“I did care,” I admit to myself as much as Mirabelle. The truth of it rattles through me, shaking the very foundation of my soul. My voice cracks, which is beyond mortifying, and when I try to cough it away, I end up making an even more pathetic sniffling sound. If Mirabelle didn’t think me pitiful already, she certainly does now. Since I haven’t a crumb of dignity left to lose, I let all of the words tangled up in my head—years and years of anger and heartache and frustration—tumble out like vomit.
“I’ve always cared. I wanted my father’s approval so damned much it nearly killed me. He was sobig.So bold and commanding. A veritable God on earth. And he wasmyfather. It was almost too much for a motherless, sniveling nobody like me to fathom.”
“Believe it or not, I know a little something about that.” She knocks her knee against mine and leaves it there. The outsides of our thighs press together. “Keep going.”
And I do. Now that I’ve started, I can’t seem to stop. I’m desperate to purge these dark, festering feelings. “I didn’t want much—just a scrap of acknowledgment. An occasional smile or a nod. But he swept past me in the halls without so much as a glance of recognition, as if I was nothing more than a statuary or a painting. Any nameless servant. So Imadehim see me—any way I could: I flirted mercilessly with the highest-ranking ladies at court, and I purposely mucked out the horses’ stalls right before serving in the great hall, so the grime and stench would hang over his lavish feasts. I even tossed a wasps’ nest through the window of his staterooms and laughed as he and his ministers ran down the stairs, shrieking.
“I didn’t knowwhyI was cutting up, of course. I told myself it was because I didn’t care what he thought, that I didn’t want his attention or approval. But I did. More than anything. And acting like a hellion was the only way to get it—or so I thought.” I press the backs of my wrists into my eyes and let out a long, slow breath. “Apparently, hedidsee me, but I was too bullheaded to realize it. Or perhaps he was too proud to show it. Either way, I pushed and he retreated, and we grew farther and farther apart until there was no bridging the gap between us. I made him hate me. His final memories of me held nothing but exasperation and disappointment, and now I can’t change that. He will never know me as anything more than a worthless bastard.”
“I disagree,” Mirabelle says. “After my father died, my mother tried to taint my memories of him. She insisted he never loved us, that he was consumed by his obsession, and for a time, I let myself be swayed. But now that I share his grit and conviction, I feel him grinning with approval every time I distill a batch of antipoison. I hear his voice in my head when I stand up to Mother. Iknowhe’s proud of me—that he forgives me for siding with her. And I have a feeling your father feels the same. How could he not? You’re healing his people, reclaiming his city, and restoring your brother to the throne. I promise that the Sun King is smiling down from Heaven, urging you on.”
A tingling sensation presses behind my eyes. I try to disagree, but I seem to be incapable of making any sound beyond a raspy wheeze. Mirabelle’s words worm beneath my skin, burrowing deeper and deeper until they sink into the core of me. Like an arrow hitting its mark. All at once, a massive serving tray of doubt and inadequacy lifts from my shoulders, and the lightness is astounding. The relief is so complete. I tilt my head back and tears spill down my cheeks, purging the last of my bitterness.
When my eyes finally dry up, I wipe my nose on my sleeve with a self-conscious laugh. “Look at me, blubbering in an alley when there’s so much to be done. You probably think me ridiculous.”
“You’recompletelyridiculous,” she agrees. But then she grabs my hand and squeezes until I look down at her. “But you’re also brave and big-hearted and determined and bold and there’s no one I’d rather stand against my mother with.”
Her eyelashes bat softly against her cheek. The smattering of freckles across her nose shine like specks of gold. She glances at my lips, and the tiny gap between us is filled with so much sizzling energy, I can’t think straight.Do it, Josse. Lean in.I suck in another breath, trying to muster up the courage. Mirabelle grips my collar with a laugh and pulls my mouth to hers.
The kiss isn’t timid or questioning. It’s a statement. A demand. Her lips move hungrily against mine, and her fingers dig into my shoulders. I slide my hands around her waist and pull her onto my lap, deepening the kiss. She sighs, and my entire body flares with heat. Ever since we first healed the homeless, I’ve wondered how this would be, what it would feel like.
Mirabelle’s hands are everywhere; trailing down my chest and tangling in my hair, leaving a trail of fire. She rocks her hips, and I lean back with a groan. Only I lean too far and knock my head against the wall. We laugh against each other’s lips and kiss slower. Deeper. Savoring and exploring. She tastes of mint and honey and magic. Smells of smoke and sage and night. I could kiss her forever and ever and …
“That’s enough.” She pulls back suddenly and taps the tip of my nose. “We can’t spend all night kissing, princeling. There’s work to be done.”
“But—”
“Perhaps if we work quickly, there will be time for more ofthis“—she pecks me again, the barest brush of her lips—“later. But for now …” She claps and motions me up.
“You’re killing me.”
“No, mymotheris trying to kill you—and everyone who disagrees with her.” She winks and marches back to the millinery. I follow with a shake of my head.
We spend the better part of that night and the following morning strapped in goggles and masks, producing the flame-resistant powder. Instead of working in the millinery, we join Ameline and the fishwives in their homes on the Quai de la Grève so Mirabelle can trek from kitchen to kitchen to check the consistency and potency.
The powder is extraordinary—a shimmery silver substance composed of salts of ammonia and phosphate. I haven’t a clue how it works, but when combined, they knit into a sparkling sheet of gossamer that’s supposedly impervious to flame.
“This twinklypowderis going to protect the fields?” Gavril holds up a jar and inspects it with a frown.
“Do you doubt me?” Mirabelle’s huff is only partly in jest.
“Not exactly …” he says, “but I think the lot of us would feel better if we tested it first.”
“Very well.” Mirabelle tugs a string from the ratty hem of Gavril’s tunic, rolls it through the powder, then holds it directly over a candle. We gather round, leaning in to better see.
The string ripples and spins, glowing white and hot, but not a puff of smoke escapes into the air. And when Mirabelle removes it from the flame and tosses it at Gavril’s face, his horrified cry quickly transforms into laughs. He waves the scrap overhead.
“It’s not even warm! Does it work on larger things?” Before anyone can stop them, the orphans are sprinkling powder over everything—snippets of parchment, the window curtains, a dead mouse they find beneath the cupboards—and holding candles to them.
“Enough of that!” Ameline cuffs Gavril over the head. “You’re making a mess.”
By the morning of the third day, three separate kitchens are stacked floor to ceiling with bottles, and the stationers are loading them onto carts.
“This should hopefully be enough to cover the fields,” Mirabelle says, stepping away from her cauldron to offer encouragement to the fishwives working near her. Once she’s spoken to each of them, she joins Desgrez and Louis and the Marquis de Cessac to discuss our route through the city. But midway through her sentence, she peeks over at me, somehow sensing my gaze.
Her goggles are pushed high on her forehead, making her short curls stand in every direction. Her cheeks are smudged with streaks of silver. And the smile that steals across her lips sets my heart to racing. We haven’t had another moment alone since the alley, but the memory teases and tempts me every time I close my eyes: the heat of her lips, the soft curve of her body, the heady scent of her corkscrew curls.
Maybe …if our plan is successful and Louis is restored to the throne … maybe there could be a future for us beyond all of this.
