“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, morekinglike,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 evenHispatience 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 saidwhat?” 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 nothers.
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 theslap, slap, slapof 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.
