He wipes his hands on his smudged doublet and turns to the counter. “What reason would I have to lie?”
“You saw Josse storm out of here. It destroyed him.”
“I assure you, if I was lying, the story would have painted me in a better light.” He picks up a pestle and mortar bowl and resumes crushing fennel seeds with frightening intensity.
“That must have been a difficult conversation to overhear.”
“It wasn’t difficult in the least,” Louis snaps, making it clear it most certainly was difficult. “That’s where I and my bastard brother differ. Father thought I was ill-suited, so I did everything in my power to prove him wrong. Josse assumed he was ill-suited and proved himself right.”
“And I’m sure you did nothing to reinforce his beliefs?” I shoot the dauphin an accusatory glare. “I have an older sister. I know how it goes.”
Before Louis can respond, the door flies open and a handful of orphans parade into the shop bearing a scaled smoke beast atop their shoulders. “Special delivery for Madamoiselle La Vie,” Gavril sings.
This smoke beast has a long serpentine body covered in blood-red scales. The orphans coil what they can atop the board, leaving a good ten lengths trailing across the floor.
“Dead, I see.” I try not to sound disappointed as I circle the table inspecting the creature. I lift one of its short, clawed forearms and let it fall with a thump. This is the third beast they’ve brought me. I feel horrible asking for more, but I’ve had no luck controlling the creatures, no matter how I mince or boil or combine the dead with my blood.
To find the secret link to my alchemy, I need a live specimen. I don’t know how else to proceed. I’m no closer to understanding how the beasts function, and with our rebellion gaining traction, the day looms ever nearer when our success or failure will hinge upon whether or not I can stand against Lesage and the unnatural power I gave him.
“We tried to capture it live, honest we did,” Gavril says, “but the battle got ratherheated.” He points his thumb at a boy whose pants are singed at the knee and a girl whose thigh-skimming braids are now blunt, uneven locks.
“Don’t apologize, this is fine,” I say. “I’ll make it work.”
Somehow.
I roll up my sleeves, seize a knife, and bury it in the silver underbelly of the smoke beast. The orphans scream and scatter to the far side of the room to avoid the midnight spray of blood and I presume the dauphin will do the same, but he steps closer, leaning over to inspect its innards.
“Fascinating. May I try?” He holds out his hand for my knife, and I laugh with surprise. He is pompous and tedious, without question, but he’s also gritty and determined and unflinching. Josse has been unfair to him. But Louis hasn’t exactly been fair to Josse either.
“You and your brother are more alike than you think,” I say.
“Since you’re fond of the bastard for some unknown reason, I shall take that as a compliment. But in truth, I’m horribly offended.”
He takes up the knife and I show him where to make the incision, but before the blade breaks skin, the door opens once again and Josse trips across the threshold. He’s still panting and wild-eyed, but now, instead of looking like a raspberry, his face is completely drained of color.
I dart out from behind the counter and place myself between the brothers. “If you’ve returned to fight… .” I warn Josse, but my voice falls away because Gris barges in on Josse’s heels. His golden curls are plastered to his sweaty forehead and he’s gasping so hard, he has to steady himself against the wall. Both boys look near about to faint.
“What happened? Are you hurt?” I rush to Gris and begin inspecting his arms and chest for wounds. “Did Mother do this to you?”
He shakes his head and puffs out, “It isn’t me … you need … to worry about.”
“Who, then?” I spin to Josse. “You?”
“Tell them what you told me,” Josse says.
Gris draws a deep breath and straightens, but his eyes widen at the absolute pandemonium of the overcrowded millinery, and he lurches back.
“No need to worry,” I tell him. “These are people I’ve healed. They’re trustworthy.”
He nods, but continues to back away. “The princeling will tell you. I can’t stay.”
“But you ran all this way, surely another minute—”
“They’ll notice I’m gone.” He shakes his head and takes off down the street, even though he’s hardly caught his breath.
“What was that about?” I turn to Josse.
“La Voisin is growing desperate,” he says. “She plans to raze the fields in the Faubourg Saint-Germain once Gris has brewed more of Lesage’s blood draught. Gris says the longest he can pretend to struggle and dither is three days.”
