by EM Castellan
Armand let out a chuckle and plucked a glazed cake off a passing slaver. “Wouldn’t that be a sight?”
He placed it all in his mouth and chewed, but his reaction brought a puzzled frown to my brows.
“What do you mean?”
He swallowed the pastry and licked his fingers. “You said Molière’s troupe could turn themselves into creatures. I just acknowledged your joke. Was I supposed to laugh out loud? I mean, it wasn’t that funny—”
I scowled, my confusion increased tenfold. “Why do you think it’s a joke? They did it for the ballet at Fontainebleau.”
Armand blinked at me. “Wait. Is this one of those spells that you think exists but no one else has ever heard of?”
My fingers tightened around my fragile glass. It was happening again. Another spell had disappeared. I searched for a sign of Lorraine and, after a couple of seconds, spotted him talking with the lady in pink. He whispered at her with a playful smile, while the lady’s cheeks turned the color of her dress in the torchlight.
“He’s done it again, hasn’t he?” Armand said. “Made another spell vanish.”
With a nod, I drained my glass to steady my nerves. The ability to create portals. And now the metamorphosis enchantment. Whether it was Lorraine or not, someone was changing magic in the kingdom by taking away its most powerful spells.
And I needed to stop them.
CHAPTER IX
The weather didn’t improve the following day. Despite a clear sky, the temperature remained low and a brisk wind slithered between the hedges in the gardens and through any open window in the palace.
The second day of the king’s entertainment involved a play by Molière and Lully. Much like the performance given the year before at Fontainebleau, the comédie-ballet mixed drama, music, and dance on a stage built on the great lawn, with the park in the background and chandeliers hanging from the trees on either side of the audience.
The story gathered onstage princesses and princes, fauns and shepherds, and if rumor was to be believed, a bear and a giant tree. Magic seeped into every aspect of the play, with dazzling illusions drawing gasps from the crowd every minute and constant costumes and sets changes keeping the spectators on the edge of their seats.
The program announced five acts and six musical interludes. By the time the third interlude started, with the melody of a harpsichord, violins, and flutes swelling into the air, cold had leaked into my bones and I shivered under my layers of clothes. I pulled my velvet cloak tighter around my shoulders, but a coughing fit wracked through me and I buried my mouth in my handkerchief.
Philippe pressed the back of his hand against my cheek with an anxious frown. “You’re pale as a ghost. You can’t stay here.”
He sat between me and the rest of the royal family, who remained focused on the show in a concerted effort to avoid drawing attention to my condition. But my cough wouldn’t abate, and within minutes courtiers behind us whispered and craned their necks to get a better glimpse.
Onstage, the musical interlude ended, and Molière’s actors started the next scene with a few miniature fireworks. The noise and colors diverted the guests’ focus for a minute.
“You need to go back to your rooms,” Philippe said.
I opened my mouth to protest—I couldn’t leave in the middle of the king’s entertainment, with the whole court watching!—but instead of words, a gasp escaped my searing lungs. My breaths came out in a series of rasping noises, and I forgot what I was going to say.
Philippe turned to try to catch someone’s gaze to help. For Louis’s sake, he wouldn’t leave the performance, but he seemed intent on making me go as soon as possible, and in that moment I couldn’t find any reason to fight him. I would just have to apologize to Molière and Lully later.
Rushing feet on the gravel and a sudden presence at my side made me look up to see which of my ladies had answered Philippe’s silent call for help.
Armand crouched in the space between the front row and the stage, his magically enhanced red velvet outfit shimmering in the lights from the stage.
“I’ll take her back to her apartments,” he said in a low tone.
“Where are her ladies?” Philippe whispered back, his jaw clenched in frustration.
“I don’t know,” Armand replied, before turning to me. “I’ll help you back to the palace, all right?”
My cough prevented me from giving my opinion on the matter. The next step would be dizziness, possibly a fainting spell, or even worse, retching. I would not let this happen in public. Better to leave on Armand’s arm and let people gossip about that.
Ignoring Philippe’s scowl, I nodded at Armand and grabbed his proffered hand. He wrapped an arm around my waist to help me up, and we walked off as swiftly as one can when positioned between a brightly lit stage and an audience of six hundred nosy aristocrats.
“You sure know how to make an exit, don’t you?” Armand whispered.
Gripping his hand like a life raft, I kept my head down and tried to control my breathing. Our heels crunched in the gravel, and we left the ephemeral theater behind us, the large shape of the palace looming on the horizon like a dark sleeping beast in the night.
“Nearly there,” Armand lied. “You’re doing very well.”
My chest still hurt with every breath, but my cough had subsided for the moment. Hurried footsteps behind us made us pause. Prince Aniaba rushed toward us, waving a white handkerchief like a flag on a battlefield.
“Wait!” he said. “I have something for Her Highness!”
He caught up with us, out of breath and sweat beading on his forehead in the chandeliers’ light. He handed me the handkerchief, which I pressed to my face without hesitation. The smells of grass, wildflowers, crisp air, and magic filled my nose. For the first time since the beginning of the play, my chest expanded and I took in a lungful of air. Tears of relief wet my eyes.
“Thank you,” I told the prince.
He smiled. “You’re very welcome. I saw you leave and thought the spell would help. I was sitting next to the Comte of Saint-Aignan, who was happy to assist me. He declined chasing after you, though.”
I returned his grin at the idea of the poor count running up the slope toward the palace. I would have to thank him later nonetheless. That simple spell, which Fouquet had taught us before he betrayed us all for his greed, was proving time and again an immense relief.
“Let’s get you inside now,” Armand suggested.
We resumed our slow walk along the great lawn, and the prince fell into step with us.
“If you don’t mind, I’ll accompany you. I don’t mind missing the play, and I’d rather see Her Highness to her apartments.”
He was being as gallant as ever, and after what he had just done for me, I had no intention of arguing with him. I let him take my free arm, and the three of us made our way toward Latona’s Fountain by candlelight.
“We have barely seen you lately,” I said to the prince when my breath settled at last. “You’ve been so busy.”
“I have indeed,” he replied. “But working here has been a real pleasure, I must confess. I’ve been able to perform artistic spells I had never done before.”
His comment about magic reminded me I had meant to ask for his opinion on the vanishing spells. Now seemed as good a time as any, with still a way to go before reaching the palace and no one to overhear us.
“You mention magic,” I said. “I’ve been meaning to ask you a question about it.”
Armand stiffened at my side, but I buried my misgivings under my resolve and went on.
“Have you noticed anything strange happening with certain spells lately?”
A silence followed, and my self-assurance faltered. Behind us, the outdoor theater shone in the distance, while the dark silhouette of the palace grew closer as we followed the curve around Latona’s Fountain and headed for the steps leading to the water garden.
“You mean like tonight?” the prince replied at last, a note
of caution in his tone. “With the play?”
His careful choice of words sparked hope in my heart, and my pulse quickened. “Yes.”
“I attended a rehearsal of the play a couple of days ago,” he said. “And I noticed the troupe wasn’t using the metamorphosis spell they’d performed so well at Fontainebleau. When I asked Molière about it, my question confused him to no end. Our conversation was so awkward that I didn’t dare mention it again to anyone.”
A wave of relief washed through me, so intense I stopped in my tracks. The prince knew about the vanishing spells! I had been right. They weren’t the product of my fevered imagination.
“Oh, I’m so glad to hear you say so,” I said. “Everyone I mentioned it to acted as if I were talking nonsense.”
We’d reached the water garden with its symmetrical pools and I started off again toward the palace terrace with a spring in my step.
“Why do you think you’re the only two people who’ve noticed it?” Armand asked.
“Maybe because we’re Sources?” I replied. “Magic comes from us, so we’re not affected by it the same way you are.”
“You might be correct,” the prince said. “We should ask the Chevalier de Lorraine if he’s noticed anything.”
Armand and I exchanged a glance, both wondering how much to share with him. I opted to keep trusting him.
“I already asked Lorraine about this,” I explained. “He denied the spells had ever existed. But Armand and I have reasons not to believe him and to suspect him of lying in this case.”
“I see,” Prince Aniaba said. “I won’t mention it to him, then. And what about speaking to the king?”
I shook my head. “I already have. His reaction was the same as Molière’s and everyone else’s.”
The prince let out a defeated sigh.
“Are you aware of any other spells disappearing?” I asked. “Beside the metamorphosis one?”
“I’ve wondered about the portal spell as well,” he said. “When the Comte de Saint-Aignan and I were listing our ideas for this entertainment, I mentioned it in passing, and he didn’t seem to understand what I was talking about. I put it down to overwork and tiredness, and moved onto another suggestion. But it struck me as odd, and now I see a pattern here.”
“It definitely seems more than coincidence,” I agreed.
We were now crossing the gravel terrace, and the silhouettes of a guard detached itself from the shadowy palace to come to meet us.
“But who’s behind this?” the prince asked. “And why?”
“That,” Armand said, “we don’t know.”
Although now that the palace stood before us, empty of all its court, an idea grew at the back of my mind. There was no one there but servants and guards. Everyone else was at the play, and for quite a while yet. It was the opportunity I’d been waiting for.
“Your Highness!” The palace guard came to a halt before me, his weapons clinking as he bowed. “Is everything all right? Do you require any assistance?”
“Thank you,” I replied. “But I just need to rest. The Comte de Guiche will accompany me to my apartments.”
I turned to thank Prince Aniaba as well, who let go of my arm with a smile.
“Please, don’t mention it,” he said. “I was happy to help in my small capacity. If there’s anything else you want me to do to help with the situation…?”
I reached for his hand to squeeze it. “You’ve done far more than I ever expected, as always. Before we know more, I fear there’s nothing we can do. And I do seem to be forever in your debt.”
He kissed my fingers. “There’s never any debt between friends. Let me know if anything else happens. Have a good night.”
We parted ways, my heart lighter than it had felt in weeks. I didn’t want to involve the prince more than he already was, but thanks to him I now knew exactly what to do.
Inside the palace, shadows filled every corner, chandeliers and lamps not yet lit for the return of the king and his guests. I declined the guard’s suggestion to guide us back to my rooms but accepted his offer of a candelabra. Then, our arms still linked, Armand and I took off through the string of gilded rooms.
“Wait, aren’t your chambers that way?” Armand asked after a minute, pointing to his left.
“They are,” I said. “We’re not going there.”
“We’re not?” Armand went up an octave in alarm.
“The palace is empty,” I said. “We’ll never get a better opportunity.”
“Oh dear. You want to break into Lorraine’s rooms, don’t you?”
“You read my thoughts.”
As proof of his unstoppable rise in status, Lorraine had been allocated rooms next to the Queen Mother’s. We climbed the deserted staircase up to the facing doors of the neighboring apartments, our feet scraping against the marble steps. A guard stood on the landing, in the dim light provided by the window looking onto the gardens.
“Who goes there?” he asked.
Before I could think of an answer, Armand replied, “Who goes there yourself! Can’t a man get some privacy in this place?”
His usual amiability abandoned, he charged up the remaining steps to spring upon the man in a dramatic move. Since his gesture seemed deliberate, I remained in the darkness on the stairs, my cowl up and my face buried in my magic-seeped handkerchief.
“My dear fellow.” The candelabra in one hand, Armand wrapped his free arm around the guard’s soldier, trapping him where he stood. “Please understand my predicament here. This lady and I have been looking for a quiet place, and everywhere we turn, there’s a dutiful soldier like yourself. Will you take pity on me and go for a walk for a little while?”
“I … I can’t leave my post,” the guard replied, his voice wavering with uncertainty.
Armand released a theatrical sigh. “Listen—” Then he fished his purse out of his pocket, the coins jingling in the quiet staircase, and whispered in the man’s ear.
Whatever he said worked, as the guard gave a muffled answer and hurried off, not even glancing at me as he walked past me down the steps.
“Come on.” Armand waved me on as soon as the soldier disappeared around the corner. “We don’t have much time.”
“Isn’t it a bit worrying how easy that was?” I joined him in front of Lorraine’s door. “Does Louis know how quickly his guards can be bribed?”
“No matter.” Armand gave me an expectant look in the dim light. “Well? I got rid of the guard. Now how are we getting in?”
“I don’t know,” I replied. My pulse quickened in consternation at the recklessness of this plan. “I thought we’d pick the lock or something.”
Armand raised an eyebrow. “Can you pick a lock?”
“No,” I admitted.
“Well, me neither.”
I bit my lip. Time was of the essence. I needed an idea, and fast.
Meanwhile, Armand considered the door. “What if he has wards and magical shields in place?”
“One thing I learned with Fouquet is that men like him and Lorraine think they’re untouchable. I doubt he has bothered to put up wards, especially if he always keeps his journal on him like his footman said.”
“So what are you hoping to find here?”
“Anything else that might be useful.”
And he kicked the door open. The gilded wood panel swung wide in a loud crack, part of the lock falling to pieces onto the floor.
I gasped. “What on earth?”
“What? You can’t pick a lock, and you said there were no wards or shields!”
My heartbeat now frantic, I turned to the staircase. What if someone had heard this racket? Maybe we ought to abandon this rash endeavor now before anyone caught us in the act and a world of trouble found us. But no sound of rushing footsteps reached us, and the hallway remained empty and quiet. I glanced inside the dark anteroom, which yawned before us like the cave of a sleeping dragon, both frightening and tantalizing.
I drew a breath to cal
m my pulsing nerves. “We might as well go in now.”
I plucked the candelabra from Armand’s hand and took a couple of cautious steps forward. His hand on the small of my back, he followed suit, the parquet floor creaking under our heels.
“Do you want to check the bedroom while I have a look around here?” I said.
“Absolutely not,” he replied in a low voice, as if the walls and mirrors could hear us. “This is the enemy’s den. I’m staying with you.”
His choice of words made it unclear whether he did so in order to protect me or to use me as protection.
A look around the room gave us a first clue about Lorraine’s character: He was messy. Various articles of clothing and all manners of men’s accessories—including a sword and a pistol—lay about the chairs and floor. By the window, a desk was piled high with books, letters, ink jars, and quills. We circumnavigated a large copper basin on the carpet and moved toward the back of the room, lined with bookshelves.
My heart jumped. “Tell me if you see any books about magic.”
I brought the candlelight as close to the bookcase as was safe and read the titles off the volumes’ spines.
“History books,” Armand said. “Poetry books. Greek and Latin books … Maybe these aren’t even his. This is a guest room after all.”
My excitement waning, I bent down to look at the lower shelf. A title caught my eye, and my pulse raced again.
“Spell books!”
I grabbed the thickest one and handed the candelabra back to Armand. I laid the heavy book down on the desk and flipped through his well-worn pages. Just like in my missing grimoire, the incantations were organized in alphabetical order. I reached the letter O and found the page of the portal spell as blank as the one in my own handbook. But the enchantment on the page next to it was also gone.
“What’s supposed to be there?” Armand asked.
I searched my memory to recall what I’d seen in my grimoire. “An incantation to force someone to obey an order, I think.”
I turned over more pages, their yellowish paper crinkling under my touch. As expected, the metamorphosis spell was missing at the letter M. More concerning, other blank pages, whose enchantments I couldn’t identify, dotted the book.