In the Shadow of the Sun

by EM Castellan

  Fouquet stood in front of a smooth manmade stone wall that must have been the backdrop for the seven niches outside. His hands on the silver handle of his cane, he greeted me with the benevolent smile of a man who knows he’s won the game but doesn’t wish to boast.

  Philippe knelt at his feet.

  I pushed myself off the ground and dusted off my dress to give my thundering pulse and panicked thoughts a moment to settle.

  Philippe’s coat was ripped and stained, his cravat gone. A rope tied his wrists behind his back and a gash split his lower lip, while blood ran down his nose onto his shirt. His head was bowed, his long hair falling on either side of his battered face, and I couldn’t catch his gaze. With more self-control than I ever suspected I possessed, I straightened my back and stared at Fouquet. If I didn’t look at Philippe, I might not fall to pieces.

  “I’m here now,” I said. “Release him, and we can talk.”

  “Yes.” the Crown Magicien nodded, thoughtful. “You’re here. I wasn’t sure you’d understand the spell, but I shouldn’t have doubted your wit or your talent.”

  I didn’t comment on the fact my reciting the words of the spell that brought me in the cave was purely coincidental, and waited for Fouquet to continue.

  Much like he had done in his dream with the captive king, he nudged Philippe with his cane. “I wish your husband had been as cooperative as you, but he needed a little persuading, I’m afraid. It didn’t take too long. Cowardice isn’t a pleasant trait, but it isn’t a sin either.”

  His lips curled into that self-assured smile again, and I stiffened. I wanted nothing more than to wipe it off his face with a slap, but the calculating part of my brain knew I had a better chance of getting both myself and my husband out alive if I played mind games with Fouquet rather than attack him.

  At his feet, Philippe stayed motionless, even as the cane dug into his ribs. Yet anger flashed in his eyes behind the curtain of his hair—he wasn’t as hurt as he let on. His words from our first night together resurfaced in my memory.

  If I’m dangerous, I’ll get put down. If I show my weaknesses, they’ll be used against me.

  He’d worked a lifetime to tame his reflexes and hide his true nature so that everyone would underestimate him. And even now, he was doing just that with Fouquet. Pretending to be weak and cowardly so that he could surprise him with the truth at the opportune moment. All I wanted was to throw myself into his arms, but I clamped down on my instinct and kept my composure. If he could conceal his feelings, so could I.

  “I’m growing weary of this,” I told the Crown Magicien. “Tell me what you want and let my husband go.”

  Fouquet tapped the tip of his cane on the stone ground, the irritating sound echoing in the natural chamber.

  “I want you to help me kill a king.”

  I folded my arms across my chest. “What happens afterward?”

  The tapping stopped. “There’s no king anymore.”

  “But there’ll always be a king.” I schooled my features to avoid looking at Philippe. No need to remind Fouquet who would be king if Louis died.

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” he said, his tone patient. “Once the king is dead, there doesn’t have to be another king. There can be pretenders, but these don’t have to be called forth if there’s an adequate alternative in power. After all, monarchy isn’t the only regime in the world. The Greeks have shown us that. So have the Romans.”

  “You want France to be a democracy?” I frowned.

  “I want this country to be governed by the people with real power. People who deserve to rule because they’ve received a gift that sets them apart. People with magic. A council of magiciens and Sources, to be exact.”

  So Olympe had lied. He had no intention of using my husband as a puppet king. And he figured it would be easy to cast Philippe aside and convince everyone he was the better leader. I tilted my head to the side and raised a knowing eyebrow at him. “A council headed by you.”

  “Shouldn’t the most gifted magicien be the one offering his services to guide the others?” His sneer was back.

  “What if people don’t want that?” I asked. “What if they like having kings more?”

  I stalled for time, trying to find a way to bypass Fouquet and get out with Philippe, but I was also curious to hear the Crown Magicien describe this fantastical new world of his own making. I had my reservations about a world where Sources served magiciens and magiciens served kings and their court, yet I couldn’t see how the system could change without bloodshed and terror.

  “Why do you think I threw this party tonight?” Fouquet asked. “To show people what the world would be like if magiciens ruled it. Tomorrow, word of it will spread and everyone will understand. Our magic can make this country more powerful, more beautiful, more prosperous than anyone has ever dreamed. If only we’re not subdued by less worthy men.”

  “But the king is a magicien,” I replied. “And he wants exactly that! Why do you fight him instead of working with him?”

  “Because he doesn’t want anyone working with him.” Fouquet’s voice rose for the first time. “He wants other magiciens to work for him. To do everything he wants, the way he wants it. And if they refuse, he wants to get rid of those magiciens and perform spells himself.”

  He was right, of course. The plan Louis had laid out upon my arrival at Fontainebleau was exactly that: Ease the Crown Magicien into retirement and refuse to replace him. I shuffled my feet, pretending to ponder his words.

  “Do I get to be part of this council?”

  “Of course.” He spread his arms wide in a generous gesture. “Unlike the present state of affairs in this kingdom, I’m not one to dismiss talent based on someone’s gender.”

  I placed my hands on my hips and bit my lip, still feigning thinking. “All right,” I said at last. “You let my husband go, and I’ll help you kill a king.”

  Triumph glinted in Fouquet’s golden eyes, quickly replaced by an insincere frown. “Oh, my dear, I wish I could. I’m delighted you’re willing to join my side, and I do want to keep you happy. But I’m afraid we’ll need the prince for our spell.”

  Fear engulfed me. “How do you mean?”

  The Crown Magicien’s jeweled hand landed on Philippe’s shoulder. This time he flinched in a manner that sent my heart tumbling down my chest.

  “You see,” Fouquet said. “Using magic to take the life of a magicien is a complicated affair. The spell that will allow us to kill the king requires the life of another … participant.” He squeezed Philippe’s shoulder, making him shudder in pain. “We’re going to use one brother to kill the other.”

  CHAPTER XXI

  I searched Fouquet’s face for a hint that I had misheard him and found none.

  “You…” I swallowed to get my voice under control. “You mean to kill Philippe too? But you said you’d spare everyone’s life if I helped you.”

  Fouquet pressed his lips together in an apologetic expression. Then he released Philippe’s shoulder with a shove and took a step forward.

  “Let me put it this way: In all my life, I have never encountered a more powerful Source in this country than you. I will have your power and I will kill the king with it. If you refuse to help me with the spell, I will kill more of your friends. Everyone is still at my party. I’ll have no trouble summoning them here one by one, starting with the two you brought with you up there. Killing Moreau was the easiest thing in the world. Don’t think for a second getting rid of a few more of your acquaintances will be difficult.” His voice rose with his temper, and an eerie darkness settled around his form. “And if that can’t convince you to lend me your power, I will take it by force and perform the spell on my own. So, yes, I’m afraid that whatever happens, your husband will die tonight. The only question is: Will anyone else?”

  The shadows around him deepened and buried themselves into his features, his golden gaze stark and bright in the fireflies’ light. My eyes widened at the sight, and h
e inhaled a sharp breath. The darkness receded until the warm, pleasant face that had fooled so many emerged once more.

  “My dear, I wish we didn’t argue so. It’s all quite simple, really. The benefits of helping me achieve my goal will be endless for you. You will sit on my council, your true worth recognized by all. There’s no need for more unpleasantness between us. No one else has to get hurt, least of all you.”

  Except my husband and my king. I didn’t say it aloud. There was no convincing him of Louis’s worth, and he only saw Philippe as a tool to use for his spell. He likely didn’t even realize how the mere idea of Philippe’s suffering ripped my heart to pieces. We’d made such a show of the distance between us, Fouquet couldn’t even fathom I actually loved my husband. The realization took me by surprise. How far Philippe and I had come since our wedding day. Yet if loving someone meant contemplating sacrifices to spare them, then I did love him. With all my heart.

  Against my better judgment, my attention strayed to him. This time he met my gaze, his chest heaving slowly and his jaw tense. My heart flipped against my ribs. Whatever Fouquet had done to him, he was in pain. I took an involuntary step toward him.

  I stopped in my tracks—too late. The Crown Magicien stiffened. I pasted a compassionate smile on my face to cover my momentary slip.

  “May I say goodbye to him? We were married after all.”

  My deliberate use of the past tense worked. Fouquet relaxed his stance and turned to Philippe.

  “Will you behave?” He gave me an apologetic smile that reeked of hypocrisy. “Unfortunately he won’t be able to talk to you. He was being very unpleasant earlier and I had to use a little spell to make him quiet. I’m afraid using that sharp tongue of his would cause excruciating pain.”

  The blood drained from my face at the warning, but I did manage to stay impassive. Now I knew why Philippe had been so uncharacteristically quiet since my arrival in the cave. My throat dry and my palms damp, I forced down the dread that threatened to overcome me. If I were to do what needed to be done, I couldn’t unravel now.

  I closed the distance between us and crouched in front of Philippe, my hands folded in my lap so I wouldn’t be tempted to reach out to him. Then I paused, because his brown gaze was on me, full of fear and concern, and I had to choose my words carefully in front of the Crown Magicien.

  “I remember the day we received Monsieur Fouquet’s invitation to this party,” I said. Uncertainty crossed Philippe’s face, before understanding dawned on him. He’d opened up to me for the first time that day, and we’d lain together. Comforted by the sudden spark in his eyes, I went on: “When we had that discussion that day, I never thought it would lead us here. But everything we talked about then is still relevant now. What I said then is still true today.”

  I stared into his eyes, willing him to recall my words.

  I’m not a toy that … can be taken away from you. I’m a royal princess. And I have magic.… I’m asking you to give me a chance. We can count on and protect each other.

  After what felt like an eternity, he gave the tiniest nod.

  Trust me, I mouthed.

  I wanted to rip away his bindings, embrace him, kiss his lips, heal his wounds, and take him away from this cursed cave forever. It took me all my strength not to do it. Instead, I stood up and turned away from him, the gesture carving a hole in my chest.

  “Explain the spell to me,” I told Fouquet.

  He grinned.

  * * *

  Philippe lay on the ground in the center of the cave where the Crown Magicien had ordered him to move. His hands still tied behind his back, he stared at the uneven ceiling with a vacant expression, as if whatever occurred next didn’t matter in the slightest. The uneven rise and fall of his chest, however, as well as the way his rigid muscles strained in the fireflies’ light, twisted my stomach with worry. He had to be taken away from this place and healed as soon as possible.

  “Once upon a time, there was a king who had two sons.” Fouquet’s voice snapped me out of my train of thought. “The boys resembled each other in many ways, except one was destined to be king and the other was destined to be … well, nothing.”

  I opened my mouth to demand that he stop talking and get on with his mad plan, but he held up a hand.

  “A moment, my dear. I’m explaining the spell, as you asked.”

  Philippe turned his head away from him, the veins on his neck standing out in his effort to suppress his temper. I crossed my arms and focused on Fouquet instead. He went on with the patient tone of a grandfather telling a bedtime story to unruly children.

  “The king died, and his sons grew up, resembling each other less and less as years went by. But they still had one crucial thing in common.” He knelt by Philippe’s form and laid a hand on his chest. “Their father’s blood pumped through their heart.”

  Philippe recoiled and hissed in anger at his touch. The shadows erupted around Fouquet in reaction. He slapped him. A moan escaped Philippe’s lips, and blood dribbled out of his mouth.

  “Stop it!” I snatched Fouquet’s wrist to prevent any more violence. The darkness around him grazed my arm like tendrils of smoke. “He’ll be no good to us if he’s too weak to withstand the spell.”

  “Right, my dear.” Fouquet regained control of himself, and the shadows receded. He shook his head, a slight frown creasing his forehead, as if his own loss of temper had taken him by surprise. “As I was saying, the key is in the heart. The spell will link the brothers together. Once it’s done, we’ll be able to perform the killing spell on one and claim the life of both.”

  So there were two spells. I nodded obligingly, my mind racing at the same time. My priority was to get out of this sealed cave. If I delayed performing the first spell, Fouquet might get suspicious. But if I gave into this one demand, I might have time to come up with a plan afterward, before anyone died. I swallowed my mounting anxiety. One step at a time.

  Fouquet offered me his hand. “Shall we?”

  I emptied my mind and forced my thoughts to focus on the spell. The Crown Magicien ripped Philippe’s stained shirt open and rested both our hands over his heart, our fingers intertwined on his skin. Philippe squirmed, and I struggled to keep from snatching back my arm. Closing my eyes, I buried what my instinct shouted at me under another blanket of stern resolution. Fouquet had to think I was on his side. The first spell had to be performed.

  Under my fingers, Philippe’s heartbeat throbbed, pounding against his ribs like a panicked bird in a cage.

  “Whenever you’re ready, my dear.” Fouquet’s tone was low with anticipation.

  I inhaled a breath. “Relie.”

  Using my power with Louis had been akin to unleashing a lightning storm on a peaceful lake—bright and loud and thrilling. With the Crown Magicien, however, my magic’s surge forward felt impeded and sluggish. Tendrils of shadows wrapped around the golden specks of the spell, strengthening their brightness but slowing their advance at the same time. An odd sensation gripped my limbs, a burden weighing down my body and pressing onto my chest. When Louis’s power had rendered me weightless and light as a feather in the summer wind, Fouquet’s threatened to bury me into the ground. I gasped, and forced my mind’s eye to follow the bright dots.

  Their light flickering against the smokelike fingers of Fouquet’s own power, they wrapped around Philippe’s pulsing heart. Swathed in magic, the heart pounded harder, as if sending distress signals to the world. Like birds taking flight, the pulsing beats rippled out, and the golden particles of the spell followed them: in the stale atmosphere of the cave, then through the walls of the grotto, and out into the warm evening air of Vaux’s gardens. Pulsating relentlessly, they pushed on, seeking a target.

  And at last, the echo of a heartbeat thumped in reply in the night. In a crowd of shimmering shadows, one silhouette stood out, its strong beating heart glowing like a beacon in a storm. The speckles of the spell latched on to it and enfolded it in a tight magical encasing.

>   I released a slow breath. The spell done, my magic dispersed in volutes of golden flecks and darkness overwhelmed me. I opened my eyes.

  Under my fingers, Philippe’s skin was cold, and his panting filled the cave. Above him, Fouquet’s body was still engulfed in the shadows of his own magic, his appearance spectral in the glow of the fireflies. A chill went down my spine, and I withdrew my hand from his grasp. It snapped him out of his trance. Blinking, he pushed himself to his feet and surveyed Philippe’s prone form while the darkness around him pulsed and twirled into nothingness.

  “Good,” he said.

  His assessment jolted me into action. The first spell was complete. I was running out of time. My breath caught in my throat, and an idea bloomed in my mind.

  I coughed once.

  Then I did it again, pretending the fit rattling through my lungs was genuine, acting as if I truly couldn’t breathe. Fouquet was at my side in an instant.

  “My dear, you strained yourself. Let me help you.”

  He whispered a spell, and just like he had done all those months ago at the theater, he produced a handkerchief dabbed with magic. I pressed it against my nose and mouth, inhaling the familiar soothing scent, and kept coughing. Feigning a discomfort I was used to but didn’t feel at that precise moment, I stood up and waved away the Crown Magicien’s offer of help.

  “I need air.” I wheezed. “I need fresh air.”

  On the ground, Philippe stirred, alarm capturing his expression. I wished I could reassure him my state was just theatrics, but there was no opportunity. Fouquet had to be convinced. I swayed on my feet and coughed again.

  “I need fresh air,” I repeated.

  The Crown Magicien’s gaze flicked about the cave, and his agitation grew with the noise of my ragged breaths. “But … I’m not certain … Surely…”

  I leaned against the mossy wall of the cave and dropped the handkerchief. That prompted him into action.

  With the authoritative deportment of the minister I was used to, he slid his arm around my waist. His touch repelled me, but I forced my body to accept his support. He led me back to Philippe and grabbed his arm, then recited a spell under his breath. Just like I had not so long ago, I toppled down a black hole, Fouquet and Philippe along with me.