by EM Castellan
Hundreds of feet crunched on the gravel path as we reached a new fountain, and my foe appeared at the king’s side. The crowd spread along the edge of the circular pool, and its enthusiastic chatter died down as Louis raised his cane.
“Once,” he said, “the young god Apollo killed with a single arrow the serpent Python that threatened the Greek city of Delphi. Today, I give you the Dragon Fountain.”
Ladies craned their necks and gentlemen squinted in the sunlight, but for now the name of the fountain remained a mystery, as the water of the pond before us appeared empty. Anticipation ran along the guests, however, as Louis and Lorraine linked hands.
The pool began to bubble, and out of the churning waters a large bronze dragon reared its head. Louis then threw his cane like a lance, and the diamond-studded staff turned into an arrow that pierced the dragon’s neck. The giant serpent splashed in the water and let out a mighty roar, which released an incredible jet of water into the skies. Around the beast, cherubs on swans’ backs emerged from the roiling waters and launched their own tiny arrows at the thrashing dragon.
I squeezed Philippe’s arm before I realized what I was doing. Once, Louis and I had performed a similar spell not far from here, to create the Apollo Fountain out of magic. We had failed, but it had been our first attempt at turning Versailles into the place it was today. A hint of regret tugged at me at the thought that he now succeeded in doing the spectacular enchantment with another Source. A tiny piece of me wished I was part of it.
Soon the creature stilled, defeated, and froze in the middle of the pool with its head reared back and the water exploding from its open mouth falling back onto the fountain in a thin mist. Dolphins joined the cherubs and became motionless, forever standing guard around the trapped beast.
Thundering applause rose from the crowd. Once again, Louis had amazed them with magic, and everywhere I turned I saw eyes wide with wonder and clapping hands.
Philippe didn’t let go of our parasol to clap politely. “That was impressive,” he said. “If one likes that sort of things.”
I nudged him playfully and earned a smile that warmed me to the core. I had been back at Versailles for five weeks, and in all that time he had kept his promise to try to give us a chance. He slept in my bed every night and never sought out Lorraine in public. I didn’t know if that meant things were over between them, but it felt like a small victory already.
But the king was on the move again, distracting me from my train of thought. His court trailed after him like loyal puppies, eager for the next treat. Our stroll didn’t take us far, as we walked through a tall hedge into a hidden grove. A circular lawn greeted us, where tables had sprouted from the ground like trees. A giant open-air buffet displayed piles of meat pastries, cakes, and fruit, along with carafes of colorful wines and liquor. Guests helped themselves to the food before settling in the grass.
Philippe grabbed Elisabeth and Françoise as they walked past. “Find a place in the shade with Henriette. I’ll bring us food and drinks.”
We sat beneath an oak tree, and I took off my jewel-speckled shoes with a sigh of relief. Louis’s cousins babbled about the fountain spell, and within moments Philippe joined us, a servant with a large tray on his heels. The glittering pastries and cakes made me wince—whether because of my illness or my pregnancy, I was nauseous more often than not, lately. I managed to eat strawberries dipped in whipped cream, and drank water to soothe my parched throat.
“What do you think is next?” Elisabeth asked, her eyes bright with anticipation.
“There has to be a ball,” her sister replied. “We didn’t learn that new dance for nothing.”
“I heard there’ll be fireworks,” I said to contribute to the discussion, although my attention strayed as a strange ballet caught my gaze.
Every so often, one of the guests rose from their spot in the grass in a seemingly innocent fashion and ambled toward a white birch tree at the edge of the grove. They stayed there for an instant, too far away for me to see what they were doing besides casting furtive glances about them, before returning to their party. The first person I noticed was Madame de Châtillon, who I assumed had seen something in the bushes and wanted to investigate. But moments later the playwright Molière performed the same strange move, promptly followed by the Comte de Soissons. In the next half hour, a dozen courtiers behaved in the same odd manner. With such a large crowd assembled in the grove, however, the palace guards and musketeers on duty stood oblivious, more focused on the various exits, and on the king in the heart of the clearing.
“You’re quiet,” Philippe said. “Are you feeling all right?”
“Yes,” I replied, distracted. “I just need to stretch my legs. You stay here.”
I put on my shoes, grabbed our parasol, and pushed myself off the grass before he could protest. My gaze on the birch tree, I circled the grove, just as a short marquess I knew by sight made his way to the suspicious spot in a crab-like walk that attracted my attention even more. This time when he reached the tree, I was close enough to see him throw an envelope against the white trunk, where it disappeared.
I stopped in my tracks. The only way the envelope could be gone in an instant was because of magic, and I would have bet my wedding ring said magic was a portal spell. One of the vanished spells.
His deed done, the marquess hurried away, and I carried on my stroll around the grove until I reached the birch tree. There, at the bottom of the trunk, the air shimmered with magic. This was the portal. All these courtiers were depositing envelopes there as if it were a messenger bag, taking their post to its destination in the blink of an eye. What was in those envelopes though? And where were they being delivered?
One thing was certain: I had to tell Louis about this before the spell disappeared. I turned on my heels, and ran into a broad chest.
“Why do you have to spoil everything?” a familiar voice grumbled in my ear.
I stiffened and stepped back—too late. Lorraine had my wrist in his grip.
“Is this your spell?” I hissed back, although I was quite certain I knew the answer. “What are these people giving you?”
His eyes widened in fake innocence. “What spell? What people?”
I glanced back at the tree trunk, where the telltale glimmer faded before my eyes. Air drained from my lungs. Now it would be his word against mine, unless one of the courtiers supported my testimony.
“Don’t even think about it,” Lorraine said, reading my mind. “No one will support or believe you, and the king won’t be happy you tried to spoil his evening. All you’ll get is being sent to bed to rest your feverish mind. Sunstroke is so common among women.”
His sarcasm and self-confidence made my blood boil, but he was right. The proof of the spell was gone, and Louis wouldn’t look kindly on anyone causing a scandal at his party, even if it was his sister-in-law.
“Let go of me,” I said through gritted teeth.
I wrenched my wrist out of his grasp and marched back to Philippe and his cousins. At that moment Louis clapped his hands twice, to announce the next part of the entertainment. Everyone rose to their feet at once with exclamations of delight, and it took me longer than expected to join my husband. When I did, Lorraine had melted into the crowd, any opportunity for me to call him out on his deed gone in the commotion.
So I schooled my features into a calm mask and linked arms with Philippe again.
All these courtiers had given Lorraine something in those envelopes. My guess was that it was in exchange for something else—a favor, a spell, or information? Whatever it was, they likely expected it to be handed over to them tonight. A party like this, with such a large crowd mingling in a labyrinthine garden at dusk, was the perfect setting for nefarious activities. My own plan had been to use the general confusion to steal Lorraine’s journal again. It made sense he had had his own goals for the evening. I was nothing if not ready to adapt my strategy to catch him in the act.
I may have lost the first h
and, but the game wasn’t over yet.
CHAPTER XXI
Outside the grove, a long line of horseless carriages and sedan chairs sat ready to shuttle the king’s guests to the next part of the entertainment. The rush to gain access to a magically propelled vehicle caused some confusion, and Philippe stretched his neck to spot an empty one that would fit his two cousins and us.
“Stay here a minute.” He shoved our parasol in my hands. “I’ll fetch one of those enchanted contraptions.”
Just as he strode away, slicing through the crowd, the line moved forward, most of the vehicles already full. A few courtiers, loath to be left behind, jumped into already moving carriages amid the shrieks of their occupants. Fortunate passengers waved their hats and handkerchiefs at the people stranded by the side of the road.
“Better luck next time!” Their laughter rose under the clear evening sky. “You can still walk, you know! Or go home!”
Elisabeth met their hilarity with an outraged open mouth, while Françoise threw her fan at a mocking young man in feathered hat.
“Don’t they know who we are?!”
Part of me knew I should be fuming at the courtiers’ behavior along with the king’s cousins, yet at the forefront of my worries was the fact that I was being left out of the action and would arrive late at the following stage of the party, possibly missing Lorraine’s next move.
I scanned the passing vehicles, and my gaze landed on a sedan chair that held the short marquess who had left the last envelope in Lorraine’s trap. The seat opposite him in the chaise à porteurs was free. Without giving my reckless instinct a second thought, I took off after it, wrenched open the sedan chair’s door, and threw myself onto the empty seat. The small man let out a yelp.
“Good evening.” I gave him my warmest smile.
Outside, Françoise’s and Elisabeth’s surprised shouts already faded in the distance, our magically driven vehicle effortlessly gaining speed along the graveled path.
“I … I—” The poor marquess spluttered, sweat running down his paling features and panic widening his beady golden eyes.
“Can you believe I missed my carriage?” I went on in a bright tone, as if oblivious to his reaction. “I’m certain the king will be very grateful to you for rescuing his stranded sister-in-law!”
The marquess’s chest deflated at the mention of the king. “Oh. Yes, I suppose, I—”
“I don’t want to miss anything, you see?” I added in the same cheerful manner. “This is all so very exciting! Wasn’t that water dragon a marvel? And the food! I wonder what’s next, don’t you?”
“Yes,” the marquess stammered. “Yes, indeed—”
Overwhelmed, he stared at me with blinking eyes. However, the shaking in his hands faded and his stance relaxed as I babbled on. Although we’d never met, I played the part the man no doubt assumed to be mine: that of a harmless coquettish princess with an eccentric streak. Which was exactly what I wanted him to believe, before I went in for the fatal blow.
“And of course,” I said, “I can’t wait for the Chevalier de Lorraine to deliver on his promise.”
He startled like a fish out of water. “I … I beg your pardon?”
I gave him a conniving wink that would have appalled my mother. “Dear marquis, don’t play coy. You and I have a friend in common, don’t we? Someone who asked for a certain something delivered in an envelope in exchange for another certain something tonight?”
It was very heavy-handed work, but both my presence in his sedan chair and my words so flustered the marquess that he didn’t pause to question it.
“So you are—” he said. “I mean you’re also—”
“Yes,” I replied. “I saw you drop your envelope just before mine, and I thought: here is a man who’s also in on our secret.”
As expected, pride puffed up his chest and crimson crept over his cheeks at the mention of his inside knowledge. Courtiers could be so easy to play, sometimes. No wonder Lorraine had forgotten it was wrong to take advantage of it.
“Well,” he said, “I’m not one to pass a good opportunity. I only hope my bid was high enough for the metamorphosis spell. That’s the one I’m interested in, you see. But I know some of the artist magiciens are also eager to get their hands on it.”
Of course. The envelopes contained money. Silent bids for a spell, with the highest bid the winner. Just as his journal had suggested, Lorraine was selling off the spells he’d made disappear.
I glanced out of the sedan chair window. The sun sat low in the sky, casting orange and golden hues over the gardens. After heading westward, the line of vehicles had turned left and now rode southward past Apollo’s Fountain, which glowed in the sunset as if on fire.
“Do you think we’ll be on time?” I asked the marquess, keeping my question vague on purpose.
He pulled out a silver pocket watch. “I think so. We should be able to enjoy the next part of the entertainment. The chevalier promised we’d know if we’d won after sunset, so we have a little while yet.”
I kept a straight face despite the importance of the revelation. Lorraine meant to hand over the spells to the highest bidders after dark, then.
Our chair turned left again, continuing its smooth magical ride eastward. But within moments it came to a halt, and a servant rushed to welcome us into the southernmost part of the gardens.
We stood at a crossroads, where a large area opened before us—a part of the gardens that had clearly yet to be designed. Tonight it housed a temporary open-air theater that drew gasps from the crowd. Dozens of glass lamps lit the place, infused with magical light. Large tapestries hung around the clearing, creating the illusion of walls, and canvas covered the ground, hushing our footsteps. Blue fabric dotted with fleur-de-lis adorned the stage lit with magically enhanced candlelight.
“How baroque!” the marquess at my side said.
“Can you see the chevalier?” I asked, eager to keep on task.
Between the courtiers still alighting from their means of transportation and the guests already mingling about the improvised theater, it was a challenge to spot anyone in the throng of people.
“There you are!” Philippe grabbed my hand and gave it a distracted kiss. “Why didn’t you wait?”
“I didn’t want to miss anything.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. “And the marquess had a free seat in his chair.”
“Come on,” Philippe replied. “We have seats in the front row, and my brother is already waiting.”
He guided me toward the stage as the last rays of sunshine crested the treetops. Around us, the guests shuffled along the rows of velvet-covered chairs to find seats, and the noise of their conversation rose under the darkening skies. I cast anxious glances around me, but the marquess had been swallowed by the crowd, and Lorraine was nowhere to be seen. A pang of anxiety shot through me. Avoiding watching the play was impossible, yet with every passing minute, the sun set lower beyond the trees of Versailles, burning my chances of catching Lorraine in the act. With reluctance, I took a seat between my husband and Olympe as a hush fell over the audience and Molière appeared onstage in a peasant’s costume.
“You’re frowning,” Olympe whispered in my ear over the playwright’s introductory speech.
Sudden inspiration struck me. “I’m going to need you soon,” I replied in the same tone. “For a spell.”
Her eyebrows rose in surprise. “What spell?”
“I don’t know yet. Will you be able to improvise?”
A mix of curiosity and challenge shone in her golden eyes. She didn’t owe me any help, but the prospect of playing with magic was enough to make her side with me again, it seemed.
“Whatever are you up to now?” she said with an amused smile, her gaze returning to the stage and the actors moving in time with Lully’s music.
If only I knew the answer to that question.
* * *
My mind too busy with twirling thoughts, I paid very little attention to the play. I caught only
fragments of the plot, which involved an arranged marriage, a husband cheated on by his wife, and an unexpectedly depressing ending that left most of the audience puzzled.
Louis applauded the playwright and his troupe with his usual well-mannered approval, but the crowd buzzed with comments as people rose from their seats.
“What’s happening to Molière?” Olympe muttered, her fan swishing in the warm evening atmosphere. “Can’t the man put on a good comedy and make us laugh anymore? His plays used to be hilarious.”
“He wants to show the world the way it is,” I replied.
She linked her arm with mine and led me away from the stage, Philippe on our trail with Elisabeth and Françoise.
“I’m well aware the world is a miserable place,” she said. “I expect the theater to make me forget it.”
I was about to reply, but a commotion ahead caught my attention. People pressed forward with excited cries, eager to reach the edge of the clearing. Olympe put away her fan and hurried up, dragging me in her wake.
“What’s happening?” she asked the first lady she pushed aside.
“They’re giving out candles for the procession,” the woman in an impressive purple gown explained. “We are going to light our own way to the feast, apparently.”
Based on this information, Olympe elbowed her way through the crowd, my arm still in her grip, until we reached a long table strewn with taper candles in glass holders. Servants lit each candle before handing them out to courtiers, and Olympe meandered through the gathered guests to find a less crowded spot by the end of the table.