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“You will have to take that up with your fellow guards, won’t you?”
The sentry looks over his shoulder at the door. “We thought you were in your chamber. We allowed Monsieur Fremin in to speak with you.” He reaches up to scratch his ear. “Although I guess wait for you is more accurate.”
“Hours ago,” the second guard adds.
My face shifts from mild boredom to simmering anger. “You allowed Monsieur Fremin into my chambers without my permission? And allowed him to pass the entire night? When you thought I was inside?” Righteous anger fills my voice. “Did you think to check on my safety? Or did you just stand here snickering at my loose morals?”
By their chagrinned expressions, I see that is precisely what they did. I press my advantage. “He and his men-at-arms have abducted my sisters and threatened my personal safety, and you granted him access to my rooms?” My voice rises slightly with each word.
“My lady, surely he meant you no harm. Not with us just outside the door.”
“If he meant me no harm, why did he not come out immediately and tell you that I was not inside?”
They exchange glances again, then one of them raps on the door. Nothing. His face shifts into hard lines as he lifts the latch and steps inside. The other guard and I follow.
The first man stops in the middle of the room. “He’s not here.” His voice holds a note of confusion.
“No,” I say slowly. “At least not where we can see. Could you please check under the bed?”
The guard shoots me an exasperated look. “I’m sure he—”
“Did you see him leave?” I demand.
The man gets down on his knees to look under the bed. “He is not there, my lady,” he says, then stands with as much dignity as he can muster.
“Could he be hiding in the garderobe?”
Not bothering to argue, he goes to check. “It is empty.”
I wrap my arms around myself, as if trying to get warm. The second guard notices the window standing open. Clearly wanting to appease my roused temper, he asks, “Would my lady like me to close her window?”
“Yes. Thank you.” I hold my breath as he crosses over to the window and grabs the latch. “Sweet Jesu!” he breathes.
“What?” The other guard nearly bumps into me as we hurry over to see. Fremin’s body is exactly where we left it, the entire courtyard glistening with a faint wash of morning dew.
I cross myself. “We should send for a physician. He is likely gravely injured.”
The guards exchange a glance. “He is likely dead, my lady,” one of them says gently.
I do my best to look shocked.
Chapter 24
“Heloise?” I whisper softly, not wanting to disturb the queen.
The Brigantian looks up, alert but not startled. “Lady Sybella. I did not realize you’d left.”
Good. Then none of the other less loyal attendants will have noticed either. “Are the others still breaking their fast?”
“Yes.” Her mouth twists in derision. “Saints forbid they should go hungry while attending to their queen.”
“That’s not fair, Heloise.” The queen’s voice comes from the bed. “We do not want them any more than they wish to be here, and we encourage them to leave at every opportunity.”
“That may well be,” Heloise concedes. “And if their service to you at other times were in any way commendable, I would not be burdened with such uncharitable thoughts.”
I leave her smirking at the queen’s garments she is laying out and approach the bed. “How is Your Majesty feeling this morning?”
“Better,” she says with a smile. “Your tincture is working.”
For the dozenth time, I wish I could leave her out of all this. Wish I could keep her in the dark. But experience has already proved that an uninformed queen is both vulnerable and righteously angry.
“I am glad. I will prepare this morning’s for you in a moment, but first”—I lower my voice—“I must apprise you of some recent events.”
She hears something in my tone and glances up at me warily. “I am listening.”
“I’m afraid Monsieur Fremin has met with a most unfortunate accident. Last night, while I was attending upon you, he was waiting in my room to speak with me and managed to lean too far out the window. He fell to his death.”
A single note of exquisite silence follows my news.
“How clumsy of him,” the queen murmurs dryly, nearly echoing Lazare’s response.
Surely the equanimity with which she greets all the tumult that surrounds me is as beneficent as that of any saint. I likely should not accept it as easily as I do, but it is one of the few grace notes in my life.
“Well, it is good that you were here attending upon me, so you did not have to witness such a tragedy.” She is quiet a long moment, a veritable tempest of questions she’d like to ask gleaming in her eyes. “Did Fremin’s soul linger?”
I feel my face harden. “Yes. And such a despicable thing it was. We were right all along. He had always planned to return for the girls and myself, regardless of the king’s decision.”
“Well, good riddance, then,” she mutters.
I fold my hands demurely. “I will be sure to pray for him, Your Majesty.”
“As will I. Now, I think it would be a good time for my tonic, if you don’t mind? I find my stomach unsettled somewhat.”
I curtsy. “I am deeply sorry, Your Majesty.” My voice is low with remorse.
“No,” she says quietly. “It is not you who have disturbed my digestion.”
Yet another moment of grace I do not deserve, but I take it gladly. “Thank you.” I cross over to the sideboard beside the far wall and retrieve the mortar and pestle. As I grind the ginger down to a fine powder, the act of making something that will aid new life helps to chase away the dregs of my earlier encounter.
I am just pouring the spice into a goblet when I sense a clamor of heartbeats outside the queen’s door. “Leave!” The deep command is followed by a flurry of gasps and squeals as the queen’s attendants who have just come back from breakfast are chased away. The door bursts open, and the king steps over the threshold, followed closely by General Cassel and Captain Stuart.
The king’s gaze sweeps around the room. When it lands on me, he shouts, “Seize her!”
General Cassel twitches and for one moment I think he is going to grab me himself, then four guards step around him and pour into the room.
“Hold!” The queen’s command halts the men as thoroughly as any sword. She stands beside the bed at her full height, cheeks aflame with matching fury. “Why are you seizing my attendants?”
“She is a murderess.” The king’s voice is low and thrums with anger. “Even now, she tries to poison you.”
The queen throws back her head and laughs, a move I cannot help but admire, given our circumstance. “Poison me?” She shakes her head as she would at a foolish child. “She is preparing my daily tonic. If it were poison, I would have been dead long before now.”
The king frowns. “But your illness—”
“Ill is not the same thing as poisoned. Truly, my lord.” Her voice is softer now, soothing. “What brings you here in such a state?”
“The lawyer Monsieur Fremin has been found dead. Pushed to his death by this woman.” It is all he can do to keep from pointing at me.
“I am sure you are mistaken.” The queen gives me an opening. “My lady? What say you to these accusations?”
I carefully set the mortar down. “Your Majesty, I was distressed when I learned of Monsieur Fremin’s death this morning, but it was not my doing. You have only to ask the guards—I was with them when they discovered his body.”
One of the same guards stands just behind General Cassel. He nods. “It is true, sire. She was not in the room with Monsieur Fremin.”
The king rounds on him. “Why was she not in her chambers?”
The queen answers. “Because she was here, attending to me.”
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He ignores her and continues speaking to the guard. “She was supposed to be under close supervision.” His voice is deceptively smooth.
Looking acutely uncomfortable, the guard glances at his companion, then shrugs. “She left the room before we came on duty.”
“Find who was on watch then!” A flurry of movement follows the king’s command. “And remove her.” This time, he does point at me.
The guards take two steps forward before the queen interferes again. “No! You will not seize my lady in waiting and accuse her of such vile things with no more proof than that. The guard has said she was not in her room. I have confirmed that she spent the night attending upon me. What possible reason do you have to suspect her?”
Hands clenched at his side, the king takes a step forward. “She is an assassin.” He and the queen stare at each other for a long, uncomfortable moment. Finally, the queen speaks, her words deceptively soft and pitched so that only the king can hear, like a knife sheathed in velvet. “She is not the only assassin at court though, is she?”
