His brow wrinkled as he struggled to uncork the bottle. “Uh – my name is Pierre Leóne, Mademoiselle.”
I removed the mask. “Why, I’m Marie Beauchamp, Pierre. And I’m ever so pleased to meet a handsome boy like you.”
The cork popped loudly as it burst open. “Uh – thank you, Mademoiselle.” The foam hissed and clung to his fingers. He tried to fling it off, avoiding my eyes. Even without the mask, he still didn’t know me.
“As it happens, Pierre, my escort is a little preoccupied with my friend, Celia Verdante, and might be so for some time. Would you care to be my escort for the evening?”
He poured the champagne slowly, casting a nervous glance at me. “I, uh – I don’t think that would be appropriate, Mademoiselle.”
“Oh, don’t you worry about that, Pierre. I can make it appropriate.”
“Mademoiselle, I, uh …”
He stared into my eyes. Into my new face.
“Yes, my Pierre?”
“Mademoiselle. You’re very pretty. But – I’m actually here to meet someone.”
I lifted my hands up as if I were a gift to be unwrapped. “And you’ve just met her. Aren’t you the luckiest thing?”
“No, I – someone else.”
I glanced about. “Well, where is this mysterious young woman?”
“She couldn’t be here. But I’m here on her behalf, and I’ll likely see her tomorrow.” He shrugged to himself. “Depending on how things work out tonight.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. He intended to try to stop the Lycanthru’s attack. “Pierre, you can’t –!”
He squinted at me. “What’s wrong, Mademoiselle?”
I glanced back at Touraine, now talking with two other couples that had approached the table. “Pierre, it’s me.”
He kept staring. “It’s you, Mademoiselle?”
I leaned closer. “It’s me. It’s Red.”
The champagne bottle dropped to the table and thankfully landed upright. “Red?” He glanced about, meeting the stares of Touraine and a few guests who heard the bottle thud onto the tablecloth. He leaned forward. “What happened to your face?” he hissed.
I wasn’t sure whether to be offended. “What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing. I guess. But what happened to it?”
I frowned. “Celia fixed it. I mean, she used some powder to cover over it.” I spread my hands out to display my sunny gown. “Do you like it?”
He looked me over, still appearing confused. “Yeah, I guess. But you don’t look like yourself at all.”
“Is that bad?”
“Well – I mean …”
“It doesn’t matter. What are you doing here?”
He leaned across the table and whispered in a harsh tone as a masked couple passed near us. “I took your suggestion and went to visit Monsieur Touraine at La Maison. I asked around about the party and found out Duke Laurent had hired him to help serve guests, and they needed a few extra hands. The Duke’s lost some of his servants over the last couple of months. So Touraine arranged to get me hired on.”
In the center of the ballroom, Denue still hovered around Cézanne, closely observing his dance with Celia. She continued to charm her temporary escort, smiling up at him through her scarlet mask. “I just ran into Jacque Denue,” I told Pierre. “He’s serving here, too.”
“I know. He vouched for me with another man, Monsieur Brocard, to help me get the job. Jacque didn’t seem to care whether I was here or not.”
No, I thought. He only cares whether Celia is here. “But what on earth do you plan to do? You said you’d alert me if you found a way in.”
“You never came back. I checked back at the shop a couple of times, but I had to get over here for instructions.”
I glanced over my shoulder, flashing a phony smile as another laughing couple strolled behind me. “I found my own way in.”
“Yeah, I see that.” He looked me over again, seeming unimpressed.
“You’re not really planning to battle all the Lycanthru yourself, are you?”
“No, now that you’re here.”
I leaned closer and whispered harshly at him. “Pierre, how exactly do you intend to fight them? Did you bring your own crossbow?”
He smiled and bent toward me. “Something better. I’ve been fashioning it all week. It’s a collapsible blowgun. I brought a bag of silver shavings and dust that I can shoot through it.”
I marveled at him as he smiled with pride. “Pierre, that is – absolutely amazing.”
His cheeks reddened. “Thanks.” Then he frowned. “When this is all over, you’re going to change back, right? You’re not going to keep dressing like that?”
I cocked my head at him, still wondering if I should be offended. “You don’t think I’m pretty?”
He half-scowled. “Sure, but – you were already pretty. I want to see you the way you are.” He looked high above my head. “Without that giant wig.”
I put my hand to his cheek. “Thank you, Pierre. You’re very sweet.”
“… all right.”
“Just promise me you’ll watch yourself. Don’t fight unless you have to.”
He took my hand in his. “I have to.”
I swallowed. I wanted to refuse him. To tell him this wasn’t his fight. To tell him all the things that he and everyone else kept telling me. But I couldn’t. I just prayed I wasn’t sacrificing Pierre by letting him follow his heart.
“Father Vestille. So pleased you could make it tonight.”
I turned and raised my mask again at the voice of Leopold Laurent. He wore a gold mask like mine and was surrounded by three other Lycanthru, as he shook hands with Father Vestille.
26.
“Thank you,” Father Vestille answered nervously, greeting Duke Laurent. His face was uncovered and he had dressed in his usual priestly robes, which made him stand out strangely among all the masked guests filling Chateau de Laurent’s opulent ballroom. “I was – surprised to receive your invitation this afternoon.”
“Please forgive my oversight,” Laurent said with enthusiasm. “We’ve had our differences in the past, but I was quite distressed to hear that your invitation had not gone out. After all, the entire province is here tonight. We can’t have the Queen visit our fair community without the blessing of our local priest, can we?” The three Lycanthru flanking Laurent chuckled in their usual cruel manner.
“Father Vestille!”
They all turned toward me and Pierre.
“… Yes, Mademoiselle?” he asked.
I raised my mask, then smiled and stepped forward. “Why, I had no idea you would be here this evening. Isn’t this lovely?”
Father Vestille narrowed his eyes, confused, as Duke Laurent and his men watched us. “Have we met, Mademoiselle?”
I offered my hand. “No, but I’ve been dying to meet you. I’m Marie Beauchamp.”
He stared at me. “Ah, yes. I think we have met. I didn’t recognize you.”
I swallowed. Had he actually seen through my disguise? If he recognized me, Duke Laurent might recognize me, too.
Then I realized he meant the real Marie Beauchamp I was impersonating. “Well, I’ve grown a bit since then,” I said pleasantly.
Father Vestille waved his hand to introduce Laurent. “Have you met the Duke?”
I stared into Laurent’s inviting eyes. “Why, no,” I said stupidly. “Is this him?”
Father Vestille gaped at me. “Uh – yes. May I present the Duke of La Rue Sauvage. Your Grace, this is Marie Beauchamp.”
Duke Laurent bowed, and I curtsied. If I had my crossbow or a silver-gilded sheath at hand, I could have ended the attacks right then. But that would only result in my being arrested again. The rest of the Lycanthru could still attack the Queen, tonight or at some other opportunity, while I sat in a prison cell waiting to be hung. I had to bide my time and hope my disguise fooled Laurent.
He towered over me, his face beaming behind his devilish mask. “Welcome to
the party, my dear. I believe I know your parents.”
I maintained my smile but felt my chest heave as I seethed inside. Had he recognized me already and resorted to another one of his sadistic jokes?
“I believe they operate most of the wineries in the south, don’t they?”
I breathed a little easier beneath my made-up face. “Why, yes, that’s right.”
“They’ve done rather well for themselves.”
“Why, thank you, Monsieur. But I must say, we’ve never been invited to see the palace ballroom before. And the Queen! Why, I’m just so excited I can hardly stand myself.”
Laurent blinked. “Well – I’m glad to hear that, Mademoiselle. Had I known that your parents had such a lovely daughter, I would have extended the invitation sooner.”
He held out his hand for mine. I hesitated, then smiled and held it up for him to kiss. The touch of his lips sent a tremor through my spine. “Oh, my,” I said. “You’re too kind.”
Laurent glanced about the room. “Who are you here with this evening, Mademoiselle?”
“Oh, I’m here with Monsieur Cézanne,” I said, pointing across the room. “He’s over there entertaining my friend, Celia. I should probably get back to him soon, but I’m sure they’re having a lovely time, just talking away about nothing. Well, it was a delight to meet you, Monsieur Duke, and thank you ever so much for inviting me.”
“The pleasure is all mine, my dear, believe me.”
“Oh, I do. Father, would you be kind enough to escort me to the refreshment table?”
Father Vestille looked perplexed, but graciously agreed. “Of course, Mademoiselle. I would be honored. Please excuse me, Monsieur.”
Laurent bowed in response, looking somewhat relieved to be free of him, but eyed me with a mixture of admiration and distaste. I imagine he wanted me to stay with him a while longer, to have a charming young girl with a sugary voice to gawk at. But the longer I stayed, the more chances there were for Laurent or his men to recognize me. I had to get Father Vestille away from them, and use him to shield me from any further advances from Lycanthru wandering about the ballroom. Not even a Lycanthru would be brash enough to cut in on a priest.
Something else unsettled me about Father Vestille’s sudden invitation to the party. It reminded me of the banquet that Duke Laurent had hosted to honor Francois, only to get him drunk and murder him later. Laurent had surely invited Father Vestille to the ball to devour him.
“You could have spoken to the Duke a little longer if you wished, Mademoiselle,” Father Vestille said. “I presumed that was the reason you wished to greet me.”
“No, actually, you’re the one I wanted to see.”
He blinked. “Me? How can I help you, Mademoiselle?”
I smiled at a gentleman passing by, then ignored him and focused on leading Father Vestille away. The man frowned and continued past us. “I wanted your advice. You see, I’m most interested in becoming a nun.”
He paused in his steps. “I see. Well …” He cleared his throat. “That is a most worthy aspiration, Mademoiselle. But, ah, you realize it is a deep commitment to a life of prayer and service. It would require many sacrifices. You would not be able to attend many parties like this one.”
“Oh, I’m sure I’ll still get invitations from the right gentlemen. After all, you’re here, aren’t you?”
He frowned. “Yes. But not in the same capacity as you.”
I giggled stupidly. “No, I suppose not.” We reached the long table, where Pierre eyed us both stiffly. “Hello again, Pierre. Have you met my friend, Father Vestille?”
Pierre took my cue slowly. “Uhhh, yes. I’ve known Father Vestille my whole life.”
“Oh. Then it would be silly for me to introduce you.” I turned to Father Vestille. “Would you care for a drink?”
“Eh, no, thank you, Mademoiselle. I don’t normally drink, apart from the sacraments.”
“Oh, how unfortunate. Do nuns have that same problem?”
A horn sounded from the outer courtyard, forcing the room to quiet its conversation as the music stopped. A messenger looked out the front entryway and received some unseen signal, then nodded to Laurent.
Laurent acknowledged it with a flash of teeth, then stood on a high platform and raised his hands. “Ladies and gentlemen of La Rue Sauvage! Her Majesty, the Queen, has arrived. Please prepare to give her our most gracious welcome on this auspicious occasion! I promise you all …” He smiled his devilish smile. “… the next few moments will be etched in your memories for as long as you live!”
My nerves raged. He planned to attack the Queen the moment she entered. I glanced around the room. Celia was talking with a few men and Jacque Denue still lingered near her. But I couldn’t spot her silver-haired porter anywhere. “Oh!” I squealed with delight. “Excuse me, Father, but I must go!”
“Of course,” he said with a tiny smile. “I understand when I have been outranked.”
I giggled again. “Aren’t you sweet?” I curtsied like an idiot and turned toward the main entryway. Then I stopped and leaned toward Pierre. “I may need your assistance, Monsieur,” I whispered. “Can you find Celia Verdante’s porter? He has my bag.” I spotted an open doorway leading to a side corridor. “Bring it to me over there.”
He saw where I was pointing, set the bottle and glasses down on the table, and he was off. I lifted my tresses and hurried to the exit as the orchestra blared to usher in the Queen.
Father Vestille watched me go, looking perplexed as I rushed beyond the main entrance, where the Queen’s messengers were announcing her. But he shrugged, seeming ready to dismiss my behavior as that of a flighty and foolish girl.
I ran out to the corridor. It held nothing of interest but a row of closed doors. I tried a couple and found them locked. I needed a private area to change. But with all eyes on the Queen, this passage might do just fine.
Pierre arrived with my bag and handed it to me. He glanced back at the ballroom as the musical fanfare ended and the Duke issued his welcome to the Queen. “Be careful, Red.”
“I always am. Quick, get back to the table and don’t do anything foolish.”
He puzzled over my words as if he couldn’t grasp my meaning. Then he returned to the ballroom without a word. And – I realized – without agreeing to my instructions. But I had no time to argue with him.
The crowd murmured with excitement as the Queen settled in among them. I set the bag on the floor and squatted to open it, shoving aside its top blanket of jewelry. Beneath it lay both of my crossbows, my boots and my weapons. I hurried to put on a glove.
A heavy hand fell on my shoulder. I gasped and whirled, stepping sideways to cover the bag with my enormous gown. Hiding my gloved hand behind my back, I raised my mask and forced another smile.
Cézanne grinned down at me. He looked cocky and hungry behind his silver mask. “You’re not attempting to leave, are you, Mademoiselle?”
I backed away, still smiling stupidly as I struggled to push the bag across the floor with my heeled shoe. He moved toward me, leaving me little space. I took a step farther, sliding the bag another foot. But he kept closing in until my back met the corridor wall.
I could barely see past Cézanne to the ballroom, as Duke Laurent raised his empty glass for a toast. He removed a flask from his waistcoat, containing the sulfurous yellow Lycanum. Then he popped the cork and filled his glass with it.
Cézanne pressed his hand against the wall and leaned into me, blocking my view. “The Queen has just arrived,” he said. “This party is about to get most interesting.”
I smiled into his leering face, feeling suffocated. “More than you know, Monsieur.”
I flicked out my glove’s blade and drove it up into his stomach. He gasped and bent forward in surprise. His lips twisted into a cockeyed grin. As though he meant to frighten me with the fact that my knife could not harm him.
Then his face fell as he felt its effect.
“The blade is silver, Mons
ieur,” I told him.
He glared at me with sudden horror as he sank to his knees. “You,” he rasped. His hands reached for my throat like claws. Then his fingers slipped off as he fell to my feet.
I steeled myself against any feelings of pity and pushed him aside with my heel. He fell hard to the floor while everyone kept their attention on Laurent.
“… because she thought I was trying to conspire against the King,” Laurent announced to the crowd, smiling and turning to each one.
I moved aside, my dress uncovering the supply bag once more. I stepped over Cézanne’s body, away from the corridor entrance to escape the Duke’s sight.
“And she was right,” Laurent continued. “Simonet assisted me and others in a failed attempt to poison the King, so that I could seize the throne.”
The ballroom fell dead silent.
Only the Queen spoke, her voice firm and cold. “This is not good news, Monsieur.”
“Oh, I assure you, Your Majesty,” Laurent replied, unperturbed. “… I have far worse.”
He threw back his head, sucking down the Lycanum.
Laurent’s charade was over.
So was mine.
MY HEROES
27.
I spotted other Lycanthru among the crowd, draining their own glasses of bubbling Lycanum. The broad skylights of Chateau de Laurent bathed the entire ballroom with moonlight. They would transform into wolves within seconds.
I cast off the redheaded wig and tugged hard at the catch on my gown’s waistline. I pried the shimmering dress apart, breaking the series of slender threads that held it together. It split in half, opening like a golden theatre curtain, and fell off me to lie beside Cézanne’s corpse.
I turned the voluminous gown over to find the hooks Celia had sewn to the inside. The hooks served as tiny shelves, that held my tunic, trousers and cloak, which had been wound around the gown’s interior.
When it came to sewing, Celia was as ingenious as Pierre.
A woman started to sputter and scream from the ballroom. She must have seen the warping face of a Lycanthru as he started to change. I stepped into my trousers quickly, peering around the corner of the wall. The Queen’s guards had stepped forward to defend her, but stood in shock at the sight of Duke Laurent.
Red Rider Redemption (The Red Rider Saga Book 3) Page 15