The Mark of the King

by Jocelyn Green

  Fistfuls of silk grew damp in her hands as she held her gown above the ground and ran toward the steaming shadows of the swamp. Blackbirds exploded from a tree, peppering the sky with their flight. “Lily!” she called, heart in her throat. The far-off crackle of dead leaves amplified in her ears as she entered the shade. A snake? A possum? A child?

  A branch snagged her hair, for she’d left without bothering to cover it. Her pins came loose, and the curls that had topped her head tumbled free while mosquitoes needled her skin.

  There. Lily’s footprints had left a trail on the sand. Julianne chased them along the ridge—until suddenly they disappeared. Helplessly, she scanned between the trunks for some sign the girl had been here. Oh, Lily, where did you go? At her back, the sun was beginning to set. If Lily was lost here after dark, not even the moonlight would penetrate the canopy overhead to show her the way home. If home was where she wanted to go.

  Spider silk webbed Julianne’s nose and eyelashes. With a shudder, she swiped it away and wiped her fingers on her skirt. The deeper into the swamp she wandered, the more lost she felt herself, but as long as she could see light, she’d be able to find her way out again. She glanced over her shoulder to mark the sun’s rays and found them fading. Receding.

  Lost. The word scraped like a razor through her mind. Lily was missing. Benjamin was a traitor. Marc-Paul was in harm’s way. And she could do nothing about any of it.

  But there was someone who could.

  Twigs snapped beneath her feet as Julianne scrambled through the trees and headed straight for Pascal Dupree’s house. Though he was in Yazoo, his slave remained in New Orleans. She didn’t know where he lived with Pascal gone, but Pascal’s house was the first place she’d check. Her hair streamed behind her as she ran through the last of the light.

  Sharply, she rapped on Pascal’s front door. When Running Deer opened it, her knees nearly buckled with relief. “Running Deer!” she panted. “Lily’s gone. I need your help. Can you track her?”

  Pascal Dupree appeared behind the man, and Julianne gasped at the sight of him.

  “Happy to see me?” He lifted one side of his mouth in what might have been a smile, but his dimples remained hidden. The skin on the right side of his face had contracted, pulling his right eye open a little wider than his left. The scars were webbed and pale pink, a marked contrast to the tanned, smooth complexion just on the other side of his nose. “You’ll understand why I cannot say the same for you. I must say, the change of pace in Yazoo was invigorating. Nothing to get a man’s heart pumping like the threat of an arrow—or a musket ball—right through it.”

  “When did you—I didn’t know you were—” But she could scarcely breathe, let alone speak. And it didn’t matter when he’d returned. All that mattered was that he was here now, and so was she.

  “I’ve only come for Running Deer, if you can spare him.”

  “Please do come in. I insist.”

  “No. I need to find Lily.”

  “And what if I told you she’d already been found?”

  Hope flared. “Is she here? Is she all right?”

  “Please. Come and see her for yourself.”

  Julianne brushed past both men until she stood in the salon. “Lily?” She rounded on Pascal. “Where is she?”

  A small form appeared from the hallway.

  Julianne ran to her. In an instant, she was on her knees in front of the child, arms thrown around her.

  “I’m sorry, Madame!” Lily said in a rush. “I heard you crying, and I only wanted to find the man who made you sad! I wanted to track him to see what he was doing!”

  “Are you hurt?” Julianne smoothed the hair back from Lily’s face, her gaze quickly skimming from the girl’s head to her toes.

  Pascal laughed, then poured himself a cup of eau-de-vie. “She’s fine. A charming, talkative girl. She told me all about her mother, and you, and her dear Papa. Her French is coming along nicely.”

  Unease filled Julianne. She rose, taking Lily by the hand. “We’ll be going now.”

  “No, madame. You won’t.” Pascal set down his cup and motioned to Running Deer, who grabbed Lily by the arm and started to pull her away.

  “Where are you taking her?” Julianne cried out, lunging after them, but Pascal grabbed her by the waist and pulled her back.

  “I don’t want to go! I want to stay with Madame!” Lily screamed, arms and legs flailing, until Running Deer picked her up and carried her over his shoulder, absorbing the blows from her heels and fists with every step.

  Squirming out of Pascal’s grip, Julianne stumbled toward them, but she was too late. Running Deer and Lily had already gone, and Pascal dashed around her and to the door as soon as it closed. He locked it and pocketed the key.

  “You and I have a little business to attend.” His hot breath reeked of alcohol.

  “I have no business with you.”

  “I want her.” Pascal’s fingers dug into Julianne’s sides.

  “What?”

  “Lily. Name your price.”

  “She’s not for sale! You cannot have her!” Julianne grabbed his hands to uncurl his fingers, but he held her fast.

  “Think clearly now. I need a slave, now that Dancing Brook has left me. You are not likely to miss the child your husband sired with another woman.”

  “And you think Marc-Paul would agree to this arrangement?” He was mad. “Out of the question. Let go of me.” She twisted out of his hands and hastened to the other side of the room. “She is not a slave. She is not a servant. Lily is our daughter.”

  Pascal’s head dipped, his green eyes on Julianne, a predator crouching before its prey. “That’s your argument?”

  “Of course it is.”

  “What if she wasn’t? Your daughter, I mean. What if she was just someone else’s child that you were stuck with because your husband has a penchant for strays? What if she was . . .”

  Your child. Understanding crept like spider legs over her skin.

  With slow, fluid movements, Pascal neared her. Circled her. Stalked her. “I mean, really, what are the chances that on a single night of drunken indiscretion, Girard, the boy destined for the priesthood were it not for his father’s intervention, would have actually managed to impregnate Willow, when you’re still childless after nearly two years of marriage? Or is it unreasonable to assume he’s at least been trying with you?”

  “How dare you!” Her cheeks flamed red. The sand in her shoes ground into her feet as she backed away from him.

  Pascal moved closer, his eyes fixed on her in an unnerving stare. He clucked his tongue. “It’s a crime, really. You were purchased by the crown to settle the colony for France. Only you’re not holding up your end of the bargain. You’re barely midwifing anymore, and you haven’t produced a single baby to help populate the empire.”

  “You stay away from me.” Sweat filmed Julianne’s face, her neck. Her bodice stuck to her skin.

  “A baby of your own. Isn’t that all you really want?” He blocked her path to the door, pinning her against the wall. He turned his head in a way she suspected he’d practiced in the looking glass, so that all she saw was his unblemished side. “Everyone knows it. The women of the town—or at least the tavern—seem to think you’re cursed to a barren womb. Wouldn’t it be nice to prove them wrong?”

  She turned her face away from his sour breath. Pascal leaned into her. His lips brushed her ear as he whispered, “You’ll never be able to do that with your husband. And yet, if you did bear a child, he would surely love you more. Find you irresistible.” He nibbled her earlobe.

  “Stop.” Her throat was a desert. Her voice a mere croak.

  “For what man can resist a woman who swells with the fruit of his seed?” Pascal splayed his fingers over Julianne’s stomacher, and she knocked his hand away. Spit in his face. But fear stole the words from her mouth.

  With a grimace, he yanked a handful of her hair and used it to wipe his cheek. “You know, the wenches a
t the tavern don’t find me attractive anymore. Now I understand what it is to be judged by my skin. Like you. And I have you to thank for that.”

  Julianne swallowed. Her blood thrummed in her ears. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Was it a deliberate trap, or just the foolish method of a woman, that you loaded your gun before you had any plans to fire it?”

  Acid churned in her gut. Memory flashed to the night she’d awoken in her cabin to find her gun had vanished.

  “If it was deliberate, I give you marks for cleverness. You must have known anyone who stole it would have loaded it with his own ammunition. That it would explode in his face as soon as he pulled the trigger. The question I’ve been dying to ask, however—did you know it would be me?”

  Comprehension sliced through Julianne. “You took Simon’s gun on the hunt with Marc-Paul?”

  He shrugged. “I stashed it in the cache for a while, but I thought it vastly amusing to have the object of his search right under his nose. No one could have known it was Simon’s but me. There was nothing to distinguish his Fusil de Chasse from any other from the Company of the Indies. I never could have guessed that I’d burn half my face off while trying to defend Marc-Paul. That’s the thanks I get for my friendship.”

  Julianne’s mind whirred to keep up.

  “Ironic, isn’t it?” he was saying. “Now we are both marked. We share a bond in this commonality, especially given the fact that you caused my injuries. If revenge was your aim, for exposing you on the wooden horse, I’d say you overshot the mark.”

  She fought against the rising tide of panic in her chest. Pascal was out of his mind.

  “If you won’t give me Lily, I’ll have you instead—and you’ll thank me for it when you carry my child. So will Bienville. You’ll see.”

  “No!” A scream ripped from Julianne’s throat. She thrashed against him, but he caught her wrists and pinned them against the wall behind her. Ground his body against hers.

  She rammed her knee into his groin. He recoiled, just enough for her to wriggle free of his trap, and she lunged away, frantic to find Lily and escape.

  Pascal caught the hem of Julianne’s skirt and wrenched her backward. Threw her to the ground. Straddled her.

  Lily curled into a tight ball outside the house, while Running Deer stood guarding her. She rocked back and forth in the twilight shades of ocean blue. I am a shrimp, or a crab in its shell, swayed only by the current, she told herself. No one can see me. I am nothing worth seeing. I am invisible.

  Running Deer squatted before her. Cautiously, she peered over her knees at his glittering black eyes and wondered if he too would wrinkle his nose at the color of her skin.

  He didn’t.

  “I had a daughter,” he said. “White men took her while I was away. They made her their slave, I’m sure.”

  “Who?” Lily wanted to know. “Who took her? Did they give her back?”

  Running Deer gave a short jerk of his head, almost like a twitch. Lily guessed he meant no, she didn’t come back.

  “It is not your fault that a Frenchman took your mother to his bed. You did not ask to be born half in one world, half in another. You can only span the chasm so long before you fall in between.”

  Lily frowned with the effort of understanding his meaning. “What will happen to me?”

  Running Deer stared off into the night. “I wonder if my family would forgive me if they knew what I have become. I hate the French. And I hate the British. Monsieur Dupree, in a way, is both.” He sat beside her and held his tomahawk in his lap. With his thumb, he felt the blade. “Did you know that my people will often divide scalps into two and get paid from both sides for one head?”

  Lily shuddered and ducked her forehead back down onto her knees. Her hands covered her head to stop the tingling now crawling beneath her hair.

  “White men are cowards. They get red men to fight their battles for them. I weary of stirring violence among them when the natives grow too peaceful to bring the white men gain.”

  Lily didn’t understand any of this. But she heard Madame’s cry and understood that perfectly well. She twisted toward the sound, but Running Deer pulled her back down. “He’s hurting Madame. He’s hurting her! What will you do?”

  A long pause stretched out between them, and Lily tried not to ask her question again. She watched his long fingers slide over the broad side of his blade. Her gaze fell to her lap, and she picked at a stain between the pleats in her skirt. Wondered if Madame would ever be able to wash it free. But Madame was in trouble now, and Lily’s belly jumped up and down with every sound she heard.

  Finally, he said, “Are you good at hiding? If I help you find just the right place, could you keep silent all night long? Invisible?” Running Deer’s hand tightened over his weapon.

  Solemnly, Lily nodded. “I am a drop of water in the river.” No one would find her, even if they were looking right at her. “But—what about Madame?”

  Julianne’s spine dug into the floor as she writhed beneath Pascal. Oh God, not this! She cried out, but would anyone hear? She curled her fingers into claws and slashed at him.

  Enraged, Pascal struck her, banging her head against the floor. A hand-shaped burn scorched her cheek. Ache throbbed inside her skull.

  “You’ve done enough damage to my face, ma belle, wouldn’t you agree?” His hand cinched around her throat, squeezing ever tighter, siphoning the strength from her limbs.

  Darkness spotted the edges of Julianne’s vision. She was sinking. She fought to stay conscious.

  Pascal released his grip, and she labored to pull air through her windpipe. His half-burned face hung above her as his hands groped roughly over her curves. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t fight, couldn’t run. Bile rose in her throat as she felt the hem of her skirt rise higher, higher.

  Footsteps thundered across the room. “Leave her!” a voice boomed, and Pascal jerked in surprise.

  Julianne turned her head just as Benjamin slammed his fist into Pascal’s jaw, knocking him off-balance. Julianne rolled to her side, coughing, gasping for breath. Shock rippled over her as her brother helped her off the floor and over to an armchair. Hand to her throat, she crumpled onto the seat.

  Pushing himself up from his knees, Pascal touched the tip of his tongue to the blood trickling from his lip. “You fool.”

  Benjamin’s hand was hot upon Julianne’s shoulder. “You were never supposed to touch my sister.”

  “And she was never supposed to see us together. You reckless idiot. I was only having a bit of fun. No harm would have come to her. But now . . . we can’t let her go. You know that.”

  Disbelief coursed through her. She barely trusted her senses. With trembling hands, she pushed her hair aside and tucked it behind her ears.

  “She need not die,” Benjamin said.

  Pascal laughed. “And will you now tell me she will work for Britain? No, not her. She may be your blood, Chevalier, but she will not follow our suit.”

  “You two work together?” Julianne rasped.

  Pascal dropped into a chair and sighed. “Shall you explain, or shall I?”

  Benjamin flushed. He pierced Julianne with his gaze. “I was condemned to execution, as you know. Dupree here was tasked with carrying out the order. We worked out an arrangement. As you can see.”

  “Oh, you’ve left out all the good parts!” Pascal grimaced as he rubbed his jaw. “You should have seen your little brother beg for his life. Said he had a sister he loved so dearly, and that if he were to die, she’d have no other relation in the world. It was so pitiful, I own I was affected by it. But then, in a stroke of genius, he devised a plan. He could work for the British and send me a share of the profits for letting him live.”

  “What kind of work?” Julianne dared to ask.

  Pascal tented his fingers and looked at the ceiling. “Collecting intelligence and selling it to the British, stealing French supplies, inciting unrest among the French-allied na
tives . . . the usual.” He grinned, his bloodied lip garishly red.

  She leveled her gaze at her brother. “How could you? After living so long with Red Bird’s family and village?”

  “I hated soldiering. I saw no point in our being here, since France didn’t see fit to support us. When I tried to leave, it was the Chickasaw who aided my flight. Or tried to. And it was Red Bird who captured me and took me to Bienville. How could he have done that? He was like a brother to me! The Chickasaw and the British were only too happy to have me.”

  Pascal ran his hand over the smooth side of his face. “Now we must kill your sister, for she won’t stay silent. And never forget, Chevalier, when you weep for her loss, it was your doing tonight that killed her.”

  Surely Julianne’s ears deceived her. “You can’t mean—”

  Benjamin silenced her with a glare. “We leave tonight, if the men are ready to desert. Correct?”

  “They are. The time is now, while Bienville and the others are away. There will be no one to stop us.”

  “Is that why you were so adamant to know where Marc-Paul is?” Julianne ventured to guess. “To make sure you don’t cross paths during your flight?”

  Benjamin nodded, then angled toward Pascal. “We’ll take Julianne with us. She’ll never make it back to New Orleans on her own. She’ll be no danger to us in Carolina.”

  Julianne’s heart banged against her ribs. Her breath burned inside her swollen throat. Without looking overlong at the door, she rehearsed in her mind making a dash to escape. But where is Lily? She could not leave without her.

  Pascal regarded her with one raised eyebrow. Cocked his head. “That may be best. Running away while Marc-Paul’s on his mission—very tidy. And believable. Write a note, Julianne, so he doesn’t come looking when he finds you gone. I’ll send Running Deer to plant it.” Pascal looked at her as if he would flay the skin from her face to see her thoughts. “You will cooperate.”

  Julianne swallowed the rage that would have leapt out of her mouth if only given the chance.

  “I plan to take Lily too,” Pascal added with calm assurance. He pulled a knife from his boot and held it loosely, a casual threat. “So just say in your note that you’ve taken her with you.”