by Lily Blake
Alys looked up at the queen, her huge blue eyes smiling at last. “You drink the tea before bed every night, and then you say the meditation.”
Mary blinked. “Meditation?”
“That’s what Guillaume called it,” Alys said. “He never wrote any of them down but he taught them all to me. After we gave someone a tea or a balm or anything, really, we would say a meditation over something of theirs. Guillaume said it helped people get better faster, that it sent the angels to look after them.”
“I see,” Mary said, stiffening slightly. “Could you teach it to me?”
Alys nodded. “I could but it would be hard. The words are difficult; they’re not French or Latin. I think Guillaume made them up. But they work.”
Mary watched as the girl carried on plucking leaves from the plants around her. Meditations? In a made-up language? These were not the things Mary wanted to hear and definitely not the kind of thing that would clear Alys’s name. A healer who was particular about sharing his methods was one thing; a man who kept secret recipes in his head and spoke undecipherable words over a personal belonging was quite another. Not all healers with secrets were dabbling in the occult, but this was still an unsettling development.
“Your Grace.” One of Mary’s maids, accompanied by a member of her personal guard, came running into the garden. “The king has asked that you return to your chambers immediately.”
The guard reached down and grabbed Alys by the arm, hoisting her roughly to her feet.
“Ow.” She looked to Mary with pained eyes. “What’s happening?”
“Amélie?” Mary watched on as Alys was dragged away. “What is this?”
“The cook who attacked your guest.” Amélie almost choked on her words. “He’s dead.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
How could it possibly have been Alys?” Mary demanded, slamming her hand against the table in the great chamber. Francis rubbed his temples while Catherine watched. “She was in her room all morning and accompanied by Catherine’s guards all afternoon. She couldn’t have possibly gone down to the dungeons.”
“A witch doesn’t need to be present to kill,” Catherine said, sitting quietly in her chair and admiring her fingernails as she spoke. “That’s what makes her a witch, Mary.”
Francis threw his hands up in the air. “What else can I do?” he asked. “I can’t have a girl accused of witchcraft wandering around the castle when servants are inexplicably falling down dead.”
“One servant,” Mary said, her voice full of fury, all promises to be reasonable and support her husband forgotten. “One kitchen servant who was in the dungeons for attacking a young girl. Who knows what happened to him down there?”
“What if the English are behind it?” Catherine suggested casually. “What if it was all a ploy to get into the castle, earn sweet, kind Mary’s trust, and then kill you both in your sleep? At their worst, they make you look weak and foolish; at best they finish you both off.”
Mary cast her mother-in-law a foul look. “You’re not helping.”
“Really?” the queen mother said. “At least I’m offering suggestions, rather than letting little witches run around the herb garden. Really, Mary, why didn’t you just give her an ax and bend over with your eyes clo—”
“The two of you bickering will get us nowhere,” Francis interrupted before Mary could respond. “Mary, I have to keep the girl under watch until we find out what happened to the servant. Mother, please don’t make this situation any more difficult than it already is.”
“You’re not sending her to the dungeons?” Mary had spent more time in the bowels of the castle than she cared to think about. She couldn’t bear the thought of Alys suffering alone down there, not after everything she’d been through.
Francis grasped her shoulder to give her strength. “She’ll be kept in the south tower.”
“Ahh.” Catherine sighed. “The south tower. Happy memories.”
“I’m here,” Bash announced, entering the room with a purposeful stride.
“Thank goodness, we’re all saved.” Catherine reached across the table for a glass of wine.
Casting her a desultory glance, Bash turned his attention to Mary and Francis. “Where are we with the investigation?”
“Nowhere,” Francis said. “And now the servant who attacked Alys is dead.”
“He was killed?” Bash hardly looked shocked. “By another prisoner?”
Francis shook his head. “He was being kept on his own, so as not to spread panic. One of the guards went in to check on him and he was dead.”
The room fell silent. Mary sank into a chair, trying hard to remember Lola’s advice. This wasn’t Francis’s fault; he had no choice but to lock Alys away. It was as much for the girl’s good as anything, she told herself. Alys would be safe in the cells.
“Let me ride back to Auxerre,” Bash said. “Let me speak to the neighboring villages. There is more to this than we’re seeing.”
“The easiest way out of this is to execute the girl,” Catherine said. “I hate to state the obvious but it solves all of our problems. The people of Auxerre will be back on our side, Francis will be seen to be taking a stand against the occult, and we all go back to pretending none of this happened. Simple.”
“And what about Alys? And Ada?” Bash asked.
“Which one is the witch?” the queen mother asked. “Not that it matters. Execute both of them—one bad apple tends to turn the entire barrel. Didn’t you leave them orphans anyway, Sebastian?”
“Enough!” Francis shouted.
Bash, Mary, and Catherine all turned to look at their king.
“Alys and Ada will stay in the south tower until we know what killed the cook,” he declared. “Bash will ride out to Auxerre at dawn, Mary will stay away from both girls, and my mother will stay away from everyone.”
“Well, that’s gratitude for you.” Catherine drained her wineglass and stood up. “If my help isn’t required, I’ll get back to my chambers. The east tower is so much more comfortable than the south. Good luck, Francis, let me know when you schedule the execution. These things should be witnessed.”
Bash wound his fingers into Kenna’s silky brown hair and buried his face in her neck. She smelled like jasmine and roses and home. He closed his eyes tightly and breathed her name. Kenna’s long legs wrapped themselves around her husband’s waist, pulling him closer and holding him tighter.
Rolling onto his back, Bash pulled Kenna onto his chest, stroking her hair methodically.
“You don’t look as happy as I might like,” she said, resting on her elbow and pouting at her husband’s expression. “Are you bored of me already?”
“Yes.” Bash cupped her cheek and pressed down on her bottom lip with his thumb. “That’s exactly what it is.”
“I remember a time when being in bed with me was enough to take your mind off anything,” she said, biting gently at his thumb. “Mostly because it was only last week.”
Bash pulled the bedcovers over the two of them and pulled her closer, planting kisses on her cheeks, her eyelids, her forehead, and finally her lips. “You are the only thing that could take my mind off this,” he promised. “I’m sorry, I just hate feeling so powerless.”
Kenna pressed her head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat and tapping her fingers along to the rhythm. “Perhaps you should let Francis take care of it,” she said, closing her eyes to chase away the images of him, sword held high overhead, as she ran for the horses. It was so hard to believe it had all happened only a day ago. “I don’t think you should go back to that place.”
Bash pulled away so that he could look her in the eye. “You can’t mean that?” he asked. “Surely?”
“I do,” Kenna said, wrapping herself in the silk sheets as Bash climbed out of bed and pulled on his leather breeches. “I’m sorry but I can’t bear the thought of you going back out there. Those people killed Alys and Ada’s parents in front of us, their friends, their neighbors. Thi
nk what they will do when you ride back into the village.”
“So you would let Alys and Ada be executed rather than have me find out the truth? I can’t believe you would even suggest it.”
“Bash, come back to bed,” she begged. “I just meant that I’m afraid for you.”
He stood in the middle of the bedroom, his undershirt undone, hands on his hips. “Do you think I don’t get scared?” he asked.
She folded her legs underneath herself and shrugged. “No?”
“I am always afraid,” he said softly, moving back to the bed and taking her hand. “I am afraid someone will hurt you. I’m afraid someone will hurt me and you’ll be left alone. And when things like this happen, I’m afraid for Francis and for Mary and for all of France. But if I don’t stand up for what’s right, who will?”
“Francis?” Kenna suggested petulantly.
“Francis cannot do everything himself,” he said, smiling again. Their arguments were always short, burning out before they could really begin. He found it so hard to stay mad at her. “I knew what it would mean when I agreed to be his second. It’s a better life for you and me, but it comes with risks. Risks I am happy to take for the good of my country.”
“So you’re going back,” she said, sliding her hands underneath his silken undershirt and tracing the muscles in his chest. “There’s nothing I can say that would stop you?”
“As soon as Francis tells me I can return to Auxerre, I will go.” He pulled the shirt over his head and kissed Kenna so hard, she felt as though her lips were bruised. “But until then, I’m all yours.”
Catherine hated to wear a head scarf. It made it so hard to hear those creeping around the castle, but it was the best way to make herself less recognizable. The reflection she observed in the mirror before crawling into the secret tunnel in her chambers was not pleasing to her. Gone were her jewels, her fine clothes, her crown; in their place were the dull clothes of a servant. Inch by inch, she opened the secret door to the south tower a crack and peered outside. No one to be seen but the guards outside Alys’s chamber. The guards Catherine had handpicked.
In complete silence, she crept out the door and sealed it behind her. As she approached, the guards straightened their stance. “Glad to see you’re doing your best work,” she said, peeling back the head scarf. “Is she in there?”
“She is, Your Grace,” one of the guards replied. “The younger girl was taken to the infirmary by one of the maids; she was suffering with a stomachache.”
“I can only imagine she was,” Catherine said. With the amount of milk thistle she’d had added to the girl’s meal, she was likely to be gone for some time. “If I call for you, you’re to get me out immediately.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” he said before opening the door.
Catherine entered with reluctance. The last time she had set foot in these rooms was when Henry had tried to have her executed, before he changed his mind. Theirs had been a complicated relationship.
“Hello?” called out a small voice inside the tower as the door clanged shut behind Catherine and the lock turned. “Is someone there? Ada?”
“My name is Senét.” Catherine’s lies were smooth and quick after so many years of practice. “They sent me from the infirmary to let you know your sister is going to be well.”
“Is she coming back?” Alys asked, creeping out of a dark corner. The girl was taller than Catherine remembered but still skinny, still all arms and legs.
“Soon,” she replied. “Alys, I’m a friend of the queen’s. She wanted me to ask you some questions. About your master.”
Alys pulled her sleeves over her hands, curling the fabric around her fingers and staring curiously at Catherine’s concealed face. “Why doesn’t she come herself?” she asked.
Catherine scoffed gently and held out her hands. “Oh, child, the queen can’t come to a place like this. She can’t be seen talking to someone accused of heresy.”
Stepping out of the dark corner and into the moonlight that shone in through the only window in the whole room, Alys crossed her arms in front of herself and gazed out the window at the starless gray skies. She looked afraid.
“She told me the healer you worked with was a great man,” Catherine said, keeping a safe distance from the girl. “You must have been very proud to work with him.”
“I was,” Alys said. “I am.”
“It would be a shame if his memory were to be sullied with accusations of witchcraft.” Catherine sighed. “Because you hurt those poor people.”
“I didn’t hurt anyone,” Alys snapped, whirling around to face the queen mother. Catherine took a quick step backward, reaching for a small linen bag of herbs hidden inside her belt. “And neither did Guillaume. He was a good man. He helped so many people. They would come from miles away, from other towns all over France. He saved so many lives.”
Catherine pressed her lips together in a tight line. “If you were to confess, his legacy would be assured,” she said. “No one would speak ill of him ever again. And your end would be quick.”
Outside the window, a shining full moon pushed through the clouds and shone brightly through the narrow slit of a window, casting a white glow over Catherine’s face.
“I’ve seen you before,” Alys whispered. “You came to visit Guillaume.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Catherine said, her voice sharp. “I only came to offer you a way out of this situation. A way that would clear your mentor’s name and leave your sister protected. It’s what the queen wants.”
“Guillaume was afraid of you,” Alys pressed on as Catherine fussed with her head scarf and backed toward the door. “You wanted things he did not feel comfortable giving. The willow bark and the belladonna. The sage tea that sent you to sleep.”
Catherine rapped on the wooden door. “Guards,” she called. “We’re done here.”
“If you drink too much of it, bad things happen,” Alys said, tilting her head to one side. “Guillaume said you would do bad things. That you had done bad things.”
“Guards.” Catherine never liked to raise her voice but the door was not being opened nearly fast enough for her liking.
“I know who you are,” Alys said, only inches away. “Catherine de Medici.”
“That is the last time you will ever speak that name,” Catherine promised as the door opened. “I tried to give you a chance, my girl. Now there will be no easy way out for you.”
Pushing her way out of the chamber, Catherine pulled off the head scarf and waited to hear the door slam shut behind her. “What are you looking at?” she asked the guards as their wide eyes returned to the floor in front of them. “Remember,” she said, calming herself quickly. “You speak of this to no one, or you will die.”
CHAPTER NINE
I’m just not convinced this is such a good idea,” Greer said as she and Kenna reined their horses into a slow walk. “Why would we go back to the village where you and Bash were attacked?”
“Because it’s safer for me and you,” Kenna replied, adjusting her borrowed rough-hewn cape. “No one will recognize me dressed like this; no one knows you. If Bash goes back, who knows what will happen.”
“And what exactly are we hoping to find out?” asked Greer, combing her long blond hair out of her eyes. It was a while since she had been drawn into one of Kenna’s schemes, but a dawn ride had sounded so appealing when her friend came to her chambers that morning. She should have known there was more to it than that. “And remind me again who I’m supposed to be?”
“We’re seamstresses on our way home to Auverne,” Kenna said. “We were at the castle delivering dresses to the ladies, and we heard stories about a young girl prisoner from the village.”
“Right.” Greer looked unconvinced.
“But we didn’t realize it was this village,” Kenna added.
“Right.” Greer looked even less convinced.
“Don’t think about it too hard,” Kenna instructed. “You�
�re a terrible liar when you try too hard.”
“I’m not completely sure I would have come with you if you’d explained this before we set off,” Greer said. It was true, she was a terrible liar. “Did you discuss your grand plan with Mary?”
Kenna’s horse trotted back and forth on the spot. He remembered where they were and was even less happy about it than Greer. “Mary wants to know what’s behind all of this,” she said. “And I want Bash to be proud of me.”
“Couldn’t you have baked him a cake or something?” Greer asked. “My husband is most proud of me when I do as he asks, not when I run off at the break of dawn and risk my life for no good reason.”
“It is a good reason,” Kenna said, remembering what Bash told her. “It’s what’s right. When we return to the castle, we’ll be heroes.”
“If we return to the castle,” Greer said, pulling her cloak around her against the early-morning chill. “This is not one of your better ideas, Kenna.”
Pushing aside her friend’s concerns and burying her own fear, Kenna kicked her horse into action and raced off down the hill, toward Auxerre.
The village was so changed from when she had left two days earlier, Kenna wasn’t even certain she was in the right place when they rode up to the village tavern. The streets were already crowded with people going about their daily lives. Small stalls sold fruits and vegetables and baked goods. Children ran around, occasionally stopping to hide in their mothers’ skirts, and men walked through the streets on their way to work, laughing and clapping one another on the back.
“This is the cursed village?” Greer whispered, climbing down from her horse and leading him over to the stables. “It looks perfectly normal to me.”
“It was so different,” Kenna said, hardly able to believe her eyes. Every so often she would recognize a face from the angry mob in the village square and had to look away. “The streets were deserted, all these people were so angry. They were crying out for blood.”
“Then all is well and we can return home?” Greer asked hopefully.
