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She and Yves had taken advantage of him. Time and again he had taken their part, and they had returned his courtesy by endangering his position with the King.
Marie-Josèphe felt more alone than she ever had in her life. Count Lucien was angry at her. Sherzad hardly trusted her. And her brother... Yves strode along beside her, grim and silent, guilty and distressed. By proving to him the humanity of the sea monster, she put him in danger of losing his vocation and his passion.
When he sent me to the convent, Marie-Josèphe thought, I could believe that if he knew what he had sent me to, he would relent. I had the company of my memory of him. Now I have nothing. Count Lucien is right. Suffering only makes one miserable.
And if that is true, Marie-Josèphe thought, is he right about pleasure, as well?
She should feel guilty, she should regret her lack of faith, but she only felt betrayed and unhappy.
Marie-Josèphe trudged along the corridors, between lavish tapestries, orange trees, a profusion of flowers and candles, on a pilgrimage to beg forgiveness.
I could ride Zachi through these halls, Marie-Josèphe thought wildly. She could gallop across the parquet, she could clatter down the Staircase of the Ambassadors, or leap over the balcony like Pegasus; we could flee into the gardens, into the forest, and disappear.
Then she thought, I wonder if I’ll ever ride Zachi again.
The sentry allowed them to pass into the apartment of Mme de Maintenon.
His Majesty and His Holiness sat together near the open window. Mme de Maintenon, in her curtained chair, bent over an embroidery of gold thread on scarlet satin. Marie-Josèphe glanced toward her, hoping for her sympathy, for the kindness the marquise had shown her at Saint-Cyr. Mme de Maintenon never looked up. Marie-Josèphe shivered.
It’s only the cold, she thought. Poor Mme de Maintenon, with her rheumatism.
Count Lucien bowed. “Your Majesty.”
“M. de Chrétien.”
Marie-Josèphe curtsied to the King; she knelt to kiss Innocent’s ring. His hand was cool, the ring cold against her lips. His Holiness extended his hand toward Count Lucien, who regarded him in stony silence. Marie-Josèphe curtsied to Mme de Maintenon, but the marquise neglected to acknowledge her greeting.
“Mlle de la Croix,” His Majesty said. “What has possessed you?”
“I’m sorry, Your Majesty. I never meant to offend you.”
“You asked me to determine the truth,” His Majesty said. “I have condescended to try — and now I find you’ve disposed of the evidence. How can I know you haven’t made everything up?”
“I’d be a fool to do so, Sire! I’m not a fool. I felt such pity for Sherzad, I never thought —”
“Pity — for a beast!” Innocent exclaimed. He turned his attention to Yves, his expression concerned. “Your association with the creature troubles me. You’re being led into serious error.”
“I’m searching for God’s truth,” Yves said.
“Do you think you know God’s truth better than I do?” His Holiness asked, affronted.
“No, Your Holiness, of course not — I only seek knowledge of His will through His material creations.”
“You shall study His Word,” His Holiness said. “Not the utterances of demons.”
“Demons lie!” Marie-Josèphe cried. “Sherzad’s said nothing but the truth.”
“The truth isn’t for you to determine, Mlle de la Croix,” His Holiness said.
“What has she said, that’s false? She’s told us ugly truths. But they are truths.”
“You would have done better to follow my predecessor’s order. Women should remain silent and obedient.”
“Even women have souls. Sherzad is a woman. Killing her would be a mortal sin.”
“Do not lecture me on sin.”
Silence fell, and deepened; the only sound was the faint shussh of Mme de Maintenon’s silk passing through the tapestry.
“I believe my sister is right, Your Majesty. Your Holiness.”
“Do you?” His Holiness said. “Have you discussed souls with this creature? Have you discussed Christian faith? Have you converted it?”
“No, Your Holiness.”
“Then on what evidence do you believe your sister correct and the Church in error?”
“Not in error!” Yves exclaimed. “I believe God put me in the position of witnessing a miracle. I believe He has raised the sea monsters toward humanity. “
“The creature is grotesque,” His Holiness said. “There’s nothing of humanity about it.”
“Sherzad is less grotesque than I,” Count Lucien said, his voice like a rose: perfect, beautiful, hiding thorns. “And I am human... Of course, I am very rich.”
Marie-Josèphe wanted to run to Lucien, to embrace him, to deny his description of himself, for he was splendid.
Innocent rose from his chair and turned on Lucien in a fury.
“You deny the existence of God! Perhaps the Grand Inquisitor was right after all. Perhaps you and the monsters are the spawn of demonic fornication.”
“My father and my mother would be offended to hear it,” Lucien said calmly.
“Chrétien, enough of your atheistic wit,” His Majesty said.
“Chrétien!” His Holiness spat out a word he would ordinarily speak with reverence. “Even your name is a mockery!”
“Then it mocks Charlemagne, who gave it to my family for our service to him.”
“Cousin,” Louis said to Innocent, “M. de Chrétien enjoys my protection for his beliefs — even for his lack of beliefs.”
“Your Majesty,” Marie-Josèphe said, “you’re the Most Christian King. Champion the sea folk — their conversion would add to your glory!”
“This is only a tactic, to save your pet,” Louis said.
“It’s true I can’t bear to think of her being killed,” Marie-Josèphe said. “But I truly believe she’s a woman. Sire, if you eat her flesh, you’ll endanger your immortal soul.”
Louis leaned back in his chair, weary and old beneath his bright chestnut perruke.
“Marie-Josèphe, dear child,” he said, “I’ve ruled for fifty years. Compared to what I’ve done for the glory of France, cannibalism’s a small sin.”
Marie-Josèphe was too shocked to reply.
“Give me the sea monster, cousin,” Innocent said. “You must.”
