An Affair of Poisons

by Addie Thorley

  He shoots to his feet. “This is an outrage! She’ll poison us. Or attack us with her wicked magic.”

  Marie squeals and shields her face.

  “Enough!” the bastard princeling shouts. “She isn’t going to harm anyone.” He glares at me, daring me to contradict him. “She’s here to help Anne and Franny.”

  “Be reasonable, Josse! You can’t honestly believe that,” Louis says.

  “I have to.” The bastard—named Josse, apparently—turns his back on the dauphin and sets the little girl down. He straightens her dress and tucks her mahogany hair behind her ear, his fingers surprisingly gentle as they skim across her cheek.

  “This is another one of your doomed and reckless plans,” Louis says in a dangerous voice. “And I won’t allow it.”

  Josse rounds on him. “Do you have a better suggestion? Shall we let the little ones die? Or perhaps you don’t care because we’re bastards.”

  When Louis fails to respond, Marie steps forward, wringing her hands through her grime-coated skirts. “Of course we don’t want the girls to die. It’s just …” She looks at me again and winces.

  I lift my chin and clench my fists. Can’t they see I’m trying to help?

  You haven’t always helped.

  The realization makes me retreat a step, and I’m suddenly unable to meet their eyes. Louis XIV wasn’t just a king. He was their father.

  And I killed him.

  Not intentionally. I couldn’t have known. I stab my nails into my palms to fend off the image of his bloated, foaming face. Then I blow out a breath and nod at the unconscious princess. “We should hurry… .”

  Marie closes her eyes and presses her fingers against her lids—the perfect, poised aristocrat—but as soon as I move toward the little girl, she darts around me and flings her slender body over her younger sister. “Please don’t hurt her.”

  My brows lift in shock. A full-blood sacrificing herself for a bastard. Marguerite wouldn’t do the same for me, and our blood is identical drop for drop. “Stop being ridiculous,” I bark to conceal my astonishment—and the thread of niggling guilt. “If you don’t let me work, the girl will die. I am not the risk here.”

  Not anymore.

  Marie blinks at me, and her tear-filled eyes scrutinize my every movement. It makes my skin prickle. “Fetch me a torch and a bowl,” I say, so she’ll stop staring like I’m inhuman. Something other. “Now!”

  Covering her shriek with the back of her hand, she scurries across the chamber and brings me a torch. Josse procures the bowl, and I make quick work of mixing the paste. They’ve clearly been meddling with my supplies. I had enough herbs for half a dozen doses, but now there’s only enough for the girls and maybe one more.

  “Your dagger,” I say to Josse in my most commanding voice.

  “Don’t!” Louis shouts. “She can’t be trusted with a weapon.” But Josse flips his blade around and offers me the handle. He keeps hold of the hilt a touch longer than necessary, his eyes glinting with warning.

  I yank the knife away, annoyed by his lack of confidence, and more so by how his worry leeches into me. My fingers tremble as I slather the ointment across the girl’s stomach. The blade slips when I press the tip to her flesh. I have done this only once before. What if it was luck? These girls have been deteriorating for weeks rather than minutes. What if it’s too late? What if I kill her?

  You will be a great alchemist one day—greater even than I.

  At the first sight of blood, Marie whimpers and clutches the small girl’s shoulders in a vise grip. Josse’s boots nudge up against my back. Even Louis falls silent and leans forward to watch.

  I swallow hard and hold my breath as the blood swirls with the thick gray ointment. When the girl’s color finally returns, I let out a sigh of relief. I want to leap and dance and shout for joy, but I keep my head. “Press her dress tightly over the wound and apply constant pressure.” I show Marie how to go about it. “And bring me the other girl.”

  My voice is stronger now. My hands steady.

  This is who I am, what I was born to do.

  I imagine Father sweeping me up in his arms and swinging me around the laboratory, as he did once long ago—the first time I correctly brewed a sleeping draught. The faint echo of his laughter rumbles in my ears as I repeat the process with the older girl, Françoise. But her treatment proves far more difficult. She squirms and kicks so violently, Josse has to pin her shoulders to the floor. I work as quickly as possible, and once both girls are bled and bandaged, I melt to the freezing ground. Despite the puddles and stench, I want to press my blazing face against the cold stone and sleep for days.

  Marie leans against a wall and fans her flushed cheeks, watching me with alternating expressions of awe and mistrust. Josse stalks across the chamber like a lion guarding its cubs. And Louis continues glaring at Josse, cursing and muttering under his breath. I am all too familiar with the hard set of his jaw and unabashed sneer; it’s the same bitter expression I’ve seen a hundred times on my own sister. Though I doubt these two share the morsels of friendship that make the intolerable stretches bearable. My sister and I may quarrel more than we get on, but it’s underscored by love—I think.

  What are you doing now, Margot? Is she worried for me? Did she beg Mother to negotiate with the royals on my behalf? Or is she relieved to be the only daughter of La Voisin?

  Eventually, Josse tires of pacing and eases down beside the girls. His devotion is mesmerizing: the way he adjusts his coat over their shivering bodies and smooths their ratted curls; how the tenderness on his face softens his sharp cheekbones and pursed lips. I study the thin layer of stubble on his chin, the way his dark hair flops into his eyes. He’s younger than I thought—perhaps a year or two older than I am—and handsome, I suppose, now that he isn’t threatening to kill me.

  “Do you like what you see, poisoner?” Louis’s nasally voice drones from across the chamber.

  I jolt and avert my gaze. “I haven’t a clue what you mean.”

  Louis’s laugh is harsh and tinny. “You’re practically devouring my bastard brother with your eyes. If you’d like, you can take him off our hands. He would be quite useful in your line of work, with all of his kitchen experience.”

  Josse grinds his teeth so hard the muscles near his temple jump. Marie glares at Louis. “Enough,” she snaps.

  “What?” Louis says. “Can I not speak the truth? He’s no prince. He’s a kitchen boy. Our father never approved of him, so I see no reason why I should.”

  Josse’s eyes flick up, full of fire. “I didn’t want the king’s approval. Though there’s no denying who he’d find more competent now. At least I’m trying! You just sit there and complain while the Shadow Society takes your city. Even the poisoner is more useful.” He flings a hand in my direction. I know he’s trying to cut Louis, but still I flinch, hating that word. Hating what I’ve done. Hating that no matter how many times I prove myself, I will never step out of Mother’s shadow.

  “You will regret those words, brother,” the dauphin spits out.

  Josse’s laugh is scornful and vicious. “What do you plan to do? Bind me with your silk ribbons? Batter me with your red-heeled slippers? Or, I know, smother me with your ratted wiglet?”

  Louis’s cheeks blaze and his mouth bobs open and closed. “I demand silence,” he stammers at last.

  “Gladly.” Josse stretches out on his back and slams his tricorne hat over his face. Marie curls into a ball on her side. I long to follow suit. My arms tremble like leaves and my eyelids flutter. Do not fall asleep, I command myself. There’s no telling what the royals will do to you. But Marie doesn’t seem so bad, merely overprotective. Louis would never risk touching unwashed vermin. And Josse fed me. He trusted me to heal his sisters. He promised to release me…

  Gray blotches cloud the edges of my vision. How long has it been since I’ve slept well? Days? Weeks? Darkness wraps around me, and I’m sinking, drowning. So unbearably heavy. I sag against the wall
and give in to the exhaustion. The royals may well kill me, but at least I tried to redeem myself. I proved who I am and where I stand with my final act. Satisfied, I drift out of consciousness with a tiny grin on my lips.

  I wake to a sound I haven’t heard in ages: Laughter. High and trilling and merry. I bolt upright, and my body screams in protest. A kink in my neck makes it near impossible to turn my head. I blink through the darkness, momentarily blinded as I wipe the sleep from my eyes.

  The little girls are sitting up. They have to clutch the wall for support, and the smaller one, Anne, is still frightfully pale—but they’re alive. And no longer speckled with awful green bumps. Josse kneels before them, telling them a story. He waves his hands above his head and tweaks Françoise’s nose. Her delighted squeal tugs at the corner of my lips.

  I’m so engrossed with watching them, I fail to hear Marie approach until she collapses beside me and takes my hands in hers. “Thank you,” she gushes. “A thousand times, thank you.”

  Josse turns at the sound of her voice. His smile is more radiant than the sun at midday, his eyes greener than the hills in summer. My chest constricts, and a funny tingling seeps through my core. After everything I’ve done, I never thought anyone would look on me with such hope and gratitude. Nor did I think they would hold my hands to their chest, wetting my fingers with tears the way Marie does now. I even catch Louis grinning in the corner, and a surge of emotion swells within me.

  “It worked,” Josse crows. He rushes over and smothers me in an embrace. I yelp with surprise, and the girls giggle. The sound fills my bones with warmth and strength and rightness. “You’re brilliant,” Josse continues. But his praise lands like a slap across my cheek, and my body goes rigid.

  I’m not the hero they think. I may have saved the little girls, but I still killed their father.

  Josse leans closer before releasing me, his lips at my ear. “I’ll see you safely home. I swear it.”

  I shuffle back a few steps. I have no desire to return to Mother and the Shadow Society. And it’s impossible, at any rate, thanks to their misbegotten ransom note. Even if I claimed I escaped, Mother knows I’ve been with the royals, which means she will expect me to lead the Shadow Society back to this hideout. She will slaughter these innocent children. Guilt twines tighter around my neck, and a foul taste fills my mouth.

  “No,” I whisper.

  Josse stares at me as if I just refused all the gold in the Sun King’s coffers. “But you said—”

  “I said I wanted freedom.”

  His green eyes blaze into mine. “I’ll find a way to keep my promise. Trust me.” Then he takes my arm and ushers me toward the girls. “What do you say to Mirabelle?”

  Mirabelle. Not poisoner. Not La Petite Voisin. Mirabelle.

  Françoise looks down shyly. “Thank you for healing me. I’m sorry I caused such a fuss.”

  “No need to apologize.” I offer her a hand to shake in truce, but little Anne pounces. She drags me to the floor and climbs onto my lap, nestling against my chest. I feel as if I’ve been kicked in the gut, only it doesn’t hurt, exactly. It’s more of a blooming, burning sensation. A rush of heat that dislodges my heart and presses it up into my throat. Slowly, and with extreme caution, I wrap one arm around Anne’s shoulders.

  “I’m glad you feel better,” I say, but my voice comes out hoarse. She squeezes tighter and I close my eyes, desperate to store this feeling, this wholeness, until the sharp clang of metal makes my eyelids fly open.

  I jerk away from Anne, Marie curses, and Josse leaps to his feet.

  “Unbelievable!” The police captain towers at the entrance of the sewer chamber, his sword vibrating at his feet.

  My stomach drops.

  Josse hasn’t time to keep his promise.

  It’s morning.

  And the officer has returned to kill me.

  10

  JOSSE

  “Would you care to explain why your sisters are embracing our prisoner?” Desgrez seethes.

  “It’s about time you arrived,” Louis interjects. “It’s an outrage. The bastard has—”

  “She healed the girls,” I cut in, patting Françoise’s head and flashing Desgrez a timid smile. Hoping it’s all the explanation he’ll need. Praying it will somehow change his mind.

  His face crumples—with rage, yes, but other, more unexpected emotions simmer beneath the surface. Hurt glistens in his eyes. Betrayal drips from his downturned lips.

  Which is so much worse.

  I loosen my collar, but I can’t catch my breath. My heart pounds so loudly, Madame Bissette can probably hear it from her pâtisserie. Slowly, Desgrez bends and retrieves his blade. When he straightens, his features are ironed into a steely expression. He adjusts his grip on the rapier and clenches his jaw. I have less than ten seconds to make a decision before Desgrez makes it for me.

  I accidentally look at Mirabelle and she stares back, her eyes as round as saucers. You promised, she screams without saying a word.

  Behind her, Françoise’s lip begins to tremble. Anne grasps for Mirabelle’s hand. I know what my father or his ministers would do: rip the promised freedom from her hands like the morsels of bread they pledged to the peasants. But that’s not who I want to be. I am a different sort of royal, and if I want the girls to follow suit, I must lead the way. Stand for something.

  Be strong, Josse.

  I blow out a breath, wipe my clammy palms down my breeches, and stride across the chamber to Desgrez. “Can we speak in private?”

  He scowls but allows me to hook my arm around his shoulders and lead him into the tunnel. It would be cleanest and easiest if I let him dispose of Mirabelle. Her people did murder my father—even though she claims innocence—and if I set her free, she could easily betray us to her mother. I must think of my sisters’ safety above all else.

  But my sisters wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for her.

  “Well?” Desgrez shoves me off as soon as we round the bend. “What could you possibly have to say?”

  “I’m sorry.” Then I kick out and slam my boot into his wrist. As his blade clatters to the ground, I smash my fist against his temple. A low whine leaks from his lips and he crumples to the wet stone floor. I cushion his fall as best I can. “I really am sorry,” I whisper before sprinting back the way we came. He’ll come around in minutes if we’re lucky. Seconds if we’re not.

  “We have to go now,” I shout as I burst back into the chamber.

  Louis clambers to his feet, his eyes wild. “Where is Captain Desgrez? What have you done now?”

  He tries to block my path, but I plow through him. “It doesn’t concern you.” I offer Mirabelle my hand and pull her up. “I hope you can run.”

  “Traitor!” Louis bellows. He retrieves his rapier from his small pile of belongings and levels it at me. His shoulders heave and sweat stipples his brow. The steel blade glints in the torchlight, the edges sharp and flashing. “You cannot set her free.”

  “Stand aside. I don’t have time to fight you,” I say, but we both know I couldn’t best him with a sword if I had all the time in the world.

  “Get back.” Louis flicks his wrist, and his blade whizzes past my cheek, pausing just below my chin. Anne and Françoise gasp, and Mirabelle shrinks behind me.

  I roar with frustration and reach for the dagger in my boot. It won’t do much good against his rapier, but Mirabelle and I can’t be in these tunnels when Desgrez wakes. He won’t hesitate to kill her, and he’ll make me wish I were dead. I’m about to lunge when something white streaks through my periphery. Marie dives into Louis with a bloodcurdling cry and they careen sideways, crashing into the stone wall. Louis groans and his rapier spins off into a puddle.

  “Go!” Marie gasps. “Get her out!”

  I gape at Madame Royale for half a second, then tighten my fingers around Mirabelle’s wrist and dash into the tunnels. We sprint blindly through the dark, chased by the echo of our boots. What have you done? The words pound i
n my ears. You betrayed your best friend. Endangered your sisters.

  Yet still I keep running, the rightness of my choice spurring me on. A life for a life. Three lives, if we’re truly keeping count.

  I emerge through the floor hatch into the pâtisserie, pull Mirabelle up behind me, and nod to Madame Bissette as we bolt for the door. But the old woman takes one look at Mirabelle’s sparse dress and lurches after us.

  “Oh no you don’t, you wicked, sneaking codpiece!” She drops the trapdoor and flour billows into the air. While I cough and stumble, she charges through the haze like a wolf through the snow. “What did I say about bringing whores to my shop?” She catches a strand of Mirabelle’s hair between her gnarled fingers and sniffs. “Filthy, stinking whore. If she brings lice or vermin …”

  I dig my elbow into Madame Bissette’s ample side and race out onto the rue Saint-Honoré. Her shrieks chase us down street after street until we reach the Place de Victoires and duck behind a chandler shop. It’s so early, the stores are dark and barred—not even the vendors are out with their carts. I release Mirabelle and hunch forward, hands on my knees. She leans against the wall, making noises halfway between sobs and laughter.

  The air up here smells of rain instead of pottage, and the cobbles are slick and glittery in the early-morning light. I breathe deeply through my nose until the tension in my shoulders slackens. “I can’t believe we made it,” I say.

  “I can’t believe you freed me.” Mirabelle’s dark eyes are wide with disbelief.

  “I promised I would.”

  “Yes, but …” She looks back the way we came, then at me, and eventually shrugs. “I suppose we’re even, princeling.”