In the Shadow of the Sun

by EM Castellan

  “I want him arrested now,” Louis said, his jaw working in anger. “I want him tried and executed.”

  His mother landed a soothing hand on his arm. “Louis, we can’t. He’s the Crown Magicien. We need him. Besides, we can’t arrest him without proof, or a trial will be useless.”

  “He threatened Louise! What more proof do we need?”

  Undeterred by his temper, Anne d’Autriche kept her grip on him and her voice smooth. Despite her nightdress and black mourning robe, with her sash hastily tied around her waist and her graying hair in a plait, she still managed to look regal and at ease in face of the situation.

  “Think, my son. We have to ensure he’s indeed behind the Sources’ murders and the coup against you, and if he is, we have to bring him down without weakening France or your own power. Both endeavors require time and discretion.”

  Anger still flashed across Louis’s features, but he tamed it to reply. “Fouquet’s letter to Louise was a blunder, as well as his use of Olympe. He’s shown us his hand.” He looked at Louise. “May I have the letter?”

  Louise, still miserable but somewhat more composed than earlier, sat next to me with the piece of evidence in her hands. She handed it to the king.

  “I’ll give this to Moreau,” he went on. “He’ll go through Fouquet’s correspondence and accounts. He’ll investigate his whereabouts at the time of each murder and when the dark spell used against us was cast. He can interrogate anyone who’s been known to serve him. He’ll find us the proof.”

  The Queen Mother hesitated at his words, and to my surprise, she exchanged a glance with Philippe. He hadn’t been happy to be dragged away from Armand on their last night together, so he’d sulked next to me since his brother had opened the meeting. Now his demeanor showed some interest in the situation.

  “What is it?” Louis snapped.

  His mother gently squeezed his arm. “Are you certain you can trust this man?”

  Disbelief drew Louis’s eyebrows together. “Moreau? Of course, I do. We were together at Dunkerque. He’s been my spymaster for years. Surely you don’t think—”

  Anne d’Autriche released him to hold up her hands. “I don’t know what to think, my son. I’m just advising you to be cautious. This Moreau is a magicien, after all. And despite his gift, he’s failed to make any progress in his investigation so far. Henriette herself said he was at the scene of the first two murders. He was also with us during the attack on our family. He has access to every room in this palace, and everyone trusts him.”

  “You can say the same about Fouquet!” Louis replied, but doubt crept into his expression.

  “I know,” his mother said, her tone patient and soothing. “All I’m saying is that, at this moment in time, there is as much circumstantial evidence against the Crown Magicien as there is against your head of security. As such, it stands to reason to use caution in our dealings with both.”

  “Which means Moreau shouldn’t be the one investigating Fouquet,” Philippe said.

  “Thank you, brother,” Louis snapped, sarcasm in his tone. “I had gathered as much.”

  I followed the whole exchange with wide eyes. The thought of Fouquet plotting behind our backs was unsettling, but not as much as the idea that Moreau could be the one scheming behind the scenes. Just like Louis, I had trusted Moreau from the moment I had met him, out of some instinct I couldn’t even explain. I had found his constant presence and taciturn nature reassuring, never once pondering how suspicious they could also appear.

  Yet the Queen Mother was right. Moreau, just like Fouquet, had access to everyone at court. Their decisions, comings and goings, and behavior were never questioned. And if Fouquet’s supposed motives were hazy, Moreau’s could more easily be speculated upon. He had admitted to me he wished for a world without magic. What better way to obtain it than killing all the Sources?

  “Fine,” Louis said, dragging me out of my twirling thoughts. “I’ll appoint someone else to investigate the case. I’ll create a special commission, for a non-magicien who can’t be suspected of anything.”

  “Won’t that raise Moreau’s suspicions?” Philippe asked.

  Louis’s tone was cutting when he replied. “He knows he’s failed me twice already, by allowing two Sources to die at my court. He won’t be surprised if I withdraw him my trust in this matter.”

  He was the king again, making decision without passion.

  “Just make sure whoever you choose is someone discreet,” the Queen Mother added. “Whoever the felon is, Fouquet or Moreau, he doesn’t know we suspect him. That’s our only advantage so far.”

  “Why?” the king said. “Let them feel our suspicion. Let them wonder what we know or don’t know.”

  His mother clasped his arm again. “No, Louis. If they’re aware we’re suspecting them, they might destroy evidence, run, or seek to harm us again, more effectively this time. They can’t know.”

  Louis opened his mouth to protest, so I intervened.

  “You’re setting up a trap, Sire.” Everyone’s gaze focused on me, the king’s boring into me like a sunbeam, but I kept my tone even. Even if I struggled to picture Moreau as the culprit, I agreed with the Queen Mother: Both he and Fouquet were clever enough men to not be underestimated. If I were to sit in this meeting, I would speak, too.

  “Think of it as hunting for prey. Some animals, you chase before the kill. Others, you ensnare. And when they realize they have no way out, it’s too late. They’re already dead. Whether you chase or trap an animal depends on the type it is. In this case, I think both men are the type of creature you ensnare, rather than provoke.”

  Excitement glinted in Louis’s eyes, and his slow nod was all the validation I wanted. Warm pride spread through my chest, as Philippe patted my hand with an impressed expression.

  “So we agree,” Anne d’Autriche said. “We all act as if nothing is amiss. And I shall make inquiries about acquiring the services of another Crown Magicien, should ours have truly betrayed us.”

  I avoided Louis’s gaze to keep telltale thoughts off my features. The Queen Mother knew nothing of her son’s magical ambition, and I wasn’t about to divulge my part in it, especially in front of my husband.

  “Can I at least tell Fouquet to stay away from Mademoiselle La Vallière?” the king asked.

  “You may,” his mother replied. “But make it sound like you’re offended he assumed she was a courtesan. Don’t mention you know about his spying efforts or his threats.”

  Fresh tears ran down Louise’s face, and I jumped at the opportunity to leave. My fever turned my skin clammy and cold, and breathing had been difficult for the past hour. I needed to rest, and soon. “May I take my lady away? The evening has taken its toll on her.”

  The king’s gaze turned concerned in an instant. “Yes, let’s adjourn.” He stood up, and we all followed suit as one.

  Philippe kissed my temple absentmindedly before running off into the dark corridor, while the Queen Mother disappeared in the other direction, her robe flapping after her. Louis decided he would accompany Louise back to her rooms himself, so when I walked alone out of the king’s apartments, it was Moreau who materialized out of the darkness with an offer to walk me back to my chambers.

  My heart pounding despite myself, I smoothed my features as the Queen Mother’s words echoed in my head. Act as if nothing is amiss. I let Moreau link arms with me and guide me along the quiet hallways lined with guards by each door. If he sensed my unease, he didn’t let it show, his features fixed into his usual scowl.

  After a couple of minutes of awkward silence, and when he made no sign of wanting to attack me, it occurred to me I had an opportunity to prod his mind without much risk. He wasn’t aware of what had been said during the meeting, and Louis had yet to break the news of his dismissal to him. As far as he was concerned, Fouquet was our only suspect. It was my chance to use this as a way to gauge his own position.

  “If the Crown Magicien is behind it all,” I said in a l
ow voice that I hoped sounded innocent, “he kills Sources to ensure no magicien can challenge him. He wants to kill the king, whom he sees as a growing threat, to put Philippe on the throne—someone without magic and easy to control. And all this without anyone to suspect him. So what I don’t understand is: Why approach Louise? Why take the risk of discovery, when his plan is virtually perfect?”

  “I see two reasons, Your Highness,” Moreau replied in the same low tone. “The first is that his coup failed, and he’s realized killing the king won’t be easy. He needs more allies, more insider information, more leverage to defeat his foe. Approaching Mademoiselle La Vallière is a risk, but it’s one worth taking if it means gaining the upper hand.”

  “And the second?”

  “Blind pride.”

  We’d reached the door to my apartments, where two palace guards stood sentry, but I gave him a questioning glance so he would go on.

  “Men like the Crown Magicien are so powerful, they sometimes reach a point where they can’t even fathom the possibility they can be defeated. They’re so self-assured in their superiority, in their own strength and wit, they can’t imagine anyone beating them at their game. And the irony is, that’s their downfall.”

  I bit my lip, pondering his reply. Exhaustion and the late hour made it hard to think, but I could see the sense in his explanation. And I couldn’t help but wonder if he spoke from experience. I raised a conniving eyebrow at him.

  “Obviously, these men haven’t met you.”

  A dry smile stretched his lips. “Being overlooked and underestimated is a skill.”

  The coldness of his golden eyes sent a shiver down my spine. For the briefest moment, it struck me that he might very well be the killer. He had the opportunity, the motives, and the rationale. Yet the honesty in his direct gaze spoke against the very notion. My mother had always warned me against my tendency to see the best in everyone, but in this court of deceit and secrets, his straightforward answers were a breath of fresh air, and I longed to trust him. We had found ourselves alone several times, when he had had the chance to hurt me. Instead, he had looked after my welfare, asking about my health with gentle concern. Biding his time, a small, cautious voice whispered at the back of my mind. Circling his prey. Preparing his attack.

  He averted his eyes and the spell broke. When I spoke, my voice sounded a bit too high.

  “I shall let you work your magic, then.” I unlinked my arm from his and let one of the guards push the door open. “Thank you for your assistance. Good night, Monsieur Moreau.”

  The shadow of a smile I couldn’t decipher still lingered on his lips in the dark corridor. “Good night, Your Highness.”

  * * *

  I tilted my head back to stretch my neck and stifled a yawn. In my lap, Mimi slept, the afternoon heat in my salon making a nap all the more appealing.

  “Please try not to move, Your Highness.”

  A short man with an elaborate mustache, the painter in charge of my portrait, bowed every time he addressed me. I had tried to explain there was no need, to no avail so far. The king had commissioned the painting, and although I would have preferred it to include my husband, he’d flattered me into accepting to pose alone. The words celebrate my beauty may have been uttered, at which point I had given up on trying to reason with Louis. Since my health rendered any afternoon outings too straining, I had chosen this time to receive the painter, a couple of hours every day. As sleep threatened to claim me now, however, I second-guessed my decision.

  “Another letter from Marguerite has arrived.”

  Athénaïs walked into my chambers and settled on a silk-covered sofa by the high windows. Her arrival woke Mimi, who lifted her head and yapped. I petted her until she settled again.

  “What does she say?”

  Athénaïs scanned the content of the note. “The same thing as usual, I’m afraid. She complains about her husband and the Florentine court. She asks about the French court and begs you to plead her case with the king.”

  We exchanged a resigned look. Despite my many intercessions, Louis wasn’t moved by his cousin’s unhappiness or willing to listen to her pleas. I found I ran out of ideas to comfort Marguerite in her predicament.

  “I’ll write to her tomorrow,” I said.

  “And the king sent you a book.”

  Curiosity prompted me to turn to her, and the painter gasped.

  “Please, Your Highness, try—”

  “Not to move, yes, sorry.” I shot him an apologetic smile.

  He bowed, and Athénaïs bit her lip to prevent a laugh.

  “What’s the book?” I asked before we both descended into fits of giggles.

  “An Essay Concerning Magic and Architecture, and How the Former Can Revolutionize the Latter,” she read aloud. “Sounds thrilling.”

  She dropped the heavy volume onto a pedestal table and launched into the latest court gossip. While she chattered, my gaze kept returning to the book, and my thoughts wandered.

  Three days had gone by since Olympe had approached Louise, and Moreau had been dismissed. His replacement, a man who had yet to introduce himself to me or show any interest in my welfare, let alone in my opinions, had intercepted all of Fouquet’s mail.

  A letter he’d written to the countess, scolding her for her lack of success in recruiting Louis’s mistress to their cause, seemed to confirm our suspicions about him. He mentioned “wasted efforts” and a need for action following “the failure of their first plan.” It was enough to damn him in my eyes, but again, the Queen Mother advised caution, and Louis followed her lead. Building a solid case against the man would take a while, especially since he was Crown Magicien. More substantial proof was required.

  Meanwhile, Moreau remained at court, half in disgrace. Officially, he still had the friendship of the king, yet his sacking was enough to turn him into a pariah. I hadn’t seen him in three days, and I found myself spending an inordinate amount of time either worrying about, or building a case against, him. Neither helped.

  As restless as I was, Louis had chosen to occupy himself by rekindling his plans for Versailles. He had asked me to prepare for a series of spells, and with the clock ticking toward the birth of a royal baby in the autumn, I was ready to make myself indispensable to the king and the crown.

  I only hoped my health would allow me to carry out my scheme.

  CHAPTER XIV

  “We have received an invitation.”

  I raised my gaze from my book as Philippe held the door open for the maid and Athénaïs. The first left with a quick curtsy, while the second winked at me before sashaying out of my bedchamber, Mimi in her arms.

  “An invitation to what?”

  Philippe held up a folded paper. “To a party in the king’s honor at Vaux-le-Vicomte.”

  I straightened against my pillows. “Fouquet is inviting us to his château?”

  “Technically, he’s inviting everyone. So yes, us too.” He dropped the letter on my writing desk and sat down to take off his shoes. “It’s in ten days. Should we wear matching outfits?”

  I shrugged, my mind far away from fashion. “If you want. Don’t you think it might be a trap?”

  Philippe’s shoes clunked on the floor, and he shrugged out off his coat. “Yes. But should Fouquet reveal himself as a foe, I’m sure my brother and his musketeers will protect us from whatever diabolical plan he is concocting.”

  As usual, his careless stance did nothing to ease my concerns. I chewed on my bottom lip, my mind racing. Drawing the entire court to his own territory could very well mean the Crown Magicien was the one behind the attacks, and he had found a new way to get what he wanted. If it were the case, it couldn’t bode well for Louis, or any of us. The rustling of fabric brought my attention back to my husband. He’d stripped down to his shirt, which fell to his knees, and he was taking off his stockings.

  “What are you doing?”

  He stopped mid-gesture. “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m going to bed.”


  My heart jolted, and I pulled my covers to my chest in reflex. “Now?”

  The clock had just chimed eleven o’clock, when I was used to Philippe’s arrival far later into the night.

  “Well, nothing was happening in the salons, tonight,” he replied. “And if I have to go and see one more magical firework by the canal I’m going to stick pins in my eyes. I figured I might as well spend time with someone who’s not utterly dull.”

  He threw back the covers on his side of the bed and jumped onto the mattress. I remained frozen, acutely aware of how close and how little dressed we now were.

  “So,” he said, unfazed. “What are you reading?”

  I had forgotten the heavy volume in my lap. My throat was suddenly very dry. “A book about magic.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Of course it is.”

  I stayed motionless, unsure whether his reply was leave for me to carry on with my reading, or a subtle hint that he wished me to put it aside. For lack of a better reaction, I went through my mental catalog of motherly advice on Ways to Please a Husband.

  “Shall I read to you?” I offered.

  He grimaced. “Oh God, please don’t. Or if you do, let me get wine first.”

  My chest deflated. This summed up our relationship perfectly: I tried to behave like a good wife, and he dismissed me with jokes and offhand remarks.

  “Shall I put the book away, then?”

  “I don’t know. Do what you want.”

  I pressed my lips together to avoid snapping at him and shut the book instead. It landed on the carpet with a thud.

  “There. Happy?”

  He frowned. “Yes. I suppose. Why are you angry? You’re the one who wants to make her own decisions. Really, my love, you’re so hard to understand.”