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Then we are ushered inside. The king is alone except for—I hear Sybella gasp—“Your Majesties!” She drops into a curtsy. I do the same, peering up through my lashes at the queen.
“You may rise,” the king says.
“Since I can see you nearly choking on all the questions you are dying to ask,” the queen says, “let me assure you I am fine. My health is good, and no, I did not risk it traveling to Nantes, as I came by boat, which was a most restful way to travel.”
“I am relieved to hear it, Your Majesty.”
The king silently drums his fingers on the arm of his chair. “You have both shown me the rot in my kingdom, as well as in your families and in my own. You have saved France, you have saved yourselves, you prevented war—and put down a rebellion!” He pauses a moment, as if overcome. “You managed to sneak a bear into my dungeon and exchange it for one of my prisoners. A bear!”
The queen bites her cheeks to keep from smiling.
Heartened by that, Sybella dares to speak. “Your Majesty, if I could be so bold as to ask, what became of the bear?”
The king gapes at her, then shakes his head. “The master of the hounds took a liking to him. He is now housed in the Louvre’s menagerie and treated like a royal pet.”
My heart lifts, for both the bear and also the further sign of the king’s true nature.
“You are forces of nature,” he continues. “Like a—a storm raging through the sky. Or—or waves, churning upon the sea.” He waves his hand, as if agitated. “You are like the demigods of Rome, when the gods walked among mortals and fathered children with them.”
I glance at Sybella, for that is exactly what we are, and though I have told him time and again, he cannot quite accept that I am speaking truth.
“You are outside every convention of society, and I have no idea what to do with you.”
As he falls silent, the queen leans forward. “Use them,” she says. “They serve us now. They have skills and talents that no one else in the kingdom possesses. Let them use those talents on our behalf.”
* * *
A week later, Sybella and I are told that our presence is required in a formal audience with the king in his throne room.
The first thing I notice when I enter is that the king—and queen—are in full court dress. A most formal occasion, indeed. The second thing I notice is that we are not the only ones who have been summoned. Standing off to the side, as if waiting for us, are Beast, Maraud, Aeva, Father Effram, Lazare, and an older man I have never seen before. The air of solemnity is thick enough to cut with a knife and serve on a slab of bread.
When we are before the dais, both Sybella and I sink into deep curtsies.
“I have invited you all to this private meeting for reasons that shall soon become clear. All that I am about to explain has been written down, ratified by my seal, and witnessed by four members of my council. It is,” he continues, “real and enduring. It shall outlast even me.”
Unease begins to work its way inside me, for if a law or proclamation has been fashioned to live beyond the king who signed it, it is near impossible to have undone.
“This has been a year of learning for all of us.” The queen shoots him a brief but bemused glance. “And that includes me most of all.” He stops, takes a deep breath, and then says, “Let’s dispense with the formality, shall we? In essence, my lady wife was correct. The crown should use you—your skills and talents. The crown will use you. I have created an Order of the Nine, a select cadre of individuals who have been chosen due to their skill, cunning, bravery, courage in the face of obstacles, and anything else I find worthy of rewarding. But,” he continues, “these nine shall also honor the nine old saints of Brittany. I think they—and their duchess—have demonstrated beyond a shadow of a doubt their loyalty and commitment to the greater good of the people of the land. Because two of the nine are not able to serve, I have adjusted the numbers accordingly so that there will be nine of you—always nine.”
He rises then and reaches for a black embossed box that lies on a small table between him and the queen. He carefully takes from it a simple gold chain with a nine-pointed star fashioned of three interlaced triangles. Each point of the star holds a different gemstone favored by one of the Nine. He crosses over to Maraud. “Sir Crunard, in thanks for your honor and loyalty, risks taken, and horrors endured. I am honored to offer you this seal of office.”
Maraud bows his head and accepts the chain.
The king moves to Beast next. “Sir Waroch, for being the embodiment of honor in a world that tried so hard to strip it from you, and for serving your queen no matter the cost.”
Aeva is next, for her skill in battle and knowledge and power of the earth with which she lives so closely, as well as her loyalty to the crown.
“And for you, charbonnerie, for using your most extraordinary knowledge on our behalf and for coming to the queen’s aid when few else would.” Lazare’s face when the king places the chain around his neck is such a mixture of surprise, disgust, and pleasure that it is all I can do not to laugh.
When the king stops in front of Father Effram, a wry smile plays about his mouth. “Father Effram. You serve a trickster of a saint and always manage to be where you have not been invited, yet your advice is worth its weight in gold. Thank you for being the voice of reason when so many others could not find it in their hearts.”
Next he comes to the older man I do not know, who turns out to be one of the mendicant priests who serve the patron saint of travelers. “As this is a crossroads, it is right that we have one who serves Saint Cissonius on this council, to advise us on all the crossroads to come.”
When he removes the next chain, he crosses the room to the queen, who sits in her chair looking faintly surprised. “And who better to represent Saint Brigantia than my own queen, who was dedicated to her at birth and has shown that saint’s wisdom throughout the entirety of her life.”
A knot forms in my throat then, for I can only imagine how much this means to the queen after how hard she has worked to get the king to consider her counsel. She quietly murmurs her thanks.
The king moves to Sybella next, and the knot in my throat grows so large that I can hardly swallow. “Lady Sybella.” His voice is low and filled with sorrow and remorse. “No matter how ill you had been served, by this crown or others, you have consistently given your loyalty to your queen and gone far above your duty in all things, but especially in your most exemplary concern for your sisters. All children should be so lucky to have such an advocate on their behalf.”
Sybella closes her eyes as she dips her head to receive the chain, but not before I see how brightly they shine.
And then he is before me, his face filled with warmth and pride and a faint glimmer of regret. “And, Lady Genevieve. Your service has perhaps been the hardest of them all. To stay quiet and hidden in the shadows, patiently and inexorably exerting your will on those who should already know what you worked so hard to teach them. For your loyalty, and your friendship.”
I blink rapidly, but do not fool anyone as I bow my head. The gold chain is cool about my neck, the king’s fingers warm as he allows them to brush against my skin. It is a touch that says goodbye to our past, but welcomes our future. Then he steps back and faces all of us. “As the founding members of the Order of the Nine, I charge you all with telling me—all of France’s kings—the truth. And”—he glance
s briefly at me—“finding ways to help us hear it when we cannot.” He sighs. “In short, you are to continue doing what you have done to keep our lands and people safe. There is a bit more to it than that, but I think that will suffice for now. I have had all of the ceremony I can stomach for one day. You are dismissed.”
I am so stunned that it takes me a moment to find my feet, and when I do, my steps feel as if they do not touch the ground.
“Lady Sybella,” the king’s voice calls out. “If you and Sir Waroch would be so kind as to remain for a moment, I would like to speak to you about your sisters.”
“But of course, Your Majesty.”
I allow myself to continue walking out of the room, knowing she will tell me what transpires.
Chapter 120
Sybella
Gen is the last one out of the council room, leaving Beast and me alone with the king and queen.
“Regarding the matter of your sisters, Lady Sybella,” he says without preamble. “I have come to a decision. Since Louise is Sir Waroch’s sister’s daughter, I felt he should hear what I have to say.”
I glance at the queen, but if she has any notion what the king’s decision entails, it does not show on her face.
“Given your brother’s multiple acts of treason and his careless disregard for the lives of both those who serve under him and his own family, I cannot in good conscience grant custody to him. Indeed, I have still not decided if I shall pardon him for his crimes, although I think it will ultimately be his future behavior that determines that.” Although we have heard nothing from him, Pierre’s body was not found in the rubble at Givrand.
The king is generous with his pardons, having already granted one to Viscount Rohan in exchange for his sworn, true testimony to the events in Brittany as well as the exchange of some private holdings the crown has long wished for.
