“Moreau,” she said.
He turned back, courteously, though she could see now where his fingers tapped his thigh, in haste to be gone. “How do you come and go unseen?” she said.
He did not smile again, but his eyes brightened boyishly. “It is like conjuring, but the other way around. One may make anaon of oneself, if you know the way of it. One steps into the Lost Lands and thensteps back, in a different place, in the world of men. It is,” he added gently, “remarkably convenient.”
As though to prove his point, he stepped into a shadow and was simply—no longer there.
Shaken, Marguerite looked again at the jeweled thing in her hand. Her mind leaped with grand visions, but her body had fixed upon his hands, gripping that mirror, touching her face.
Anne went down the spiraling stairs and outside, following Isabeau and Henri, her court, her councilors.
“You could leave,” De Rieux told her apart as they walked. “You could leave this day. Surely this—this curse will not follow, whatever its origins. There is no telling what is to blame.”
“Where would I go, Jean?” Anne’s eyes were on Henri and Isabeau, walking just ahead of her.
De Rieux hesitated. “Anne—you know France would protect you. They would treasure you; they are the mightiest nation in Europe. This thing that haunts us is—uncanny, it’s evil—”
She stopped to stare at him. “France would not protect me for nothing,” she said at last. “They would give me to Charles. I am married already. I swore an oath. Ipromised my father.” Her voice cracked.
“Is even France not better than these dark enchantments?” DeRieux retorted, his face taut with fear for her.
Anne said, “We have seen nothing of this korrigan yet. Only pranks to frighten children. I am not giving up!”
“Daughter,” he said. “Anne, please—” He broke off. They had passed the courtyard and gone into the summer garden, and Marguerite of France had followed them, with her train. Anne must turn away and greet her, and privately curse the lady’s unholy timing.
Marguerite greeted her in return and stood pensively a moment. Then she said, without fanfare, “Let us understand each other, cousin. If you do not wish to wed my brother, you need not. If you will only resign your claim to the Breton throne, you may have a grand pensionand your choice of husband. You could go and live where you please, with all the money you could ever want.” She added, “Provided you do not reside in Nantes or Rennes.”
Anne listened as courteously as she could. Her painted eyelids veiled her eyes. “You are a great and generous lady.”
Marguerite said kindly, “I was regent once, I had a realm to look after and an unruly court. It is a burden. But one you need not carry. Truly.”
Anne listened to Marguerite, but her eyes were on her rattled court. They gathered around in low-voiced clumps. There were guards everywhere. Marguerite went on, “If you will not abdicate, then we shall leave for Amboise today, under the protection of a strong company. You shall be safe and honored. There will be no more uncanny happenings, whether they are pranks or the work of a faerie-king. You will have new clothes and new jewels. You will be crowned queen of France.”
Anne said, without thinking, “Baubles to while away my hours? You are too kind.”
“You must be safely married, Highness; surely you see you have no other recourse!”
Anne did not reply.
Marguerite added, coaxingly, “Many brides are frightened. It is natural.” Of course royal brides were frightened. The all-but-public consummation. The vital yet dangerous pregnancies. “But Charles is a kindly man.”
“Oh, yes, like all kings,” said Anne, unable to keep the edge from her voice. “I hear he likes stag-hunting.”
“As much as anyone I’ve ever known. And he is skillful.”
“I am sure the hinds all say so, when they are run to earth.”
“Do not play me a melodrama, Highness. What is your answer?”
Anne said nothing.
“I see,” Marguerite said slowly. “You will only bring suffering upon yourself with defiance.”
Anne was saved from a reply, for at that moment they brought Julien Moreau down from the Roman tower in chains.
Anne had no wish to be cruel, but she was not taking chances either. Moreau’s expression was one of quiet dignity, though the shackles were heavy. Marguerite had put a startled hand to her mouth when she first saw him, but she recovered and looked merely bored. Moreau was pulled across the sward to where Anne had gone to meet him, and when he came he was made to kneel.
“Let him stand, for heaven’s sake,” said Anne. “I am not going to play at brutality.” She could see Isabeau watching, and Henri, standing beside Louis of Orléans.
