“I’ll ready my bags.”
Chapter 22
The trip to the capitolwas long and arduous.
Coming to find me, the king’s men had traveled to Alletois as swiftly as possible, bringing only their stallions. They chafed when I suggested using my wagon to transport my trunks of medicines and supplies, certain it would slow the journey to a snail’s pace. I told them I would not leave without my supplies, or without Cosmos, and now he rode in the back of the wagon, whining at each bump in the road.
Without a horse of my own, I had to ride with the muttonchopped captain—I’d learned his name was Marc-André—and held on to his waist for dear life as we raced toward Châtellerault, scattering any villagers foolish enough to step out in front of the cavalcade.
“I’ve never been to the capitol,” I’d admitted to Marc-André at the start of the ride. “What should I expect?”
He let out a huff of air that I guessed was meant to be a laugh. “It’s a far sight grander than this.” He gestured to the farm we were passing and I dared a glance at the orchards, wondering if I might catch sight of the LeComptes out working.
But it was not Kieron’s family I spotted….
Five figures stood in a clump between the rows of apple trees, their wraithlike figures marring the otherwise lovely landscape.
Mama’s hair had turned into a curtain of filth hanging far longer down her back than it ever had in life. The last of Papa’s face had finally fallen off, leaving only a greasy residue of gray tendons and muscle covering his skull.
My heart stopped as I noted the newest member of the gruesome brigade, the one with a flap of skin hanging loose at the back of his head. It blew back and forth in the breeze like the last leaf of autumn, too stubborn to let go of its tree.
Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look,my thoughts raced, repeating in time with the stallion’s galloping hooves.
But I couldn’t help myself, and I saw the exact moment that he sensed me. A mild jolt surged through his body and he began to turn, turn, turn, slower than he ever would have while alive. One of his legs had already begun to decompose and he favored the spindly femur, leaning so heavily to the side, he teetered like an off-kiltertop.
Before I had the chance to see Kieron’s face, to see the milky white eyes winking in the light like cursed marbles, Marc-André followed the curve of the lane and I lost sight of my ghosts.
“Don’t you think?” the captain asked, breaking into my thoughts, and I could tell by his tone it was not the first time he’d asked.
“Of course,” I replied quickly, unsure of what I was agreeing to. I needed to push the image of my tormentors from my mind and focus on what was actually happening in the present. My years in the Between had been blessedly free of my ghosts’ staggering, and I’d forgotten how draining their presence was, a constant weight and worry.
I wasn’t certain how far the capitol was from Alletois, but itwould take them days to creep toward it. No matter what was going on with the king and this new disease, I could be ready for them when they finally arrived.
“What about the rest of the royal family?” I asked, trying to center myself back in the conversation. “The children. The queen. How are they faring?”
Marc-André shot a curious glance at me over his shoulder. “The queen?” He snorted. “Just how long did you say you were gone for,girl?”
Try as I might, I could not get the image of the back of Kieron’s head from my mind. He’d been just about to face me. What would have happened when he had?
“I…” I hesitated. “It was a rather long trip.” I tried to offer a smile to smooth over whatever mess I’d unwittingly walked into.
“I daresay,” he said, and clicked at his horse. “The queen has been dead for nearly a year.”
“She’s dead?” I exclaimed, so surprised that every trace of ghosts left my mind. “How? When?”
“Bad riding accident. One of her lady’s maids found her, thrown from her mount. It was”—he paused, musing—“about ten months ago, I’d guess.” He nodded to himself.
“How awful.”
“The little princess took it the hardest,” he went on, discussing the Marnaignes’ great tragedy with all the casualness of pondering the weather. “She was only six when it happened. Didn’t understand what was going on, didn’t know why her mother didn’t come home.”
“Euphemia, isn’t it?” Bursts of pink confetti had rained down in every village square in the kingdom as servants unloaded casks of wine gifted from the royal cellar to celebrate the girl’s birth.
He grunted his assent. “I was on guard duty within the palace then.” Marc-André shook his head and a shudder raced through him. “I still remember the howls coming from her chambers. Terrible, terrible thing.”
I nodded. “Are any of them sick now?”
He shrugged. “Could be, for all I know. The king’s valet holds on to every scrap of information tighter than a miser clings to his purse. I was only told to get you. So here we are.”
