The Dark Queen

by Susan Carroll

  And now she had it in her power to make certain there would be no threat of exposure from Ariane Cheney.

  Retreating to her private chambers, she dismissed all her servants, then whipped the cover off the cage next to her bedside. The pigeon cooed softly, regarding Catherine with puzzled eyes. Catherine had never credited birds with much intelligence, but perhaps the creature was wondering where its mistress was.

  Tapping on the outside of the cage, Catherine said softly, “You must forget all about Hermoine. She has no more use for you.”

  Neither Madame Pechard nor Louise Lavalle would be sending any more messages. Both were lodged in the deepest dungeons of the Bastille and Catherine did not intend that either should ever see the light of day again.

  Catherine bent closer to the cage and whispered. “You have one more message to send, my little friend.”

  Catherine only wished she could be there to see Marie Claire’s face when she received it . . . and Ariane’s. Her mouth curled wryly. It was rather amusing really. That the girl’s foolish challenge to Catherine’s power was about to be defeated by the same weakness that had conquered her mother.

  Love.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Rain poured down for the next several days, a series of intermittent storms casting a pall over Belle Haven and effectively cutting the entire island off from the mainland. It was a considerable relief to Ariane when the sun poked through at last.

  She was anxious for any tidings from the outside world, some word of Remy’s fate or a report from Louise regarding what was happening in Paris. And although Ariane was reluctant to admit it, she was even more anxious for some word of Renard.

  She had not seen or heard anything of the man since he had departed from Belle Haven the night of their quarrel. But Toussaint and some of the comte’s retainers continued to maintain guard over her home no matter how Ariane remonstrated. Considering how matters stood between her and Renard, she was mortified to keep accepting his protection.

  As soon as the rain ceased, Ariane went in search of Toussaint, determined to demand that the obstinate old man return home. She had insisted that Renard’s men begin keeping their horses in her stables when the inclement weather had struck. And it was there that she found Toussaint in the last stall, grooming his roan gelding, a horse as stolid as the redoubtable old man.

  The stalls were all full now, but one. Ariane noted that Miri’s pony was missing. She frowned over that fact, hardly knowing whether to be pleased or concerned. Miri had been behaving strangely, one moment moping about Belle Haven, the next almost frantic to escape the house. Miri insisted that nothing was the matter, but she also carefully avoided Ariane’s eyes.

  Ariane feared she could guess what troubled her little sister, that boy Simon Aristide. Miri must be beginning to suspect the same thing Renard did, that young Aristide had perished in his efforts to escape the island.

  Even if Simon had lived, Miri was better off away from that dangerously confused young man. But telling Miri that would not ease the child’s heartache, as Ariane knew from her own experience. Perhaps she would be better off if she did not see Renard again, but the thought gave her little comfort.

  As she strode toward the last stall, Toussaint glanced round at her approach.

  “Good morrow, milady.” Renard’s cousin was as ever deeply respectful, but his craggy face also carried an element of silent reproach.

  But she called back in a determinedly cheerful voice, “Yes, it finally is a good morning. The rains have stopped, and it will likely be safe to travel by the causeway.”

  “Indeed, milady?” Toussaint returned to his grooming.

  “You and the comte’s retainers will be able to return to Tremazan today.”

  “Oh? Have you received word then confirming that Le Vis is dead?”

  “Well, no, but—”

  “Or some report from Paris that the Dark Queen has been astonishingly toppled from her throne?”

  “Of course not, but—”

  “Then I believe I’ll be staying right here.”

  Ariane drew herself up stiffly. “Monsieur Toussaint, I insist—”

  “Begging your pardon. No disrespect to your ladyship, but I take orders from none but the Comte de Renard and he says I am to remain here until he is certain there is no more danger.”

  Ariane regarded the old man in sheer exasperation, and she was about to charge him with a sharp message for Monsieur le Comte, but she realized it would do no good.

  She leaned wearily against the front of the stall watching Toussaint’s loving ministrations to his horse. Much as she despised herself for it, she could not refrain from asking, “How—how is he, Toussaint?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t rightly know.” The old man cast a shrewd look at Ariane. “But judging from the look of him when I last saw him, I would venture to say the lad is as miserable as you are.”

  Ariane started to haughtily deny it, but found she couldn’t. She had been much shaken by Renard’s deception, so angry and distressed she had told herself she was glad he was gone. But the truth was she missed him with something akin to a physical ache.

  Toussaint suggested in a gentler tone. “If you are so pining for word of Justice, you have the power to obtain it far more quickly than I, milady. All you have to do is slip his ring back on your finger and—”

  “No!” Ariane shook her head, although she had been fighting the temptation to do just that. Now that she knew what evil hand had actually forged those rings, she was not about to ever touch that metal band again.

  Toussaint heaved a frustrated sigh. “By God, I begin to believe there is something to that prediction of Lucy’s that you and the lad are destined for each other. Because I have never known a man and woman better matched for stubbornness.”

  His voice dropped to a coaxing note. “Couldn’t this misunderstanding between you and Justice be cleared away if you would just talk to him? Better yet, skip the talking and get straight down to the kissing.”

  Ariane could not help smiling a little at the old man’s efforts to play matchmaker, but she replied sadly, “It is more than a mere misunderstanding that lies between me and the comte. He—he—”

  “Deceived you about his grandmother, yes, I know. Lucy did some terrible things in her day. Can you blame the lad for wanting to conceal his connection to all that?”

  “But I am the woman—” Ariane broke off. She’d almost said the woman Renard loved, but she was no longer so sure. “I am the woman he wanted to marry. He should have been honest with me.”

  “Perhaps, but that is not always so easy for Justice. The lad was very different once, so completely open and trusting.”

  Toussaint’s face softened at the memory, but the set of his mouth turned grim as he continued. “That changed fast enough when Lucy allowed his grandfather to take him. Between the cruelty of that old villain and the mockery of his supposed highborn friends, Justice learned fast enough to guard his emotions and his secrets. Whatever trust the boy had left in him, Lucy finished when he turned to her for protection and she refused to help him.”

  “I knew he felt betrayed by his grandmother,” Ariane said, “but I did not understand what he thought she could have done to help him. Of course, I did not know then that she was Melusine.”

  “I never seem able to think of her that way. She’ll always be Lucy to me.” His face softened and what she read in his eyes astonished Ariane.

  “You—you were in love with Melusine?”

  “No, with a bright-eyed girl named Lucy. After her rebellion had failed, it was no sorceress who fled into the hills, seeking out my help and protection. Only a vulnerable young woman. She was already far gone with child, her lover one of her raiders who had been killed by the king’s soldiers. Lucy refused to speak of him. But at night, she would sit up staring into the firelight and I could see she was haunted by memories of him and others who had died fighting in her cause. And yes, she was also tormented with guilt and regret
for some of the dreadful things she’d done.”

  Toussaint cast Ariane a defiant look, then went on gruffly. “She was not an evil woman, no matter what the world might say of her. If—if only she could have been persuaded to abandon the conjuring and all her mad ambitions. But she paid a terrible price for all her scheming in the end, didn’t she?”

  “Yes, I suppose she did,” Ariane said softly, remembering Renard’s description of his grandmother’s terrible death.

  The old man’s eyes filled with tears. No matter how she felt about Melusine, Ariane could not resist reaching out to give Toussaint’s hand a gentle squeeze.

  Blinking hard, he returned to grooming his horse with a renewed briskness. “After what happened with Lucy, I was none too keen on Justice ever having anything more to do with any sort of magic. Despite Lucy’s prediction, I especially didn’t like the idea of him seeking to marry you . . . another wise woman. You may not care to hear this, milady, but you have much in common with my Lucy.”

  Ariane bridled, but Toussaint hastened to add, “Oh, I don’t mean with regards to the dark magic. Unlike Lucy, you wisely eschewed all of that. But in another respect you are both much the same, fiercely proud and independent women and none too eager to ever submit your will or heart to any man.”

  “It is not an easy thing for a woman to surrender her entire life and happiness into another’s keeping,” Ariane said.

  “It is none too easy for a man either,” Toussaint retorted. “But you were good for Justice. You brought him back to himself and I don’t think he was entirely bad for you either.”

  “No, he wasn’t. He saved my life and that of my sisters, many times.” But Ariane discovered it was not Renard’s riding to the rescue that most filled her thoughts, but memories of the afternoon she had spent in his arms, that soul-deep connection she had felt between them. How was it possible for a man at once to make you feel so safe and secure and as though another part of you had been set soaring free?

  She was aware that Toussaint was watching her. He said hesitantly, “I wish you would do me one favor, milady.”

  “What is that?”

  “If you cannot ever bring yourself to forgive him for his deceit and trust him again, don’t torture him by letting him wait and hope. Send back his ring. Will you promise me that?”

  To return the ring would be the fair and just thing to do, but as she nodded her agreement, Ariane felt as though it was the most difficult promise she had ever made.

  Ariane knelt down by the trunk at the foot of her bed, her mind full of her recent conversation with Toussaint, her heart in turmoil. She did not know what she was going to do, but she felt a need to at least see the ring that had bound her to Renard.

  She popped open the lid of the trunk and tensed. Her linens, her shifts, all those garments she had left so carefully folded were in disarray as though someone had been pawing through them. Perhaps Gabrielle had been seeking to borrow something, although that explanation made little sense. Everything Gabrielle owned was far finer than Ariane’s.

  Uneasily, Ariane began to refold and straighten things as she searched for the pouch in which she had put the ring. She felt considerable relief when she spotted the leather pocket until she snatched it up.

  The pouch felt flat and empty. Undoing the drawstring, she turned it over and shook it, but nothing dropped out into her trembling hand. Her heart gave an anxious thud and she immediately began rooting through the other things in the trunk. Perhaps somehow the ring had dropped out of the pouch.

  Even as she mounted her frantic search, Ariane had a sickened sense of loss. Soon everything was scattered on the floor, the trunk entirely empty. She sank back on her heels, no longer able to deny it. The ring was gone and unfortunately there was only one person she could imagine who might have taken it.

  Scrambling to her feet, Ariane marched grimly down the hall in search of her sister. Gabrielle was in her own bedchamber, perched upon the window seat.

  She was staring moodily out the window when Ariane entered. But whatever unhappy thoughts had been consuming her, Gabrielle was quick to straighten, holding out her hand and saying over brightly, “Oh, Ariane, only look at how smooth my skin is. Strange as it may be, I think the Dark Queen’s poison may actually have improved—”

  “What have you done with it, Gabrielle?” Ariane demanded.

  “What I have done with what?” Gabrielle asked in surprise.

  “With the ring Renard gave me. I cannot find it anywhere.”

  “And what makes you suppose I would have it?”

  “Because you have been urging me to get rid of the ring forever,” Ariane went on, desperately trying to probe her sister’s eyes. “Please tell me you haven’t thrown it down the well or—or melted it.”

  “I haven’t touched the blasted thing.” Gabrielle flounced to her feet with all the dignity of an affronted duchess. But her haughty manner was diminished when she added, “Oh, I admit that there were times that I did think of stealing the ring and disposing of it, but I wouldn’t do that anymore.”

  “Because Renard saved you from the poison?”

  “No. Because you have been so cross and wretched without your ogre, I declare I am ready to send for the man myself. I don’t even care if he is Melusine’s grandson. It could be very useful to have someone who knows a bit about dark magic in the family.”

  At any other time, Ariane would have been tempted to reprove her sister for that last remark. But Gabrielle’s sincere denial only increased her anxiety.

  “I am sorry for accusing you,” she said. “But if you didn’t take it, then who did?”

  “How the devil should I—” Gabrielle began, but she must have taken in the full measure of Ariane’s distress, because she stopped and wrapped her arm comfortingly around Ariane instead.

  “Don’t fret, Airy. I am sure the ring is still there in your trunk. You just haven’t looked properly.”

  “No, I did. It is obvious that someone has been going through my things and whoever it was took the ring.”

  Gabrielle frowned. “Who would do such a thing? All of our servants are completely to be trusted and we have not had any strangers prowling through the house.”

  “Yes, we have,” a small voice piped up from behind them.

  They turned to find Miri silhouetted in the doorway, her gown damp and muddied as though she had just tramped the entire way across the island. Gabrielle immediately began scolding.

  “Great heavens! What have you been doing, Miribelle?”

  “I—I was out, trying to—to—”

  “To do what? Catch a chill in the rain or track half the island back to our house? You never—”

  Ariane cut Gabrielle off, her gaze focused on Miri’s pale face. The girl looked overcome with misery, a mingling of fear, guilt, and shame chasing through her eyes. “Miri, what is it? What is wrong?” Ariane reached out to her little sister, gently taking Miri’s hand in hers. The child’s fingers felt so cold. She allowed Ariane to draw her farther into the room, but she completely refused to meet Ariane’s eyes.

  Ariane placed her fingers beneath her little sister’s chin, forcing the child to look up. “Miri, do you know something about my ring?”

  Miri cast her a look of such utter wretchedness that Ariane’s heart ached for her.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “I think it is possible Simon took it.”

  “That witch-hunter boy?” Gabrielle exclaimed. “But he has been nowhere near the house.”

  “Yes, he was. I—I brought him here the day you got sick.”

  Gently pushing her trembling little sister down onto a low stool, Ariane hunkered down in front of her.

  “Now, Miri, please tell me what has been going on.”

  Miri’s lip wobbled. “You are going to be so angry with me. Y-you will hate me.”

  “No, I won’t,” Ariane promised, tenderly patting her little sister’s cheek. “There is nothing you could ever do that would cause me to stop loving you
. Now tell me.”

  Miri drew in a tremulous breath, then the entire story came tumbling out. How she had been helping Simon to hide ever since the night of the raid, how she thought she had persuaded him to abandon his terrible trade of witch-hunting.

  “S-so I brought him to the house to talk to you. He was so afraid of you using your ring to fetch Renard, but I told him you weren’t wearing it, that it was in your trunk.”

  “Oh, Miri,” Gabrielle groaned. “You little fool.”

  “Hush, Gabrielle,” Ariane said sharply, but Miri spoke up.

  “No, she is right. I was a fool to trust him. I should never have left him alone in your room, but then Gabby fell so ill and I went to her and e-everything was such confusion. By the time I went back to your room, Simon was gone and I haven’t been able to find him anywhere since.”

  Tears trickled down Miri’s cheeks. “It never occurred to me that he had taken your ring until I heard you and Gabby talking just now. I—I am so sorry, Ariane. It is just that I—I liked him so much and I thought he liked me. Necromancer tried to warn me, but I wouldn’t listen.”

  “Let that be a lesson to you, Miribelle Cheney. Never trust a man over your cat.” But Gabrielle accompanied these sharp words by swooping in to envelop Miri in a hug.

  “Never mind, little sister,” she said fiercely. “Don’t you cry over that wretched boy. He isn’t worth a single tear.”

  Miri buried her woebegone face against Gabrielle’s shoulder, the child suffering from her first heartbreak and sense of betrayal, bitter emotions Gabrielle understood all too well.

  Ariane longed to wrap her arms protectively around her sisters, but she was forced to turn her attention to the more alarming question of the missing ring.

  “So if Simon did take the ring,” she mused aloud. “What would he do with it?”

  “Do you have any doubt on that score?” Gabrielle demanded. “He’d scurry back with it at once to his precious master.”

  When Miri gave a muffled sob at her words, she held the girl tighter.