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Hmm.
He offers his hand, and we continue through the main gallery to the dining hall. It’s getting dark outside. The gallery is bathed in the warm light of low-hanging chandeliers. Candles flicker in their holders against the ancient wall on our right between the portraits of former dukes and duchesses. The wall on our left is punctuated with tall windows where I admire the fireworks display held outside away from the château, probably in Gruyac.
The sense that this is surreal overcomes me once again. I expect to wake up in my trailer at any moment and marvel at my elaborate dream.
But we reach the dining hall, and I’m still here, next to a hunky duke who’s still holding my hand.
Oh, and I’m his duchess.
Inside the hall, the furniture is heavier, older, and more ornate than in the rest of the château. There’s a raised dais with a massive wood table that seats at least twenty-four. The crystal chandelier hanging above it is the biggest I’ve seen in my entire life. Everything about this dining hall speaks of the Duke of Arrago’s wealth, power, and glory. It’s meant to inspire deference. And it does even in a rebel like me.
Two throne-like chairs for the duke and the duchess tower above all others at either head of the banquet table. Every time I had lunch or dinner here, Louis’s grandfather would sit in one of the thrones, and the other would remain vacant. The old man is occupying a regular seat now between Prince Richard and Hubert de Valois.
Everybody, except Louis’s grandfather and the royals in attendance, stand up to greet us. We bow to them. Louis nudges me toward his grandmother’s throne before taking his grandfather’s place at the opposite head.
Prince Richard raises his glass to the new Duke and Duchess of Arrago. Everybody cheers and drinks. Delicious food is served. I eat, answer questions, ask questions, all while feeling like my brain is adrift in a cloud of dense, magical fog. The old duke delivers a toast. The next one to raise her glass in our honor is Mount Evor’s official oracle, Princess Felicia. Her speech is so good you’d think she means it. Toward the end of the main course, Louis stands and makes a brief statement, thanking everyone around the table.
Thank God, I don’t have to speak!
All I can think of now is if we’ll manage to corner Prince Richard and ask him a few questions before he decides it’s bedtime. His plan is to leave before breakfast tomorrow, and we may not get a chance to interview Richard.
While the household was preparing for the sovereign’s arrival and for the ceremony this morning, Louis spoke to his grandfather. The old duke denied having any knowledge of Carlo’s parallel investigation, or of what it could be about. Louis showed him the postcard, which didn’t ring any bells. Neither did the note. Louis’s grandfather went as far as to swear on his beloved late wife’s tomb that Carlo had never spoken to him about anything related to the palace fire, or a dead security guard named Pierre Housard, or my sister Jeannette.
Knowing the old man’s love and respect for the late duchess, Louis tends to believe him. There are eight ducal title holders in Mount Evor. Four of them are duchesses. That leaves three other dukes that Carlo may have been referring to. Louis will try to speak to them on our next stay in Mount Evor, at Easter, I believe.
Finally, the banquet is over. The royals offer their thank-yous and good-nights to the old duke, to Louis’s parents and to us. When Richard approaches Louis, the latter pulls him aside, toward an unobstructed spot by the window, and hooks his finger at me. I scurry to them as fast as my silly gown permits.
When I halt at Louis’s side, he’s in the middle of telling Prince Richard about our discoveries. I let him continue. Louis finishes his report by showing Richard a photo of Carlo’s unintelligible note and translating it for him.
“Your Royal Highness,” Louis says, “did you know that Carlo was suspicious of Housard’s autopsy report and of the coroner’s heart attack?”
“And can you confirm that Pierre Housard was a MESS agent?” I ask.
Richard nods in response to my question before turning to Louis. “You need to understand that Carlo wasn’t just a spymaster. He was my childhood friend, someone I trusted unconditionally.”
“Had he spoken to you about his doubts?” Louis asks.
“Yes. For years Carlo had been conducting his own secret investigation parallel to the official one. He did it with the utmost discretion.”
“Was his deputy Adam Von Dietz involved?”
“No,” Richard says. “It’s not that Carlo didn’t trust him, but the stakes were simply too high and the implications too far-reaching.”
I peer at him. “Has Von Dietz taken over Carlo’s investigation?”
“He’s still in the dark about it.”
Louis frowns. “Isn’t such an extraordinary level of secrecy counterproductive?”
“Indeed, Carlo’s investigation was arduous to begin with,” Richard admits. “Now that he’s dead, it’s come to a screeching halt. We’re stalled by the fear of spooking certain individuals before we can identify them.”
Louis and I give him quizzical looks.
“We’ve been infiltrated by the enemy,” Richard says.
Louis swallows hard. “You mean, Kurt Ozzi has spies in Mount Evor?”
“It’s worse than that,” Richard says.
