All of the king’s children, here in the sewer.
And I helped them.
I bite the inside of my cheek, harder and harder until warm, rusty blood slides down my throat. I’d scream if I could. Even if I wanted to return to the Louvre, it’s impossible now. Mother knows I’ve been with the royals. The only way she will welcome me back is if I lead her to this hideout. Or if I kill them myself and return to the Louvre bearing their heads on a platter. It would be my ticket, my sanctuary. With that one act, I would secure her throne, become her favorite daughter and a hero to the Shadow Society.
“We’re out of options. Out of time,” the boy I healed says. “I say we abandon this hellhole and seek refuge and allies in Savoy. Between the two of us, perhaps we can best the rebels at the blockades.”
“You honestly think we can battle a dozen guards?”
The boy flashes a cocky grin. “I am captain of the watch now.”
Of course he’s a police captain. Only an officer would be so cruel and calculating. The screams of his comrades near drove me to tears during the siege of the Louvre, but now I happily imagine Lesage’s smoke beasts tearing this deplorable boy into a million bits. Guilt slowly creeps in and I scold myself for entertaining such wicked thoughts.
The bastard princeling casts a sidelong glance down the tunnel. “Do you think the girls can make it that far? They can hardly sit upright.”
“What other choice do we have?”
“She could help them, how she helped you… .”
The officer rubs the back of his neck. “She made it perfectly clear she won’t help. I say we finish her off, dump her in the Seine, and leave at first light.”
“First light?” the princeling sputters. “We haven’t any supplies or transportation. And we can’t simply dump her in the river. She helped us; I won’t have her blood on my hands.”
“Better hers than ours.” The officer turns on his heel and knocks the princeling’s shoulder as he saunters down the tunnel. “Like you said, she’s half dead already. It will only be half our fault.”
I close my eyes and press against the jagged floor until pain blossoms across my forehead. If I do nothing, the royals will kill me at first light. If I return to the Louvre without their bodies in tow, Mother will do the same.
This is hopeless. Impossible.
Nothing is impossible. Father’s defiant voice pricks my memory. Think!
My heartbeat quickens. My thoughts whir. In an abstract way, my situation is similar to developing new compounds in the laboratory. All I have to do is run the calculations, find the proper ingredients, and make the circumstances combine to my benefit.
Alchemy in its purest form.
Here’s what I know: The bastard can’t afford to kill me. Not while his sisters need my antidote.
Letting out a breath, I drag myself up from the ground like a corpse rising from the dead. “Your plan will never work,” I say. “Not without my help.”
8
JOSSE
La Voisin’s daughter arrests me with those fathomless black eyes. Crimson blood trails from a scrape on her forehead and drips off her chin. It makes the hairs on my arms stand on end. “Y-you’re alive,” I stutter like a fool. “I thought—”
“Now that the horrid police captain is gone, perhaps we can speak reasonably, princeling.” She accentuates the title.
I cough and reel back. “How do you know—”
Her grin spreads wider. “You bound my hands, not my ears. Such a pity Anne and Françoise are unwell. Are the dauphin and the madame royale ailing as well? These foul accommodations can’t be helping matters.”
Indignation burns my cheeks, and I drag a hand through my hair. What I really want to do is shout. Or punch something. Why did I slip and say their names? Another costly mistake. The more I fidget and mutter, the more the girl smiles. I draw a deep breath and blow it out through my nose. Be calm.
“I’ve learned better than to negotiate with your kind.” I wave at the crumpled missive from her mother. “La Voisin doesn’t want you, which means you are useless.”
I turn on my heel, retrieve my hat from the floor, and slam it over my head. Rivulets of dirty water stream down my face and drench my coat. Fantastic. On top of everything, I’ll have a soggy, sleepless night.
“I’m not useless.” The girl’s ragged voice chases me down the tunnel. “They need me. Your sisters.”
“We need nothing from you,” I retort.
We both know it’s a lie.
“We’ll find treatment elsewhere,” I say.
“No. You won’t.”
“Yes. We will,” I bark at the girl. Mirabelle. But I’m not about to call her by name. Not if Desgrez is going to kill her in the morning. It’d be like naming the hen you plan to slaughter for supper. “The girls are strong. They can make it to Savoy.”
She shakes her head slowly. “An ordinary physician cannot help them, and they’ll never make it that far. None of you will.”
“How could you know that?”
“The blockades around Paris are warded by magic. No one enters or leaves the city without my mother’s consent.”
“Magic?” I yell, stomping back to where she lies.
She nods. “Lesage is behind it, so you can bet it is ironclad. And vicious.”
“You’re lying,” I say in a rush. “You’ll say anything to save your skin.”
“Why do you think the royal army has yet to storm the city and retake it?”
I groan and clench my fists, wanting to strangle someone—mostly myself.
“You’re the son of the king,” she continues, her voice silky and hypnotic. “You can do as you see fit. Release me, and I will help your sisters.”
“I am the bastard son of the king. I’m nobody.”
She rolls her eyes. “You have plenty of influence. And you’re a fool if you allow that pigheaded police captain to tell you what to do.”
“That pigheaded police captain is my best friend.”
“I pity you if he’s the best friend you can find. Your sisters deserve to live, and so do I. You owe me that, at least. Put your horrible friend out of your mind and find a way.”
There is no way. Can’t she see that? We’re all doomed.
I turn and trudge through the murky puddles, shouting an oath that chases me down the tunnel.
“The bread is stale,” Louis grumbles as soon as I enter our chamber. He picks at the crust and flings it into a puddle, where it’s instantly devoured by gray sludge.
Normally I can ignore his grousing, but not tonight. Not on top of everything else. I stomp to where he sits, propped against the wall with his ankles crossed, and pry the remaining bread from his fingers. It is stale—hard enough to chip a tooth—but even if it wasn’t, Louis would complain.
“My apologies,” I mutter. “I’ll remove this from your sight and tell Madame Bissette to prepare sugar comfits tomorrow.” Then under my breath I add, “We wouldn’t be stuck down here, eating this stale bread, if you had done your part during the procession.”
“How many times must I tell you? I tried to maneuver the cart to the pâtisserie, but the streets were impassable. I would have been crushed. The fault is not on me, but on your inadequate plan.”
I start to bite back at him, but the poisoner’s confession about the wards around the city stops my tongue. Louis may be right. The thought makes my stomach churn.
Shooting him a glare, I clip across the chamber, break the bread in two, and hand half to Marie. Usually she whispers in thanks and nibbles quietly, but now she bursts into tears. Of course.
“Where the devil is Desgrez?” I yell. I want to wring his neck for leaving me to deal with my siblings alone.
“He went above,” Marie stammers. “He said he needed a drink.”
“Don’t we all,” I grumble.
“How much longer must we eat these castoffs?” she continues. “When can we leave this place?” She looks at me with her wet blue eyes, and I h
aven’t patience for crying either. I take the bread back—she doesn’t even protest—and continue to Françoise and Anne, who are mercifully silent. They’re too weak to sit up, but they smile when I ease down beside them.
They take the bread eagerly, and Anne stuffs the entire piece into her mouth. Before she can swallow, her body heaves and crumbs spray across my lap. She deflates next to Françoise and disappears beneath their damp, colorless blanket.
“This is an outrage,” Louis cries. “You can’t expect me and Marie to eat nothing.”
“Too late,” I say with a cruel grin. “Stale bread is too far beneath you anyway. Think of it as a fast. You’ve always been so pious. What could be nobler, more Christlike, nay, more kinglike, than feeding homeless bastards? Father would be proud.”
Louis’s thin lips press into a line and he leans against the wall with a begrudging huff. Unlike me, he’s always been devout, attending daily mass with Father since the time he could walk. And, also unlike me, he cares what our dearly departed father would think.
He laces his fingers, closes his eyes, and begins praying. Aloud. His voice makes my skin crawl, but at least his complaints aren’t directed at me. Though I should probably apologize to God—I doubt even His patience is infinite enough to endure my half brother’s moaning.
When I glance back down at my two smallest sisters, my breath hitches. They’re almost unrecognizable, with hollow, sunken cheeks and skin so transparent that I can see each blue vein tracing up their arms. How has it come to this?
I run my fingers through their hair. Not long ago, it was thick and glossy, tied with ribbons and bows. Now it’s brittle and comes away in tangled clumps.
“Josse?” Françoise murmurs. Her fingers wrap around mine, so light you’d think she was a ghost. It kills me to think those same hands used to pick beans in the garden, and help Rixenda carry the wash, and yank my hair when she rode on my shoulders. A ferocious cough folds her in half, and her hand slips away.
“Why must you always leave us?” she asks in a wispy breath. “It’s so cold without you… .”
Briars wheedle beneath my skin and plunge into my heart. I would give anything to take their place, to take their pain. My eyes prickle, but I blink the tears away. The girls need me to be strong. “Hush, I’m here now.” I take off my doublet and drape it around her shoulders. “I never want to leave you, but I must find us passage out of Paris and get you to a doctor.”
She droops against me. “Louis says it’s hopeless. We’re all going to die here. Me and Anne first.”
“He said what?” Rage flashes through me, and I glare across the chamber at Louis, who’s still mumbling supplications in the corner. “You’re not going to die,” I promise. She looks at me with glazed blue eyes. Her lungs rattle with each shallow breath. “I won’t let you die.”
I think of La Voisin’s daughter down the tunnel. She can help them—I watched her save Desgrez’s life—but she’ll never agree.
“Tell us a story.” Françoise tugs on my shirt.
“All right. Which would you like? The one about the enchanted locket? Or the fairy queen’s horse?” I reach across Françoise to poke Anne. “I know that’s your favorite.”
Anne doesn’t respond. Frowning, I nudge her again. Harder. Her skin feels cold beneath her dress and she’s unnaturally still. Not coughing. Barely breathing.
Suddenly I can’t breathe either.
I surge to my feet. Françoise topples from my lap with a cry, but there’s no time to comfort her. I crouch beside my smallest sister. “Annie, wake up,” I say, prodding her gently. Her face lolls to the side like the limp, broken head of a flower. “Wake up!” I shake her harder. My voice sounds foreign in my ears, too high-pitched.
Louis stops praying. Marie screams and slaps a hand over her mouth.
“Don’t let her be dead,” Françoise wails, reaching for Anne’s hand. “Josse, don’t let her be dead! You promised.”
My gaze flies desperately around the chamber and lands on the pouch of supplies we took from La Voisin’s daughter. I’ve tried to recreate the curative several times now—it didn’t look so difficult when she healed Desgrez. But the paste always separates and smells wrong and I’m not about to cut my sisters open to test my work. I grit my teeth to keep from sobbing. My sisters’ salvation is within reach, but the ingredients are useless in my hands.
But not hers.
I scoop Anne up, retrieve the sack of alchemy supplies, and rush for the tunnel. Let Desgrez punish me. Let La Voisin find us and torture us in the end. Let me rot in Hell for lying to the girl and using her. I cannot sit back and watch Anne die.
“What are you doing?” Marie cries. “Desgrez said… .”
“I don’t give a piss what Desgrez said!”
Marie covers her face with her hands. Françoise continues shrieking. The color drains from Louis’s cheeks, and his eyes grow round with terror. “I won’t allow this! If you untie the poisoner, she’ll kill us all.”
Ignoring them, I brace Anne’s tiny body against my chest and sprint into the dark.
9
MIRABELLE
I’ve nearly drifted off to sleep when shouting erupts down the tunnel, followed by the slap, slap, slap of boots on stone. I bolt upright. Cool tendrils of fear trickle down my neck, and I shiver as I stare into the blackness. The bastard prince is coming to kill me—or the officer, more like. Why wait until morning? The only thing my reckless negotiating bought me was a few less hours of life.
The steps grow louder. Nearer.
Move, Mira.
I thrash against my bonds, but the ropes cut deeper into my wrists. Thankless, rutting royals! Healing the police captain should’ve convinced them that the Shadow Society isn’t wholly wicked—that some of us are still reasonable and capable of incredible, lifesaving innovation.
Serves you right for betraying us, Mother hisses.
A frustrated scream burbles up my throat, but I’m not sure who I’m screaming at: Mother for being right, the royals for being heartless, or myself for being so stupid.
“You! Girl!” The bastard’s voice echoes around the corner, gruff and strained and manic. A second later, he materializes through the shadows and barrels toward me like a bull. I’m sure the loathsome officer isn’t far behind. Wild with panic, I press myself against the dripping wall and will the rocks to swallow me. I tense every muscle, waiting for a blow to the head or a sword through the ribs, but I feel a whoosh of air instead. The boy drops to his knees beside me, carrying a limp sack of something.
No.
Someone.
“Heal her,” he begs.
I blink at him. Mold must’ve sprouted in my ears. Or perhaps they’ve frozen shut.
“Please.” He chokes. In the low light, I can just make out the tears coursing down his face and the shape in his arms—a small girl. Sallow and thin. So very, very still.
“You didn’t come to kill me?” I whisper.
“You said you can save her.” He fights to keep his voice steady, but his shoulders lurch and he buries his face in the scraps of the little girl’s dress. “Do it. I’ll give you whatever you want.”
I purse my lips and wait until he meets my gaze. “You know what I want.”
The bastard swallows hard but nods. “I’ll let you go, I swear it. Just help her. Quickly.”
He’s lying. Mother’s voice cracks like a whip. You know he cannot set you free. Don’t let one pitiful girl cloud your judgment and threaten all we have accomplished.
And what exactly have we accomplished? I want to shout back at her. How is executing our opposition and reigning with an iron fist any better than the Sun King forsaking the peasants?
I look down at the girl and finger the satin hem of her dress. She wasn’t a willing party to any of this—she was caught in the crosshairs. Like myself. We are all cannon fodder in our parents’ war.
Mother’s voice grows louder and more frantic: If they live, the nobles will continue to rise again
st us. But I clench my teeth and banish her from my mind. I’m through dancing like a puppet at the end of the Society’s strings. They refused to negotiate for my life. And barred me from the laboratory. I owe them nothing. I would rather cling to the original goal of the Shadow Society and rely upon my healing concoctions—hold fast to my convictions like Father—than be poisoned by power and ambition like Mother.
“Cut the ropes,” I say. “We haven’t much time.”
With a strangled gasp of thanks, the princeling lays the girl on the floor and severs my bonds. At first, my arms refuse to move. After being bound for so many days, they’re creaky and stiff, and my shoulders are on fire. I grit my teeth and wrench them forward, shouting a stream of curses that would put even Fernand to shame. Then I crawl through a puddle to where the little girl lies. She’s breathing, only just.
“Right, then—I can work here, but I’d prefer better lighting and drier floors.”
The bastard looks from his sister to me and then down the tunnel, biting his lip into a pulp.
I huff out an exasperated breath. “The longer you waste mistrusting me, the worse she gets. I am not your enemy. I knew nothing about the attack on Versailles, I helped you escape Lesage’s beasts, and I healed the police captain when I should have killed him.”
He looks at me, actually looks me in the eye for the first time in days, then lifts the girl and motions with his head for me to follow. Neither of us speaks as we wind through the pitch dark. It takes all of my concentration to navigate the slime-covered floor thanks to my bleary eyes and weak, aching muscles. Sweat dribbles down my cheeks, but I welcome the wetness. It means my fever has broken.
We round several corners and ascend into a chamber lit with flickering torches. As soon as I duck through the grate, the quiet clip of conversation ceases and three pairs of blue eyes lock on my frame. I nod at each of them, but the royals don’t return my greeting. Madame Royale, who looks to be my age, regards me like the walking plague, scrunching her nose and narrowing her eyes. The girl beside her, a slightly older replica of the one in Josse’s arms, dives behind her older sister’s skirts, while the dauphin sits in the farthest corner, his blond wiglet dangling in his piqued face, his arms crossed over his blue and gold doublet.
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