I feel as if I’ve plunged into the icy Seine. Why the devil would she do such a thing? If the barley and rye are lost, the people will starve before the year’s half through. “Mother cares for the common people. She would never …” Gavril and the children fall eerily quiet, making my voice sound high and shrill. “How does she plan to win back the people’s support if they’re starving?”
“She no longer plans towintheir support,” Josse says. “She plans totakeit. By decreasing the food supply and controlling what remains, she can choose whom she distributes rations to. The rebels will have no choice but to come crawling back and fall at her feet.”
“No.” I whisper at first, but my anger is a live and coiled thing, slithering up my throat. I pound my fist against the counter. “NO! Thousands will perish. Our uprising will crumble.”
“Can we head them off on their way to set the blaze?” Louis asks. “Engage the Shadow Society in battle?”
“Only if we wish to lose.” Josse says it as if Louis’s suggestion is the daftest thing he’s ever heard.
“But their ranks are composed of inexperienced soldiers just like ours,” Louis says.
“Hey!” Gavril puffs out his chest and gestures to the smoke beast on the table. “I’d hardly call us inexperienced.”
“You’re definitely experienced,” I agree, “but they have magic. Not even you could contend with a dozen beasts at once.” The thought makes guilt rise up my throat like a sickness, and I wrap my arms around my stomach. Perhaps the orphanswouldbe able to contend with that many beasts if I could decipher how to seize control of them, even partway.
“So we trap the poisoners in their palace somehow,” Louis suggests. “As they did to us at Versailles. Or we poison them, the way they’ve been poisoning half the city.”
I rub my arms and begin pacing back and forth behind the counter. “I’ll not stoop to their level. There must be another way.” My heartbeat quickens with my steps. The air is hot and thick and it is hard to breathe. I cast around the millinery for something, anything, and like always, my eyes are drawn to Father’s grimoire, half buried beneath a sack of feverfew.
You will be a great alchemist one day.
Of course.
I grapple for the book and flip furiously through the pages, a tiny ember of hope reigniting in my chest. When I find the recipe I’m looking for, I squeal and tap my finger excitedly on the page. “Gavril, do you think you can collect Ameline and Étienne, as well as one or two representatives from the rue du Temple and Les Halles? And Josse, go drag Desgrez from whatever gambling den he’s hiding in, and fetch the Marquis de Cessac. We’ll reconvene here in an hour. I have an idea.”
I have never seen a more unlikely grouping. Duchesses stand beside beggars. Fishwives rub elbows with royalty. No one looks particularly comfortable, and they all attempt to keep to their own, but they’re here. Together. And the dinginess of the cramped shop has given them something to commiserate about. They frown at the explosion of herbs on the counter and bemoan the smears of black smoke-beast blood coating the floor and sticking to their boots. I stand off to the side, clutching Father’s book and collecting my thoughts. Convincing the nobility and commoners to work together in theory is one thing, but saving the crops will require everyone’s cooperation. And I haven’t an alternate plan if they refuse.
“You get the most adorable little wrinkle between your eyebrows when you’re anxious,” Josse says, nudging my shoulder with his.
I swat him with the book. “Focus, princeling! The wrinkle between my eyes is the last thing you should be thinking about.”
“Second to last. Because I also like the way you twirl your finger through that curl above your ear.”
I immediately drop my hand. His goading smile is so devilishly handsome, I either want to kiss him or punch him—I’m unsure which. “You’re impossible,” I hiss.
“Or am I a genius? For a moment, you forgot to be nervous.”
I blink up at him. I suppose I did.
“Whatever you’re planning, I’m sure it’s brilliant. And even if it’s not, I’ll fight anyone who disagrees.” He puts up his fists, and a smile steals across my lips. “Come on.”
After taking a deep breath, I stride to the front of the group and call them to attention. “Thank you for coming. We’ve recently learned of the Shadow Society’s plans to raze the fields in the Faubourg Saint-Germain. By greatly diminishing the rye and barley, the people will be forced to turn to my mother and the royal stores for support. Our rebellion will die—and thousands of starving souls along with it—unlesswe save the crops and reveal the Shadow Society’s plan. Then we shall be the saviors of the city, and hopefully those who have remained loyal to my mother will be turned to our cause instead. With the entire city behind us, we may have the strength to stand against them.”
Questions and suggestions fly at me—mostly the same worries we discussed at the outset—so Josse and Louis help me answer queries and make assurances. It’s most of our allies’ first time meeting Louis, and for all Josse worried about him “ruining everything,” the dauphin is doing splendidly. Everyone seems to hang on his words. They grin at his tattered doublet and seem to stand taller when he acknowledges their opinions.
“If we cannot fight the poisoners or prevent them from leaving the palace, how do we proceed?” Desgrez asks.
I hold up Father’s grimoire, the worn red leather catching the torchlight. “Through an alchemical process called fixation. My father studied it in depth and developed a powder resistant to flames. All we have to do is produce the powder and spread it over the cropsbeforethe Shadow Society sets them ablaze.”
“And when do they plan to do that?” the Marquis de Cessac calls.
“How long will it take to make the powder?” Étienne asks.
“My informant can hold off for three days, which gives us two and a half days to produce and distribute the powder,” I say.
Ameline fixes me with a steely expression. “Can it be done?”
“Yes, but only if everyone contributes. Do you think you can convince the other fishwives to help? We’ll need a good many kettles.”
