“It couldn’t be worse than my first attempt.” She flashes a strained smile. “That’s not what I was thanking you for, anyway—at least not only that. Thank you for coming when I ran after the smoke beast. I would have died had you and Desgrez not followed.”
She waits for me to say something, but I didn’t make a conscious decision to follow her. My feet just carried me down the steps as if an invisible cord was tied around her waist and the other end was wrapped around mine. I’m not about to tell her that, though, so I mumble unintelligibly and return to spooning the antipoison into phials.
“Why did you come after me?” she presses, looking at me with those big black eyes. “You could have let me die and had your vengeance.”
I pound the phial down harder than necessary, partially to fend her off and partially to harden my focus. “You may be a liar, but aligning with you is still my sisters’ best shot at freedom. And our only chance of reclaiming the city from the Shadow Society.”
Mirabelle gives a tight nod and bustles behind the counter, biting her lips to conceal their slight trembling. I want to ignore it, Icommandmyself to ignore it, but it’s so pitiable and heartbreaking, words spew from my lips. “And I suppose a small part of me might understand why you withheld the truth.”
Her knife clatters to the table, and she peers at me from beneath her messy curls, the brown turned to gold in the candlelight. “You do?”
I sigh and scrub my hand over my face. It would’ve been so easy for the common people to blame me for my father’s negligence, but they were willing to hear me out and judge me by my own merit. Doesn’t Mirabelle deserve the same?
“We were both blind,” I say slowly. “You may have brewed the poison, but you had no way of knowing how your mother planned to use it. You were doing what you thought was right. If I condemned you for that, I’d have to condemn myself too. IknewI was acting like a wretched miscreant. Itriedto cause as much mayhem as possible. If I’d spent a little less time raising hell and a little more time educating myself on important matters, trying to be the prince the people needed, perhaps I would have seen how terribly my father was failing them. Perhaps none of this would have happened.”
“This situation is bigger than any one person,” Mirabelle says. “And you’re no wretched miscreant. A hoodlum, certainly. And a scoundrel, definitely. But not wholly wretched.” She gently knocks my shoulder, and our sides press together. To my astonishment, I don’t lean away. Neither does she. We shiver there beside each other for a breath of a moment before the millinery door slams open.
Mirabelle yelps and stiffens. I turn, the spoon still in my fist, expecting to see Gavril returning with additional demands, but it’s Mirabelle’s assistant from the Louvre.
The one who doesn’t know I exist.
“Gris!” Mirabelle’s voice is an entire octave higher than normal. “What a pleasant surprise. I thought I’d have to wait another two nights to see your smiling face.”
Which is the wrong thing to say, since the expression on his face is hardly a smile. His lips are curled back so far that he resembles a growling dog. And his brows crumple as his gaze darts between Mirabelle and me, as if he can see tiny, invisible threads connecting us from every place we’ve touched. He tightens his grip on his leather satchel, and his knuckles shine like bone.
“Who’s this?” Gris says, looking me up and down. “I didn’t realize you’d recruited additional help.” The way he growls the wordhelpmakes it perfectly clear the sort ofhelphe thinks I’m providing.
I set the spoon on the counter, don my most innocent smile, and wipe my hands on my tunic before offering one to Gris. “Pleasure to finally meet you. Mirabelle speaks of you constantly. I’m Jo—”
“Just a blacksmith’s apprentice,” Mirabelle interrupts. She brushes past me, links her arm through Gris’s, and pulls him into the shop—decidedly away from me. “One of the pots cracked, and he came to repair it.”
“What’s he still doing here?” Gris asks. “He doesn’t seem to be fixing anything. He didn’t even bring tools.”
“Oh, he fixed the pot days ago. Turns out he knows a thing or two about alchemy and offered to help me,” Mirabelle says with a forced laugh, compulsively tucking the same wayward curl behind her ear.
Gris glowers down at her. “You’re lying. You’re doing that thing with your hair. The question is,whyare you lying?” He glances to me.
“Don’t blame her,” I say. “It’s a common problem. Most people are embarrassed to be seen with me. I’m Josse de Bourbon.”
“Bastardson of the king,” Mirabelle cuts in, emphasizing my title—or lack thereof.
“I know who he is,” Gris mutters. “But I still don’t understand what he’s doing here. I’m happy to helpyou,Mira, but this … I was under the impression he was dead. And what’s allthat?” The color drains from his face as he finally looks beyond Mirabelle at the carcass of the smoke beast splayed across the table. “Is that one of Lesage’s creatures?” He stumbles back, shaking his head. “What are you really up to?” He shoots another look at me. As if I somehow forced her into all of this.
“I’m only healing, as I told you,” Mirabelle says quickly. “And Josse is assisting me.”
“Why would a royal do that?”
Mirabelle shoots me a look that says she’ll toss me into one of her pots and boil the skin off my bones if I speak. “The princeling sought me out after I escaped because he wishes to be a different sort of royal than his father. One who actually cares for the people. He’s more like us than any of the nobility. His mother was a scullery maid. The king was ashamed of him and banished him to the kitchens. The courtiers rejected and reviled him.”
“I love when you extol all of my finest accomplishments,” I say, pretending to be stung. Which isn’t difficult because I do feela littlestung. I told her those things in confidence, not so she could disparage me to strangers. I part my lips, but Mirabelle shoots me another dangerous look.
“Josse sought me out because he wishes to heal the people. Who am I to refuse help? You know how having such a purpose can change a person.” She stares up at him until he grudgingly sighs.
“And the other royal children?” he asks. “Do they live as well? I’ve been hearing rumors about the dauphin and some ill-conceived rebellion.” Again, he glowers over at me, as if my brother and I are one and the same.
Mirabelle’s eyes briefly catch mine, radiating both fear and elation. News of our rebellion is spreading, just as we hoped. But neither of us had considered what might happen if the rumors got back to the Shadow Society.
I hold up both hands. “If the dauphin is alive and leading a rebellion, I’m the last person he would recruit. He loathes me.”
