side with you as well.”

  And they do. Over the next few nights, Marie and I repeat the same routine, seeking out nobles of varying degree and title, sometimes in their grand châteaus, but more often hiding in dingy inns and hovels. As word of our visits spread, our hosts become increasingly more decent to me—clasping my shoulder and soggying my shirt with salty tears of thanks. And I’m horrified to discover that it plucks at my ribs and squeezes my heart, the same as when I healed the men and women on the rue du Temple.

  These people mocked my heritage and spat at me at court. The laws of justice say I shouldn’t care whether they live or die, but there’s no denying the swell of emotion that thickens like cream inside my chest every time we deliver a dose of salvation. How it fills me up with a sweetness I’ve never known before.

  The feeling only grows when I finally get to accompany Desgrez, Anne, and Françoise to the Quai de la Grève a week later to deliver coughing draughts and fever tonics and to seek the fishwives’ help brewing antipoison. With the added capacity of so many kitchens, we would be able to distill more curatives than La Voisin could ever hope to counter with her Viper’s Venom.