by EM Castellan
I could have mentioned I was among the people he had threatened, but I wanted to keep my list of damning evidence as unbiased as possible. Seducing my husband and trying to break up my relationship with him wasn’t a crime. Plotting against the king and magiciens was.
Philippe’s features hardened and he leaned forward to whisper in my face. “How do you know he’s guilty?”
His utter refusal to see sense awoke my temper, yet I strived to keep a patient tone. “He wrote a journal where he listed all the vanished spells. He organized a silent auction to sell them tonight. He—”
“You’re not answering my question,” Philippe interrupted. “How do you know he did it? How can you be sure he wasn’t told to do it? Or manipulated? Or blackmailed?”
I rolled my eyes. Now he was being ridiculous. Lorraine had everything to gain by doing all he had done. Influence. Money. The ear of the king’s brother.
“By whom?” I asked.
This time, he bent down so close we were almost nose to nose. “By. My. Brother.”
My first instinct was to scoff, but the sincere belief in his eyes stopped me. Philippe was always blaming Louis for everything he couldn’t have or control in his life. After our wedding, it had taken me weeks to realize that far from being paranoid, my husband had a point, and the king was poisoning my mind against him. I had come to trust and listen to Philippe, but in the past few months, it struck me that I had stopped heeding him. Too focused on my own problems and longings, I had doubted again Philippe’s opinion. I had assumed his antagonism with his brother and his infatuation with Lorraine clouded his mind. But what if I had been the one lacking judgment?
I blinked.
“You think Louis controlled Lorraine?” I said. “But that makes no sense.”
“Doesn’t it?” Philippe gave an ironic shrug.
The question made me pause. I knew for a fact the king sought control and power more than anything else, and his greatest weapon was to be underestimated. Had I fallen prey to his strategy and be made oblivious by magic spells and glamorous parties like everyone else?
Doubt nagged at me, now, so I pulled him toward the edge of the clearing, as away from the crowd as we could get. We stood beneath the low branches of a leafy oak tree, the magical lantern bathing us in a warm glow.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
Uncertainty fleeted across Philippe’s expression, as if he wasn’t sure whether he could speak his mind or not. As if he wasn’t certain I would believe him. I squeezed his hand, self-blame washing through me. His hesitation was my fault. How had we come to this point?
“Just tell me,” I said.
“I know you don’t like Lorraine,” he started after a moment. “And you don’t know him very well. Obviously you can’t be blamed for it. But I know him.” He sighed. “I’m not fool enough to think he is a perfect man, but I can’t believe he would orchestrate such a complex scheme to threaten the whole of French magic and the crown.”
He warmed to his subject, and began pacing.
“Does he like power and money? Yes. Parties and fine clothes and magic? Also yes. Is he secretive and ambitious? Yes again. But would he think up such a convoluted plot with the potential to destroy the kingdom and its magical foundation just for his own gain without exterior motive? I’m sorry, but it doesn’t sound like him.”
Malleable. That was what Louis had called Lorraine’s magic—and by extension the man himself. His association with me is obviously very beneficial to him, he’d said. Could this be true? Could he have manipulated Lorraine to take part in some nefarious scheme in exchange for position and wealth?
I cast my mind back to the last few months, mentally leafing through my memories of the king. How hastily he’d dismissed me as his Source and recruited a low-ranking nobleman eager to do his king’s bidding to further his situation. How quick he’d been to ignore my claims about vanished spells. I had accused Lorraine at every turn, when Louis could have easily been the one behind the theft of the grimoire, the magicien making spells disappear with his Source, and the schemer orchestrating a silent auction of the spells.
Suspicion coalesced into fear in my chest. If this were true, Louis had used Lorraine as a decoy, just like he’d used Louise to hide me as his Source all those months ago. The blame would fall on the ambitious courtier, used as a smokescreen to hide the true perpetrator of the magical plot, and it would be easy for the king to rid himself of him before he could talk. My throat tightened. Lorraine was about to be called a traitor, the penalty for which was death. I had helped bring him down. What if Philippe was right and he was innocent?
I couldn’t let him die. Not when I wasn’t sure of the truth.
“I have to speak with Lorraine,” I said.
* * *
D’Artagnan stood by the orchestra, listening to the music with a glass in his hand and a tapping foot in the grass. I navigated my way through the tipsy revelers in an approximate beeline toward him, my husband on my heels.
“But you said we couldn’t leave early,” Philippe said. “People will notice if we’re gone.”
“I’m beginning to think no one would see the difference if we weren’t here,” I replied. “Just make sure your brother isn’t looking at us.”
“He’s dancing with Athénaïs. Definitely not interested in us.”
We reached D’Artagnan, who greeted us with a polite bow and an inquiry after my health.
“Very well, thank you,” was my automatic reply, even though my lungs burned and cold sweat dampened my skin. Then I cut to the chase. “I need your help once again. Your men arrested the Chevalier de Lorraine half an hour ago. Where did they take him?”
The musketeer’s face fell at my question. “Your Highness, I’m afraid I can’t—”
“Just answer her question, man,” Philippe interrupted. “Then tomorrow you can tell the king whatever you want.”
D’Artagnan let out a sigh, and stared into his wineglass, pondering my request.
“You didn’t get in trouble last time,” I pressed him. “You won’t again tonight, I’ll make sure of it.”
Philippe shot me a suspicious glance and mouthed, Last time?
I ignored him and spoke to the old soldier instead. “It’s very important. You know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t.”
D’Artagnan nodded to himself as he reached a silent conclusion and set down his glass onto a passing servant’s tray. “He’s been taken to a temporary holding cell,” he said. “He’ll be moved once the guests have departed. The king wants to speak with him during the fireworks, but I can arrange for you to see him for a short while.”
Philippe gripped my hand, his hold tight and palm clammy. “Yes. Please.”
The musketeer led the way through the swarm of chatting, drinking, and dancing courtiers. We followed him at a distance, and pretended at a nonchalance we didn’t feel among the partying guests. Relief descended over me when we escaped the oppressing multitude at last and found ourselves back in the vegetation corridor leading out of the grove. Perspiration still clung to my skin, but my breathing eased as we reached the grotto marking the entrance to the party. Here the crowd was sparse, and if we crossed paths with a few nobles and attendants, they were all too intent on their own destination to give us more than a flitting glance.
No one came after us, so we hurried behind D’Artagnan down a torchlit side alley. Soon he ducked through a tall hedge and into the woods hidden by the screens of greenery within the Versailles gardens. I narrowed my eyes in the sudden darkness as twigs snapped under our feet and the undergrowth rustled at our passage, invisible night birds taking flight amid the branches that caught at our clothes. Philippe cursed under his breath, his fingers crushing mine.
Torchlight flickered ahead. A garden shed materialized amid the vegetation, with two musketeers standing guard next to a pile of gardening tools and watering cans. They exchanged a few words with their leader, giving Philippe and me a moment to emerge from the trees. By
the time we reached them, the two soldiers were stepping aside and D’Artagnan pushed the green wooden door open.
My pulse spiked, the pressure constricting my chest. I paused to settle my breathing. Philippe’s knuckles were white from tension. I had to keep my own emotions under control if I didn’t want this illicit visit to be for nothing.
D’Artagnan lit a candle inside the shed, which was too small to fit the three of us, so he moved back to let us in.
Lorraine sat on a low stool in the otherwise-empty hut. Rope bound his wrists together, shimmering with an enchanted glow. His magically enhanced outfit sparkled in the dim candlelight, out of place in these shabby surroundings. He had his shoulders hunched and his elbows on his thighs, a sneer marring his handsome face. He didn’t rise when Philippe and I stepped inside the low-ceilinged building, but a joyless laugh rumbled out of him.
“Well, I suppose my night is complete now.”
D’Artagnan pulled the door closed to allow us some privacy, but I still kept my voice low when I spoke.
“We don’t have much time. Will you speak to us or not?”
Lorraine’s arresting blue eyes flicked between Philippe and me. My husband stood rigid at my side, my hand in his like a lifeline. They stared at each other for a heartbeat in silence, before Lorraine’s gaze returned to me.
“Have you come here to gloat?” he asked.
“No,” I replied. “I’ve come here because Philippe thinks you’re innocent, and I want to hear the truth from your lips.”
“Why do you care?” he shot back. “Surely everything has turned out exactly as you wanted.”
“I care about Philippe,” I said. “And about the truth.”
Lorraine chuckled again. “He warned me, you know. De Guiche. Before I managed to get rid of him. He said underestimating you two would be my downfall.”
The mention of Armand’s name brought fire to my core, but I clamped down on my rising temper and kept my tone calm.
“It doesn’t have to be. Tell us what happened, and we can help you.”
This time he barked out a laugh. “Help me? Against the king of France? Even I’m not naive enough to believe I won’t be dead by the end of the week.”
“Stop it,” Philippe snapped, his voice strangled. He dropped my hand to step closer to Lorraine, and knelt before him on the dirt floor. “I can’t help you, but Henriette can. If you ever had any feelings for me, swallow your bloody pride and tell us everything now.”
Lorraine’s features softened. He brought up his bound hands to my husband’s chin, and pinched him lightly. “There he is,” he said, his tone tender and unlike anything I’d heard from him before. “Brave and strong-willed and passionate.”
Philippe pulled away from his touch, his face stern. “Stop. Stop pushing back, and tell us what you and my brother did.”
“Where do you want me to start?” Lorraine straightened on his stool and gazed from my husband to me.
“Why not from the beginning?” I suggested.
Philippe returned to my side. Lorraine nodded.
“You know the beginning,” he said. “You fell ill. The king asked me to be his Source.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “So you didn’t have anything to do with that?”
Surprise flickered across his face and he glanced at my stomach. “Well, no. Aren’t you ill because of—”
So Philippe had told him about the pregnancy. Maybe I should have been annoyed at the thought, but I wanted answers more than starting a fight. Lorraine’s reply sounded sincere enough, so I pressed on.
“Spells started to vanish,” I said. “Are you going to deny you were behind it?”
Lorraine inhaled a deep breath. “The king said he had a plan. A way to control French magic and ensure someone like Fouquet would never threaten him and his family again. He wished to limit access to the most powerful spells. He taught me the enchantment, and we made the portal spell disappear, as you say.”
I bit my lip, my heartbeat quickening again. Had it really been Louis’s idea all along? Lorraine’s open expression meant he was either telling the truth, or a very good liar.
“It worked perfectly,” Lorraine went on. “Everyone forgot the spell even existed except us.”
“And Henriette,” Philippe interrupted, his jawline taut with anger.
“Then we realized there was a catch,” Lorraine agreed, unperturbed. “First Her Highness, then Prince Aniaba started to ask questions. What they had in common, of course, was that they had both been the king’s Source at one point. The concealing spell worked on everyone but the people who had performed magic with the magicien who’d cast it.”
Despite our vast modern knowledge of the world around us, there was still much we didn’t understand about magic. The fact a loophole had appeared in the king’s scheme didn’t surprise me, even if I couldn’t make sense of it.
“So you lied about it all,” I pointed out. “And ensured no one would believe us.”
“Of course,” he replied. “Secrecy was paramount, and the king wasn’t ready to let this small hitch in his plan stop him. We carried on, concealing more spells every week, while using them to further the building of Versailles and the organization of the royal entertainments.”
“But you kept a list of the spells,” I said, thinking back to his journal.
Lorraine nodded again. “By then I had taken the measure of the king, and I thought it wise to have a safety net and to build up a nest egg in case the weather turned.”
I glanced at Philippe to gauge his reaction. Lorraine’s story made sense, and his sincere expression drove me to believe him, but I didn’t know him as well as my husband did. Philippe surveyed him, his features drawn into hard lines yet without suspicion.
A knock at the door made us jump.
“Your Highnesses,” D’Artagnan’s muffled voice came through the wooden panel. “The fireworks are about to start. The king will be here shortly.”
Consternation rushed through me. Time was seeping through my fingers like grains of sand, and Lorraine wasn’t done with his tale.
“So that’s why you organized the auction?” I turned to him, my tone urgent. “For money?”
He cast Philippe a guilty look, and his tone turned earnest. “It was stupid, I know. But the king only saw me as a tool, and the way he treated you … I thought I could get back at him and get away with it. I thought I could sell the spells to the court magiciens, and even if he found out, he wouldn’t be able to do anything without admitting his own guilt in the process.”
“You didn’t think he’d be ruthless enough to pin it all on you?” Philippe said, irritation darkening his features.
“I didn’t think I’d get exposed in public!” Lorraine shot back. “I thought he and I would deal with this behind closed doors, and he’d give in to avoid a scandal.”
“Except you were found out.” Philippe growled. “And look at you now. Was it worth it?”
Lorraine held up his bound hands and stood up from his stool at last. “Listen, I’m sorry. I thought I knew him well enough to play him. I’m sorry it—”
“Forget your apologies,” I interrupted, aware of the passing time. “Tell me about the unlocking spell.”
He paused, confusion wiping his earlier intent expression. “What spell?”
“The one you used to practice magic alone,” I replied, impatient. “To open the portal in the grove tonight and to organize the auction.”
He turned his full attention to me, his eyebrows drawn into a deep frown. “What are you talking about? No one can do magic alone. I performed all of tonight’s enchantments with Saint-Aignan, in exchange for some of the vanished ones.”
I gaped, taken aback. He hadn’t used the Déverrouille spell? Then why had Fouquet told me about it, if not to expose him? Loud knocking rattled the door, and prevented me from dwelling on that thought. Lorraine grabbed Philippe’s hands.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his words rushed. “I’m sorry I di
dn’t listen when you warned me against your brother, and I’m sorry if I hurt you—”
The door flew open, and D’Artagnan appeared. “The fireworks are starting. The king will be here any moment.”
Colorful explosions burst above the trees, startling us all into action. The musketeer pushed Lorraine back toward his stool, wrenching Philippe’s hands out of his grip. I stepped out of the shed, my heartbeat frantic. In the distance, fantastical creatures made of sparks and magic chased each other across the clear skies.
“Philippe!” I called under my breath.
He still faced Lorraine inside the gardening hut. “Henriette will speak to my brother,” he said to him. “Don’t let him intimidate you. And don’t—”
“Your Highness, I’m afraid you have to go.” D’Artagnan placed a firm hand on his arm to guide him out.
Philippe walked backward, glancing over the musketeer’s shoulder to catch a last glimpse of the chevalier. If Lorraine replied, the popping noises of the fireworks swallowed his words. The guards closed the door behind their leader, the small wooden building seemingly turned back into a shed. Philippe stood frozen before it, distress all over his features. D’Artagnan met his gaze.
“Your Highness, you have to take Madame back to the party before His Majesty arrives.”
The reminder snapped my husband out of his indecision. He wrapped an arm around my waist, his expression still distracted but his demeanor more poised.
“Right, my love,” he said. “Let’s return.”
A riot of fireworks detonated above our heads, splashing colors all over the woods as we trudged back toward the party. Our conversation with Lorraine replayed in my mind while we pushed branches out of our way in the dimness shot through with flamboyant illuminations.
“You were right,” I told Philippe when the dark wall of the hedge appeared before us. “It makes sense that Louis used Lorraine to make the spells vanish. I should have guessed it.”
We reached the aperture in the shrubbery, and the torchlight from the path on the other side fell on Philippe’s hopeful face.