In the Shadow of the Sun

by EM Castellan

Philippe snorted and shook his head in disbelief. “You would have talked to me afterward?” Anger darkened his features again, the muscles along his jaw working in frustration. “How naive are you? He’s the king, Henriette. What makes you think he’ll give you any choice in the matter? He’s dreamed all his life of having a powerful Source close to him, and from those letters?” He pointed at my desk. “It looks like he’s found it.”

  It was my turn to shake my head, although his words echoed disturbingly with my mother’s warnings. “He can’t use my power without my consent.”

  Philippe grabbed my hand, his tone turning pleading. “He’s. The. King.”

  I squeezed his fingers back, planting my gaze in him. “And I’m his sister-in-law. A princess of England. He needs me for that too, not just for my magic.”

  Philippe caressed my hair, affection and consternation battling on his face. “Oh, my love. You don’t know him at all. He won’t intend to do you harm. But he always puts duty first. And one day, he’ll need to use your magic for France, for the Crown, for his subjects. And he’ll forget you’re human, and oh-so-fragile, and precious.”

  When he spoke like this, it was enough to steal the little breath I had left and to squeeze my heart into a fluttering knot. I tried not to give weight to his words, instead reminding myself of the countless times he had failed me since our wedding. He only cared about me in relation to his brother. Yet a traitorous part of me longed to see more often the spark of affection that glinted in his eyes now.

  “Won’t you be here to remind him?” My question came out no louder than a whisper, but he held me so close he could have read my lips.

  The sad smile that stretched his mouth didn’t reach his eyes.

  “I fear, my love, that it won’t be enough.”

  SUMMER

  CHAPTER VII

  The chirping of birds outside my window woke me.

  The pale light of dawn filtered between the indoor shutters, and I stirred under my covers, blinking at my surroundings. Unlike the Louvre, which remained an old and gloomy place with dark corridors, huge rooms impossible to keep warm and high ceilings blackened by soot, Fontainebleau had gone through recent and extensive renovations. As a result, each room boasted gilded adornments, colorful fabric, and fashionable furniture, and my own bedchamber was no exception. It wasn’t as large as my Tuileries apartments, but it was a lavish space to spend the summer in nonetheless.

  At this early hour of the morning, and with my windows cracked open, a gentle breeze drifted in, blessedly cool before the heat of the day. It brought in the faint scent of blooming flowers and the soft twittering of birds. On the mantelpiece, the mechanical clock chimed seven o’clock, and a low whine came from Mimi’s prostrate form at the end of the bed. Now fully awake, I moved against my pillows, but a dead weight across my stomach pinned me to the mattress. With slow gestures, I pushed Philippe’s arm, heavy with sleep, off my body.

  Since our move to Fontainebleau a week ago, he had taken to sleeping in my bed. He arrived in the middle of the night, the smells of perfume, wine, and summer heat on his skin, and collapsed at my side with a plea for me not to wake up. Then he wrapped his arms around me, as if I would somehow vanish into thin air should he let go, and fell asleep with his nose buried in my hair.

  The first night it had happened, I barely got a wink of sleep. The weight of his body pressed against mine, the sound of his breath in my ear, and the shape of his profile in the near darkness were enough to send my imagination running and my heartbeat into a frenzy. But when it became clear Philippe’s only goal was to sleep, my nights had become calmer. My cough and occasional night fevers didn’t wake him, and when they did he simply tightened his hold on me with a whispered soothing word and went back to sleep. I suspected he was the type of man who would have required a trumpet blowing in his ear to wake before sunrise.

  Mimi hot on my heels, I tiptoed to the service rooms behind my main chamber, where one of the maids tipped water from a copper jug into a basin for me. She greeted me with a smile and helped me wash and get dressed, our exchanges reduced to nods and whispers. Like every morning, Athénaïs waited for me in my antechamber, coiffed and dressed in an outdoor outfit elegant enough for an afternoon ride with the king.

  “You never know whom you might meet” was her motto—meaning she was ready to chance upon her future husband at any moment.

  With my hair in a plait and my simple morning dress under my cloak, I paled in comparison, but I wasn’t going out to find the perfect match. My carriage was stationed outside the palace, by the horseshoe-shaped grand staircase, and it rumbled on the cobblestones as we drove past the service buildings. I cast a distracted glance at the brick facades of the stables, kennels, and jeu de paume hall before we made our way through the gate and into the château’s grounds.

  Fontainebleau was renowned for its lush forest, and soon our carriage was swallowed in it. The horses’ hooves thumped on the dirt road, and pale sunshine trickled through the foliage overhead. If the path was deserted at this early hour of the morning, it wasn’t the case with the work site we soon reached. Dust sprayed under our wheels as our driver battled his way across acres of turned soil, and around a huge hole in the ground dozens of men dug in. Amid the chaos, a man in a brown wig and bottle-green outfit stood on a platform, an array of maps and rolls on a table before him. A blond woman was at his side, along with a black-clad silhouette that had become a familiar sight around the château.

  “Monsieur Moreau is here,” I said. The man was everywhere—and thorough in his supervision of what went on in the king’s life. “Who is the other gentleman?”

  “That’s André Le Nôtre,” Athénaïs replied. “Landscape architect, the king’s head gardener, and royal magicien, of course.”

  Mimi perked up in my lap at the noise outside, and I soothed her with a pat while glancing at Athénaïs.

  “You’ve done your research.”

  Although we still weren’t friends—as I assumed she reported every one of my words and actions to Olympe—I was getting to know Athénaïs better as weeks went by. In many ways, I had come to prefer her witty, sarcastic, and self-serving personality to Louise’s unending modesty and deference, which I suspected hid her own agenda.

  Athénaïs shrugged. “He’s in his late forties and married. To his wife and to his work, from what I’ve heard. Only this summer he’s building this Grand Parterre while also designing the gardens of Vaux-le-Vicomte for Fouquet.”

  “Thank goodness for magic,” I replied.

  My joke only brought the tiniest smile to her lips, however, as she surveyed the work with close attention.

  “See.” She pointed at a series of trenches dug in the ground and marked by little white flags. “They’re calling it a ‘French-style formal garden.’ Monsieur Le Nôtre’s specialty. It’s going to have geometric box hedges around a pond with a fountain, and herb gardens for fragrance.”

  “It should be lovely.”

  “I’ve heard the work is taking forever though,” Athénaïs went on as our carriage jolted along the treacherous path, lurching after each pothole. “And His Majesty isn’t most pleased Le Nôtre has to divide his attention between Fontainebleau and Vaux-le-Vicomte.”

  It was well-known that Fouquet was spending a lot of energy and time turning his château into a lavish haven away from court and Paris. I could very well imagine Louis unhappy with having to share anything, including his gardener, with his Crown Magicien.

  “The woman next to Le Nôtre is his Source,” Athénaïs added. “I’ve heard it said she’s one of the most talented at court.”

  My curiosity awakened, I stole a glance at the gardener’s companion, but our carriage had reached the far side of the work site, and she was a tiny silhouette in the distance now. Having met very few Sources during my childhood, it was a constant surprise to encounter so many at court. Of course I would never dream of walking up to them and having a chat about their gift, yet there was something c
omforting in knowing I wasn’t an oddity in this world.

  Once we’d left Le Nôtre’s gardens-in-progress behind, it wasn’t long before our carriage came to a halt under the trees by the canal. The soft murmur of the water called to me in the early-morning quiet, and I deposited Mimi on the floor to let Athénaïs help me out of my dress. Then, with my cloak over my silk shift, I waited for my guards to collect me at the carriage door.

  “All clear, Madame,” the older musketeer said as his colleagues spread out along the waterway.

  Athénaïs followed me out of the carriage, with Mimi on a lead, and she collected my cloak before holding it as a screen while I slipped into the water. I giggled when the gentle current wrapped around me, cold and invigorating.

  “I don’t know how you do it.” Athénaïs shook her head at me. “I would just … drown.”

  I let out a laugh. “It’s lovely and good for your health! You should try it sometime.”

  I swam along the bankside so she could follow me in the grass. This new ritual had become my favorite time of the day. Upon one of the nuns’ advice, I had learned to swim at the convent, and in the last few months in Paris I had missed the exercise. Now, moving through the cool water with ease, my lungs expanded again and all my worries flew from my mind. Swimming was the one type of exercise that didn’t cause my illness to flare in my chest. I closed my eyes in the sunshine, letting Athénaïs’s chatter drift around me and the canal wash away my excess of energy.

  “I’ve heard the most ghastly rumor about Marguerite.”

  The news made me open my eyes and frown at Athénaïs. “Oh dear. What now?”

  Since before her wedding to Cosimo de’ Medici, Marguerite’s behavior had been the greatest source of gossip at court—even more so than my own marriage. Between trying to elope with her lover, Charles de Lorraine, and refusing to embark on the ship to Italy, I couldn’t imagine what sort of mischief she’d come up with this time.

  “I don’t know how much of it is true,” Athénaïs said. “But word comes from the Electress of Hanover herself, and she’s trustworthy enough. Anyway, it seems Marguerite couldn’t stand the sight of her husband from the start. They only shared a bed once a week!”

  I chose this moment to turn around and make my way back to the carriage, swimming against the current. After my promise to Philippe, I had told no one about our arrangement regarding what did or didn’t happen in the bedchamber, and I had no intention of letting anything on in front of Athénaïs. As endearing as she was, she used any information as a weapon, and I planned on never giving her any arm against me.

  “Meanwhile,” she went on, oblivious, “Marguerite was still corresponding with Charles de Lorraine and planning who knows what. She managed to convince her husband to give her some of the crown jewels, which she tried to smuggle out of the country.”

  My eyes widened despite myself. This sounded like a fairy tale, yet knowing Marguerite, I suspected it was all true. “She didn’t!”

  “This is what they’re saying she did.” Athénaïs gave a vigorous nod. Engrossed in her story, she’d let Mimi’s lead loosen in her hand, and my dog was busy marking her territory on every tree they passed. “But she was found out before the jewels left Tuscany and before she could join Charles. So now she hates her husband even more and she’s begged His Majesty to let her return to France.”

  I shook my head in disbelief. If even half of this was true, it was a shame. Marguerite sounded awfully unhappy, and I could only imagine what her life must be like, estranged from her husband in a foreign court with everyone judging her every move. Or maybe I didn’t have to imagine it. She and I had an awful lot in common, if one thought about it. Before my gloomy thoughts swallowed me, I resolved to not let my situation turn as dire as hers as I reached the bank again and pushed myself out of the water.

  Athénaïs drew the curtains of my carriage to allow me privacy while I dried and dressed, then a knock from her on the wall propelled the vehicle into motion.

  “Tell the driver to take the long way back,” I said, inviting Mimi to jump onto my lap again with a tap on my thighs. “Let’s avoid this Grand Parterre chaos.”

  Athénaïs leaned out of the window to relay my instructions, then stayed there with her mouth gaping.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “The king is here,” she replied, her tone disbelieving.

  She sat back in her seat opposite mine just as Louis’s figure materialized atop a horse outside the carriage windows.

  “Good morning, ladies.”

  His satisfied grin was proof that surprising us had been his intention, and that our reaction was everything he’d expected. In the week since my arrival at Fontainebleau, our paths had crossed, of course, but we hadn’t had a chance for a moment alone yet. He’d obviously decided to force fate’s hand. I tried to hide the quickening of my pulse behind a serene smile.

  “Good morning, Sire.”

  Louis gave Athénaïs’s plunging neckline an appreciative glance, and for a second I wished she weren’t so casually attractive. Then his attention returned to me, and his widening smile made me forget about my jealousy. He’d come to see me and no one else.

  “Could I tempt you with a stroll in the woods?” he asked.

  I petted Mimi’s head, giving myself an instant to reply so as not to appear too eager.

  “I suppose my dog could use a walk.”

  This time it was me who knocked on the carriage wall to signal the driver to stop, while Louis dismounted his horse. Leaving Athénaïs behind, I let Louis take my arm and lead me under the canopy of leaves, off the main track.

  “Where are we going?”

  He shrugged, the morning sunshine turning his eyes and clothes bright gold. “How does straight ahead sound?”

  I glanced at the musketeers—mine and his—stationed by the carriage. “Without an escort?”

  He gave me a conspiratorial wink and patted the sheathed sword tucked in his sash. “I believe we’re quite safe here. Besides, I owe you a private audience.”

  Trying not to read too much into his words, I hid my blush by tugging on Mimi’s lead before she could creep into the underbrush. My silk shoes weren’t meant for the outdoors, so I busied myself with watching my step while Louis spoke.

  “I know Philippe found my letters,” he said. I opened my mouth to apologize, but he held up a hand. “I’m not blaming you by any means. I know you were as discreet as I asked, even when it put you in a difficult position. I should be the one apologizing, really.”

  I shook my head, not for the first time struck by his thoughtfulness, but he continued before I could reply.

  “One thing you have to know about Philippe is that his jealousy for me knows no bounds. He’s forever under the illusion that I’m plotting to make him miserable. And anytime he feels I’ve done him some sort of wrong, he runs off to Mother to moan. Mother, however, is kind enough to pass along his complaints. Don’t get me wrong, I do love my brother—he’s the only one I have, after all—but family can be trying, sometimes.”

  I didn’t comment on that. As someone whose siblings had always lived abroad, I couldn’t even begin to fathom what a relationship with a brother two years younger could be like. And I didn’t want to speak ill of my husband by agreeing that he did behave like a spoiled child more often than not.

  “All this is to say that I know Philippe knows,” Louis went on, “but it shouldn’t concern you. What happens between us is exactly that: between us. Philippe has no magic, he barely comprehends what that entails, and he most definitely doesn’t grasp what Sources and magiciens can accomplish together.”

  He was becoming more animated by the second, his hold on my arm tightening and his free hand waving at the trees. Twigs crunched underfoot as we reached a small clearing bathed in sunlight, where crows gathered on a twisted trunk on the ground. My fragile footwear threatening to slip off my feet, I pointed at the fallen tree.

  “Shall we sit?”

&nb
sp; The crows took off at our approach with unhappy croaks and he obliged me, but remained fixated on his idea. “You’ve read my research. With any highly successful Source-and-magicien pairing in history, there seems to be one constant: The Source has to be powerful, and the magicien has to have a drive—a project as it were—that allows them both to focus their combined gift on a very fruitful endeavor.”

  Incapable of sitting still, he stood up to pace the tall grass in front of me. Mimi yapped at him, and I let her off her lead so she wouldn’t get overly excited by his agitation. She bounded away into the clearing, barking at the crows circling overhead.

  “Think of the most famous examples.” Louis ticked off his fingers, unfazed by my dog’s antics. “Elizabeth of England’s Crown Magician defeating the Spanish Armada. Christopher Columbus reaching the New World. Leonardo da Vinci changing art forever. Those medieval architects building the cathedrals. All had a powerful Source. All had a drive.”

  I chewed on my lip, silently completing his statement. And their Sources were all forgotten by history. My mother’s warnings echoed at the back of my mind like ringing bells. Hiding my unease, I let him finish his explanation before choosing to voice my misgivings.

  “So what do you have in mind?” I asked.

  He resumed his seat next to me and brought his hands together in a thoughtful pose. “What happened at Versailles … it stayed with me. I’ve always loved that place. And since the cardinal’s death in March, I’ve been thinking about moving there.”

  Confusion pinched my lips into a pout. “Moving to Versailles? To … live there?”

  That dilapidated hunting lodge in the middle of a swamp, a royal residence? Surely I misunderstood his meaning.

  “Think about it.” He gripped my arm without seeming to realize what he was doing, excitement glinting in his eyes. “History has given me two residential palaces. The Louvre and Saint-Germain-en-Laye. But these are my ancestors’ places. And the nobles’. I don’t want to be like the kings before me. I don’t want to be a pawn in the nobles’ hands either.”