“I would never expect you to do so,” Desgrez says, and I roll my eyes so hard it’s a wonder they don’t get stuck backwards.
“Josse, I need your help with the girls,” Mirabelle says, even though they look completely content sitting beside her. She thumps her palm against the ground and casts me a look that says,Before you ruin everything.
Sighing, I join her as Desgrez launches into an explanation of how we healed the fishermen and how we intend to save the targeted nobles and unite the common man and nobleman in order to overthrow the Shadow Society. “The nobility, of course, will welcome your rule,” he says, “but in order to keep the people on your side once you’ve obtained the throne, we must prove you’re going to be adifferentsort of ruler than your father.”
Louis frowns. “Different how? My father was the Sun King. There has never been a more glorious and celebrated monarch in the history of France. His military successes were unparalleled. He was an enthusiastic patron of the arts. He encouraged industry and fostered trade and commerce. Shall I go on?”
He was so vain and drunk on flattery, he ignored his subjects entirely,I want to say.
Thankfully Desgrez has a bit more tact. “Louis XIV was without comparison, it’s true,” he carefully agrees. “However, he was not the mostmindfulof his lesser citizens. And in the end, they killed him for it.”
“So what are you suggesting?”
Desgrez takes a deep breath. “In exchange for helping you rise against La Voisin, the commoners will be given a voice in the new government—representatives who will ensure you are aware of their needs.”
“That seems reasonable,” Marie says, looking to Louis with hope. But his lips pinch and his face grows steadily redder until he resembles an overripe tomato. The seed pearls on his frockcoat tremble.
“Are you proposing I workwiththe rabble?” he demands.
“Brace yourselves,” I whisper to the girls. “He’s about to scream louder than when his breakfast tray arrives late to his levée.”
Mirabelle lowers her eyebrows at me, but Françoise and Anne toss their heads back and giggle.
“This is no laughing matter,” Louis rejoins. “I am king! Which means the common people workforme. I am the single brightest star in the sky. The sun around which they rotate. I shine down uponthem.”
“Pardon my insolence, Your Highness,” Desgrez says, “but you are none of those things yet. You could be,” he adds swiftly when Louis’s eyes flare, “but I fear you will never have the opportunity unless you agree to this proposal. Your father was extraordinary, but he was not well loved by the people. This is the only way to be both.”
Louis gnaws on his pinky finger, spitting out bits of nail and skin.
“It’s a small concession,” Marie says, though I suspect she’d crown a fishwife to get out of these tunnels.
Louis looks at Desgrez, then Marie and the girls, his gaze falling last upon me and Mirabelle. He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his long nose. “I don’t like it. But since it seems to be our only option, I of course shall be the savior of my city. How do we proceed?”
Before Mirabelle can send word to Gris about our success with the fishmongers, the orphans deliver a note from him. Three short lines:I’m fine. She’s furious. Be prepared.
Heeding his advice, we spend the next week alternating between brewing curatives and antipoison in the millinery and readying Marie and the girls to aid in the distribution—teaching them how to act and what to say to win the people’s favor.
“All that groveling and pleading, insisting how badly you need me, and now you wish me to stay in these tunnels and do nothing?” Louis breathes down my back as I fasten a cloak around Françoise’s shoulders.
“It’s too dangerous for you to traipse around the city,” Desgrez says for the millionth time. “If you’re caught by the Shadow Society, we have no prayer of reclaiming the throne. You must stay hidden—for now.”
“Forever would be preferable,” I mumble under my breath.
“What was that?” Louis demands.
“Oh, nothing.” I grin at his wounded expression.
Desgrez looks like he wants to strangle me, and Mirabelle frowns, but I’m not about to be reprimanded. Let Louis see how it feels to be useless and worthless and out of place for once in his life.
“You’re welcome to join me in the millinery,” Mirabelle offers. “I could use assistance brewing curatives.”
Louis’s face contorts and I edge closer to Mirabelle, ready to defend her from the horrible insults sure to fly from his lips like daggers. But to everyone’s surprise, he mutters, “I’ll bear that in mind.”
The following evening, while Desgrez and Mirabelle take Anne and Françoise to the rue du Temple, Marie and I rendezvous with Gavril and a handful of orphans in the bramble beneath the Pont Neuf. In addition to killing smoke beasts, the little tricksters have been listening from rooftops and loitering near taverns, stealing snatches of Shadow Society conversation: plans and names and meeting locations. Tonight they claim the Duchesse de Bouillon is in danger, so Marie and I head to her household on the Quai Malaquais to equip her with Viper’s Venom antipoison, should the Shadow Society attack.
Marie presses herself against the estate wall and I present myself at the gates. An armored guard appears on the other side, his hand on his sword.
“The duchesse isn’t receiving visitors.”
