An Affair of Poisons

by Addie Thorley

  Every molecule of air drains from my lungs. I’m going to murder Louis. I should have known he’d pull something like this. Should have planned for it. We shouldn’t have included him at all. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Tears sting my eyes, and vomit burns my throat. It was all for nothing. All of this carnage. I turn a frantic circle and trip over my feet. Desgrez steadies me, spitting even blacker profanities. Precious seconds tick away. The Shadow Society’s boots sing across the cobbles. The heat from the smoke beasts grows closer and warmer. A strike of lightning levels a laundress shop across the street.

  “Still think I should show His Royal Highness a little respect?” I growl. Then I take off in the opposite direction, as fast as my exhausted body will allow. If escape is out of the question, we must keep the Shadow Society away from the hidden sewer entrance. Far away.

  We run. Down one alleyway after another. My legs turn to feathers and everything is on fire: my muscles, my watering eyes, my burning lungs. The broken cobbles jut from the ground like pikes, biting my ankles and threatening to bring me to my knees. A few steps more and we’ll reach the Pont Neuf. We can cross the stone bridge and take cover in the overcrowded Île de la Cité, with its countless houses and chapels and narrow, twisting streets.

  We are steps away from safety, and I’m so grateful I’m practically weeping, when a shadow moves beneath the bridge. An enormous shadow. Desgrez and I barely have time to stop before a dragon made of smoke rears up from the Seine and slithers across our path. It’s taller than a two-story building, with orange and yellow scales that flare like sparks. Its colossal head and long, pointed snout remind me of a crocodile, and the heat of its breath is so intense, my skin bubbles like candle wax.

  “Move!” Desgrez shouts as fire pours from the serpent’s teeth. He grabs my tunic and yanks me back, saving me from the worst of the blaze. I gape at the cobbles—charred black where I stood just seconds before.

  While I stand there reeling, Desgrez springs to action like the captain he pretends to be. “You go right and sneak across the bridge. I’ll draw it left.” He sprints away before I can stop him and slashes his blade across the dragon’s hind leg.

  Inky blood oozes from the cut; the creature growls and turns fully on Desgrez. He waves for me to run, but my feet are cemented to the cobbles. Only a rutting coward would leave him to face this monster alone. I can’t bear to lose him, too. I crouch to extract the dagger from my boot, and in that split second a flash of green crackles overhead, so close it would have slammed into my chest had I been standing.

  I whip around and shout at Desgrez, “Get down!”

  The smoke beast rolls sideways and contorts its long neck, but Desgrez is not so quick. The green fire hits him square in the gut. His eyes go wide and his breath wheezes out in a grunt. Ropes of electricity snake up and down his torso, and he strikes the ground like a felled tree.

  Blood rushes in my ears. My feet tingle as I stumble to where he lies. His skin is cold and chalky, and his face is frozen in a scream. “Don’t be dead, you bastard,” I whisper, holding my fingers to his neck. I heave a sigh when I feel a faint, fluttering heartbeat.

  But my relief is short-lived. Orange sparks flash in my periphery.

  The smoke beast rears above us.

  A vicious calm settles over me, same as when I gutted the intruder in the dauphin’s apartments. I don’t think; I just move, prying Desgrez’s rapier from his fist and swinging to face the creature. If I must die, let it be defending my friend—in the name of my sisters.

  The dragon rears up on its hind legs. I bellow and charge forward. Seconds before we collide, another bolt of lightning whizzes past my head. I flatten against the ground. Once again, the creature dodges too, twisting to avoid the flame.

  The beast quickly regains its feet and turns on me with a hiss. Instead of hefting Desgrez’s sword, I glance up at the bolts of aqua lightning smashing into the ground like hailstones. Then down at the rubble from the obliterated shops. The smoke beast lowers its head and opens its jaw. I roll and grab a ragged slab of tin roofing. But instead of using it as a shield, I dive to the left—directly into the path of a green lightning bolt.

  The force slams me into the muddy ground and pain jolts up my spine, but I manage to keep the scrap raised. The lightning rebounds off the metal and smashes into the smoke beast’s belly. It’s yellow, feline eyes widen, and a second later it explodes into millions of tiny ashes that glow as they flutter through the sky.

  I sit there, stunned and gasping. I killed the creature. But the pit in my stomach still feels deep enough to drown in. If the lightning is powerful enough to kill Lesage’s monsters, Desgrez and my sisters are doomed.

  Don’t think like that. They’re still alive, which means there’s still a chance.

  I stagger back to where Desgrez lies, grip him beneath the arms, and drag him onto the Pont Neuf. The man is heavier than an ox. I barely manage a hand’s breadth with each tug. Ribbons of aqua lightning continue to fly back and forth beneath the clouds, striking all around us. Chunks of rock and mortar whir through the air like throwing knives.

  There’s no way I can carry him. Not fast enough to outrun Lesage’s magic.

  “I’m sorry,” I choke out, thinking of all the fights he picked on my behalf, of all the nights he went without sleep, teaching me how to toss a dagger and throw a punch. He’s the brother I never had, and even though he’s barely three years older, he’s far braver and more capable than I’ll ever be.

  If our roles were reversed, Desgrez would find a way—get us to safety. The least I can do is continue trying until the smoke beasts devour us or Lesage buries us in a coffin of verdant flame. I steady my grip and brace my arms to tug again, but something rustles behind us.

  I spin and draw the rapier, ready to slaughter whoever—or whatever—stands between us and freedom, but my hand falters.

  It’s a girl.

  A lone girl, wearing an oversized purple Shadow Society cloak. If she’s supposed to be guarding the bridge, she’s doing a piss-poor job of it—leaning against the wall and wheezing. Her face is haunted, and she looks from Desgrez’s stiff, glowing body to the colorful streaks of light exploding overhead.

  “Move!” I yell. Another smoke creature with a blunt snout and massive curling horns has drifted dangerously close; the gray water of the Seine boils and pops beneath the bridge. Scalding steam ripples through the chilly spring air.

  “You’ll never outrun them,” she whispers.

  “I’m sure as hell going to try.” Green ash flutters down, kissing our cloaks with a hiss. The beast’s growls shake the struts of the bridge.

  She bites down on her lower lip and looks back across the bubbling river—at the ghostly Louvre, at the fire and lightning and chaos. “He’ll die without treatment.”

  “Where do you think I’m going?”

  “Not the kind of treatment you can give. Not against Lesage’s magic.”

  Lightning strikes less than a length behind me. Fragments of stone explode into the air, strafing my arms and hat. Her eyes widen and she retreats. At last. But when I move to go around her, she grits her teeth, tucks her frizzy hair behind her ear, and rushes toward me.

  I fumble with my weapon, but she brushes past me and lifts Desgrez’s legs. The rapier falls to my side. “What are you doing?”

  “Getting us across the bridge and into the nearest alleyway.”

  “What?”

  “Move unless you want to be scorched!”

  It feels like a trap, but her voice is so fierce and her gaze so intense, I sheath the blade and lift Desgrez by the armpits. Then we scramble across the bridge into the muddy, cramped passages of the Île de la Cité.

  We slink along, unnoticed—with so many injured, it isn’t even strange to be carrying a body—until we reach a tiny chapel, half hidden by larger edifices. The girl nods to enter. I’ve never been the religious type, and Desgrez would sooner die than have a member of the Shadow Society pray for his soul, but we have
n’t a better option. The larger churches are sure to be occupied by priests.

  I squint at the sudden dark as we fumble into the nave and trip on a wayward hymnal. The girl gestures to one of the benches, and we carefully lay Desgrez out. His body glows unnaturally beneath the gothic archways and unlit niches.

  The girl reaches into her bodice and extracts a small leather pouch from between her breasts.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “We need to work quickly,” she says, readjusting her bodice, though it doesn’t help. She’s a breath away from spilling out. She rips the sack open with her teeth and dumps the contents onto the bench. “I need fire, a bowl, and your blade.”

  A hysterical laugh bubbles up my throat. “You can’t expect me to hand over my weapon.”

  “I am trying to help you.”

  “Why?”

  Her small frame flinches and her voice is tight when she speaks. “That out there, it isn’t what we do. Or, it wasn’t.”

  All the comebacks I’d been planning stick to my throat. “I don’t understand… .”

  “You don’t need to understand.” She motions to Desgrez, whose skin has turned a sickly shade of green. Twice as green as the blotches marring Anne and Françoise. “Do you wish to save him or not? He hasn’t much time.”

  I look at Desgrez’s wan face, his shriveled, sunken chest. “What is it?”

  “A form of alchemical magic called désintégrer. The fire bolts liquefy victims from the inside out. So every second you waste doubting me, your friend’s liver decays, his heart withers, and his bones dissolve into ash.”

  Vomit rises up my throat. His bones will dissolve into ash? Swallowing hard, I dash behind the wall of icons surrounding the sanctuary. With a complete lack of reverence, I rummage around until I find a collection plate and a sermon to use as kindling. Then I nick the sanctuary lamp and a piece of flint, hoping God won’t strike me down, and rush back to Desgrez.

  I arrange the papers in a cluster and light them with the torch. The girl situates the collection plate over the heat and squeezes a foul-smelling paste and a pinch of herbs into the bowl. As she stirs the mixture with one hand, she returns the pouch to her dress with the other.

  When she clears her throat, I realize I’m staring directly at her breasts. Again. Heat singes my cheeks, and I tug at my collar as I kneel beside Desgrez. The girl tears open his shirt and slathers the ointment across his concave chest. The paste is light gray and smells worse than the sewers, which I didn’t think was possible. I cover my nose. “What is that?”

  “Periwinkle and ambergris,” she says, watching Desgrez’s chest rise and fall. She stands, blows the curls away from her face, and kneads the mixture more forcefully into his skin.

  “And you conveniently happened to have it on hand?”

  “Yes. It’s my fault Lesage can conjure désintégrer, so I developed an antidote.”

  “Antidote,” I jeer. “What do you know of healing?”

  The girl’s hands still and she glares at me with so much loathing, I swallow my laughter and lean away. “You’d best hope I know a lot, monsieur, if you want your friend to live. Now your blade, if you’d be so kind.” She holds out her hand.

  I unsheathe the rapier but cannot bring myself to surrender it.

  “If I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead. And if you want him to live, you’ll give me what I need.” She seizes the sword with a grunt, then after adding a bit more ointment to Desgrez’s chest, she places the tip of the blade directly beneath his breastbone. I grip the bench and try not to say anything, but a choked squeal rushes from my lips when she applies pressure. Blood seeps around the blade, running deeper and darker.

  “Are you sure this will work?” I ask when the pool below his chest is nearly black.

  The girl nods, but her expression wilts with every passing second. “It—it should. I checked my calculations dozens of times… .”

  “You mean you’ve never done this before?” I’m about to shove her aside when Desgrez’s face breaks from its frozen mold. He vomits over the side of the bench, and the girl releases the rapier. It clatters to the stone floor, the sound echoing around the chapel.

  Desgrez twitches and howls with pain, but the green tinge is already fading and the pits and hollows in his chest slowly rise and reform. The blood from the knife wound clots as it mixes with the foul-smelling paste.

  It worked. The girl’s antidote worked!

  Relief douses me like a bucket of ice-cold water, and I laugh as I reach for Desgrez’s hand. He squeezes back, and hope takes flight in my chest, soaring up to the carved stone angels keeping watch from the rafters. If she healed Desgrez, perhaps she can heal Anne and Françoise. I turn, ready to toss the girl over my shoulder and make for the sewer, when Desgrez moans and coughs up another mouthful of dreck.

  First things first.

  He attempts to sit, but his arms quiver and his eyes roll back. “I feel like death.”

  “You look like it too.” I laugh, gently easing his shoulders back down to the bench.

  Desgrez waves away the slight and mumbles that he’s still better-looking than I am. We sit for several minutes in silence while he regains his breath. Slowly, his glassy eyes rove from the niches in the north aisle, across the garish yellow and crimson nave, and slam to a halt on the girl. He squints at her for a long moment, then his eyes bulge. He grips me by the collar and pulls me close. “What is she doing here?”

  “You need to stay calm. She only just healed you.”

  “Healed me?” Desgrez’s hands fly to inspect his face and torso. He winces at the knife wound. “It doesn’t feel like she healed me.”

  “Well, she did. When you were hit on the Pont Neuf, she helped me carry you here and brought you back to life.”

  “You expect me to believe that?” He glares at the girl, and the girl glares back. It’s like watching the cocks circle each other before a fight, and I position myself strategically between them.

  “It’s the truth. I saw it myself.”

  “Fine.” He waves a hand at her. “She saved me. But I cannot comprehend what she’s still doing here.”

  I stare at my friend, my frustration rising like the smoke from the collection plate. She can help the girls, I want to say. But I know better than to mention them in front of a member of the Shadow Society—no matter how helpful she’s been. “I couldn’t turn her out,” I say stiffly. “The streets are still a riot.”

  “You could have and you should have. Do you know who she is?”

  “I know she’s one of them, but—”

  “She isn’t just one of them. That is La Voisin’s daughter. I fought against her in the battle at the Louvre.”

  I wheel around and stare at the girl. In the lengthening shadows, she looks far more sinister than she did on the bridge, with those slashing brows and dark eyes. Black as tar. Black as Hell itself. Nausea grips my belly, and I have to steady myself on a bench.

  “That was my sister,” the girl says. “I didn’t fight.”

  “Yes, I’m sure you’re entirely innocent,” Desgrez snaps. “I know the true nature of your black heart. Be gone! Run back to your mother.”

  The girl glowers at Desgrez. “Are you really so thankless?”

  “Yes,” he says without hesitation.

  “Fine.” She skulks to the door and throws it wide. A breeze rips through the chapel, scattering the singed papers, and a chorus of screams reverberates off the archways and frescos. La Voisin’s daughter hesitates, sucking in a shaky breath and gathering the purple cloak around her. An unexpected twinge of sympathy shudders through me. A rush of gratitude.

  “You don’t have to go out there,” I tell her, glaring at Desgrez. I jog to the door and close it with a decisive thud. “We can all sit civilly until the danger passes.”

  Desgrez groans and clutches his head. “If she so much as looks in my direction …”

  “I should have let you die,” the girl snips. She turns on her h
eel, marches to the front of the church, and sits down hard behind the pulpit, completely out of view.

  Desgrez eyes the space. When she doesn’t reemerge, he waves me over to his bench and yanks me down so we’re face to face. “We have to kill her.”

  “But she can help the girls.”

  “We can’t take her anywhere near the sewer. She’s recognized us. That’s the only reason she would heal me—to win our trust so she can lead the Shadow Society to your sisters and Louis.”

  I roll my eyes. “You’re the son of a tutor and I’m a servant. No one would recognize us.”

  “Are you certain? Lesage certainly performed often enough to recognize all of the king’s children. And who knows how many spies they had within the palace.”

  I try to tamp down my fear, but it bubbles and swells, coursing through me like frothy, crashing waves. I want to slap myself for being so daft, for not seeing their plot sooner. I’m always making the wrong choice: reading those illegal broadsides, failing to protect my sisters, putting thousands of people in danger today. And now this.

  “So what do we do?” I ask.

  Desgrez parts his lips, but the girl rises from behind the pulpit and I leap back. Which only makes us look more suspicious. She frowns and perches on a bench at the front of the nave, hugging her knees to her chest, helpless and shivering like a kitten in the gutter. She may look small and innocent, but Desgrez is undoubtedly right. She cannot be trusted. Her family is responsible for murdering half of the nobility. My father and the queen included.

  But she’s my sisters’ best chance at survival.

  Their only chance.

  Desgrez shoots me a look and nods toward his rapier. I make the mistake of peering at the girl again—so peaceful, with her eyes closed and her lips parted—and my muscles seize.

  With a vexed look, Desgrez staggers to his feet and retrieves his blade from the floor.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” I demand.

  “Simply apologizing for my boorish behavior.” He makes a show of sheathing the rapier, then hobbles closer to the girl. She bolts upright.