Moreau was pulled to his feet. Anne said, “My sister said you banished a ghost.”
Moreau looked abashed. His chained hands were limp and pale. “I did. Did I do wrong? It was frightening her.”
“How did you do this thing?”
He dropped his eyes. She saw that he was trembling. “With the reflection in a cup of wine,” he answered. “If you ask the Guild, Highness, they will tell you that my augury is in mirrors. I learned—I think—perhaps that augury relates to the other sorcerous arts.”
“To banish a ghost is not augury.”
Moreau tried to spread his chained hands, then dropped them with a clank. All the guards swayed closer. De Rieux had his head near Marguerite’s. Orléans had his hand on his sword. Anne told herself not to be warmed by the duke’s protectiveness; his only aim was to rule her. Anne said, “My sister gave you a mirror. Where is it, please?”
“In my sleeve,” he said, “I thought—I thought it was a sanctioned gift. Truly. Please, Highness.”
The garden had fallen silent. Anne could see Marguerite’s head lifted, watching. De Rieux, stern-faced, murmured orders to Anne’s guard.
“I am just a poor tool of the korriganed,” Moreau said, almost weeping. “I am sorry you and your court are beset. I will help you if I can.” He shook his wrist just so, and despite the irons, the jeweledmirror fell into his palm. Anne saw Isabeau make a restive movement, only to be restrained by Henri.
Anne looked at his face. Her breath caught. The light on him was not the light of that day. In fact, his eyes seemed to flicker, as though unseen lights and shadows passed through his gaze.“What are you not telling me?”she snarled, just as he stepped back with a gasp and her court erupted into cries.
A tall man stood in the center of the garden.
No, not a man. A korriganed. He was half-naked, and he seemed young, though his hair was white like the foam of the sea. He did not seem to notice them. Water streamed down his body; his feet were bare, his eyes were on some distant horizon. His fingers were long and thin and his ears angled like joinery. All around the garden, spears were leveled, swords drawn. Isabeau shouted something; the korrigan seemed suddenly to become aware of them all. He bared his teeth at them, laughing wildly, took a single step, and disappeared again, drops of water flying. It had been only a glimpse.
But the light was still strange; it was the light of the seashore. Bright: silver bright.
“That was him!” cried Moreau. “Please—that is he, your monster, that is the king of the korriganed!”
The strange light was only growing stronger. “Back!” cried Anne. “Everyone get back! Into the castle!”
Moreau, yanked away by his guards, gave her a startled, narrow look. Henri had Isabeau and was nearly at the postern-door. Louis was running toward her; the guards were turning in circles, looking for danger, hustling Marguerite away, though no one knew exactly what was wrong.
Then, out of the hot silver light, directly in front of Anne, came a monster. Water flew from its scintillating scales, silver-black in the sun, and it writhed across the ground as though it could advance by pushing the whole world back. It had a great ruff just behind its head, like the frill of a collar. A webbing was wrapped around it, looking almost as though it had been twisted by human hands. Eyes like greenish lamps bulged from its head.
She heard Moreau cry out. Her court erupted in shouts.
The beast slithered fast toward her and her cluster of maids-of-honor. The sea-drake opened its mouth and hissed.
A flung spear shot past Anne’s head and buried itself in the open mouth. The beast recoiled, and then Louis stood beside her, his sword drawn. He had seized someone’s spear and thrown it. Guards converged, but could even guards kill this beast before it bit her in half?
Time slowed. She remembered the tales she knew of sea-drakes, of how, long ago, they heeded men.
On panicked instinct, she shouted at it in Breton.
And the snake closed its mouth. Its head dropped; its writhing progress stilled.
Louis moved to drive his sword into one of the bulging eyes, but Anne snarled, “Be still!” in a voice even she did not recognize.
The world seemed to freeze altogether. The injured beast put its head flat to the ground. It put out its tongue and—tasted her, she supposed. A panicked stir came from the guards. Louis again made to drive forward with his sword. She caught his arm, terrified but also full of jagged wonder. “Everyone keep back!”
She pushed in front of him, and Louis let her go, perhaps too shocked to catch the movement. He was breathing unevenly.
The teeth could have closed on her face. Her mouth was dry. She said to it, “You are far from home.”
The snake put its tongue out again and touched her face, and the band of unicorn hair she wore about her brow. “It was given me,” Anne told the snake softly.
The tongue flickered.
Louis swore.
