The duke arched his brows in haughty surprise. But he supposed that he could be magnanimous. Everyone knew who was the master here now.
Excusing himself to the rest of the council, he followed the young secretary, leaving his own escort behind. No one was permitted to be accompanied by retainers into the king’s private chambers.
De Guise had been warned many times against attending the king in private. Someone had slipped a note in his napkin at supper last evening, telling him his life was in danger. He did not know why he should think of her now but he recalled the strange young girl he had encountered in the corridor who had stared at him so intently. His footsteps faltered for a moment but he had never been a coward like the king of France. He dismissed the warning from his mind, as he had done all the others.
Besides, the king would not dare to harm him now.
De Guise trailed the secretary down a narrow corridor that led to the king’s private chamber. The corridor was lined with guards who respectfully touched the brim of their black velvet caps as the duke passed.
The secretary had already disappeared. He heard the slam as the door to the corrider was shut. He became aware of the guards leaving their posts, falling into position behind him.
Reaching out, the duke parted the curtain that led to the next room. He saw eight more guards awaiting him, their daggers drawn.
He hesitated in disbelief at the trap he saw closing around him. He reached for his sword, but it was entangled in his cloak. The first man rushed him and the duke swung, punching him in the face. He managed to fell two more before he felt the blade pierce his side.
He cried out, but leveled another of his assailants to the ground. But they fell upon him, the blades stabbing him again and again.
He reeled from the shock of the assault as much as the pain. He forced his way down the corridor, although he nearly slipped on his blood. He managed to make it all the way to the king’s bedchamber, reaching the end of the king’s bed, before the last blade was driven through his shoulders.
He sagged to his knees, realizing he was going to die. His lips were numb as he tried to form the words of a prayer. “My God. Misericord.”
The duke shuddered and lay still. Only then did Henry of France creep out from his hiding place. He scarce dared release his breath as he came forward.
Half-dazed himself by what he had done, the king stared down at his fallen enemy and murmured, “I never realized he was so tall.”
THE LIGHT OF MORNING SPILLED THROUGH THE WINDOWS AS Meg was escorted into the queen’s chamber. The queen was still tucked up in her bed, a robe draped around her shoulders. She appeared worse than she had yesterday, her cough more pronounced.
The doctors hovered around her bed, looking grave, her ladies, somber and silent. Everyone appeared surprised when Meg entered, but Catherine must have given her commands because no one stopped Meg as she approached the bed.
Meg groped toward the concealed pocket in her gown that hid the witch blade. Her heart banged so hard, she feared that even the Dark Queen must hear it.
Catherine dismissed her doctors and beckoned Meg closer. Catherine’s raspy voice demanded. “Have you finished the potion? Have you brought me what I require?”
Meg nodded.
“Give it to me then.”
Meg handed over the vial. Catherine’s fingers trembled as she worked the cork loose. In a moment she would take a sip and realize there was nothing in that vial but water. Meg had been afraid to put anything more lethal in the vial lest Catherine force someone else to taste it first.
Meg’s hand inched into her hidden pocket. If she was going to act, she must summon the courage to do it now. She started to withdraw the witch blade. But at that moment, the king burst into the chamber, startling everyone.
He had a hectic flush in his cheeks, a manic light in his eyes. He rushed toward the bed, gripping the newel post. He announced exultantly, “Maman, I have done it.”
Catherine froze, the vial still clutched in her hand. “Done what?”
The king smiled. “The duc de Guise is dead. I have had him killed.”
Catherine let out a strangled gasp. “Henry!”
But the king silenced her with an imperious wave of his hand. “No, madame. I never want to speak of that man again. I am no longer a prisoner or a slave. I am the king of France at last.”
He bowed and strode out as quickly as he had come. He never heard his mother’s bitter response. “No, you foolish boy. You have lost everything.”
The vial slipped from her fingers, falling and shattering on the floor. Catherine gave a sharp gasp and clutched at her throat.
Meg was forgotten as her ladies rushed to her side and the doctors were summoned. She was forced back to the outer chamber. A surge of weakness overtook her and she was trembling. She sank down on the window seat, thinking of what she had almost done. But for that one moment of hesitation on her part, if the king had not come in when he had, she would have acted out the scene in her scrying glass.
Xavier had been right. Her belief in the crystal had robbed her of her will, her ability to make her own choices. Recovering herself, Meg prepared to steal from the ante chamber, scarce knowing where she was going to go or what she was going to do next.
She was surprised and uneasy to find herself summoned back to the queen. Again Catherine beckoned her close. No one else in the room could hear the low words she directed at Meg.
“You … you did this to me,” she said.
“No, I didn’t.” Meg’s response was not frenzied as it had been in her vision. She was quite calm as she stated, “You brought this all upon yourself.”
Catherine stared at her with a fixed regard. Her eyes had cleared with that strange insight many people acquired just before dying.
“You knew,” the queen whispered. “Somehow you saw what Henry was going to do, yet you did nothing to prevent him from bringing down this disaster upon us.”
“I tried,” Meg said sadly. “Not for your sake but for his.”
“I am crushed in the ruins of our house.” Catherine swallowed and then asked, “Am I dying?”
Meg stared deep into the queen’s eyes. “Yes.”
The queen’s face convulsed. “Dear God, I am so afraid of the darkness, the emptiness, being forgotten. Can you do nothing to help me?”
Meg shook her head, any hatred or fear that she had felt for this woman gone. All that was left was pity.
“No,” she replied. “That is no longer in my power.”
The queen’s lips thinned in a strange smile. “You would never have helped me anyway. My soldiers never had to capture you, did they? You surrendered. You came here on purpose to kill me.”
Meg made no reply, but her silence was confirmation enough.
The queen issued another weak laugh that dissolved into another horrible coughing spasm.
“You truly are something, little girl. Only thirteen years old and already capable of plotting to murder a queen. I regret I will not be around to see what you will become. Who would have ever thought it? You are not Ariane’s successor. You are mine.”
THE DARK QUEEN WAS DEAD. BUT THE TIDINGS CAUSED scarcely a ripple in a palace that was in the throes of a panic. Soldiers, guards, servants all rushed to and fro in an effort to fortify Blois Castle, fearing reprisals from the duke’s followers and the Catholic League against the king.
Meg wandered unnoticed amidst all the chaos. Her great enemy was gone. She should have felt more of a sense of peace or at least some relief at this moment. But Catherine’s parting words echoed in her head.
“You are not Ariane’s successor. You are mine.”
She shook her head to clear it, trying to forget the queen’s words. As she wandered into the courtyard, she saw Jane and Xavier.
Her plan was working. They were escaping unnoticed in the confusion. As Meg hurried toward them, she saw the relief on Jane’s face, the troubled question in Xavier’s eyes.
“I—I didn’t,” Meg said. “I
t wasn’t me.” She burst into tears.
She felt Jane’s arms go around her, Xavier stroking her hair.
“It is all over, sweetheart,” he said. “Now let’s get out of here, back to Faire Isle. It is time we all went home.”
THE KING GAZED OUT THE WINDOW, STARING AT THE SUN sparkling on the river Loire far below. He was aware of all the uproar in his palace, all the panicked preparations, but he felt untouched by it.
Someone clamored outside his antechamber, begging for an audience with the king. Henry assumed it was another messenger bringing more bad tidings from Paris. The word had spread quickly, the citizens were rioting in agonies of grief for their beloved duke. The king’s arms had been torn down and thrown into the Seine, statues of him smashed. He had even heard that the royal apartments of the Louvre had been looted and everywhere in the city, people were crying for his blood.
He could not imagine what worse news there could be to report. Instead it was his secretary who entered, coming for instructions about his mother’s funeral.
“According to the queen’s will, she wishes to be buried in the Valois tomb at Saint Denis.”
The king gave a mirthless laugh. “If I brought her anywhere near Paris, the mobs would rip her body to shreds.”
He frowned, thinking. “No, it is best that my mother be buried under cover of darkness. She should be interred in the Saint Sauveur churchyard in an unmarked grave.”
“An unmarked grave, Your Grace? The Dowager Queen?”
Henry turned to glare at him. “You heard me. See to it.”
Looking slightly stunned, the secretary departed. The king turned back to the window. De Guise was dead and his formidable mother as well. Both of them had cast long shadows over his reign.
“From now on we must be king,” Henry murmured. “For we have been a slave for too long.”
Epilogue
AS DAYLIGHT FADED, ARIANE PLACED A SINGLE CANDLE upon the altar rock. Here amongst the ancient standing stones seemed the most fitting place for her to pay private tribute to a fallen enemy.
Many women on the island wanted to celebrate the death of the Dark Queen, Ariane’s own niece amongst them. Seraphine was only too eager to burn Catherine in effigy. But Ariane had firmly put a stop to all such plans.
It was wrong to take such savage satisfaction in anyone’s death, even Catherine’s. Had not the Dark Queen herself provided a tragic example of what could befall a daughter of the earth when she gave way to thoughts of bitterness, hatred, and vengeance?
Ariane had more reason than most to rejoice at Catherine’s death, after all the harm and discord that the queen had wrought in Ariane’s own life. But she felt nothing but a pang of sadness and regret.
No one could fault Catherine for her courage and intelligence. She would have had so much to offer the world if she had remained a true daughter of the earth. As Ariane lit her candle, she mourned for all the misused and wasted gifts of such an extraordinary woman.
Closing her eyes, Ariane murmured, “Wherever your soul has flown, Catherine, may you finally be at peace.”
She maintained another few moments of respectful silence until she heard the footfall behind her. Turning about, she saw Meg hovering just inside the ring of stones.
The girl’s return to Faire Isle had been greeted with an outpouring of relief and affection. With Catherine a threat no longer, the women of the island had been happy to welcome Meg back into their midst.
This time, it was Meg who held back. Not precisely rebuffing all the offers of friendship, so much as avoiding everyone, even Seraphine.
Ariane sensed that the girl had something heavy weighing upon her heart. But Ariane had not pressed the girl, knowing that when she felt ready, Meg would unburden herself.
Smiling gently, she beckoned Meg to join her by the altar rock. The girl approached slowly, appearing so small in the shadows of the great monoliths, her face haunted with a mingling of resignation and despair.
How was it possible for anyone to at once look so young and so old? Ariane ached to scoop the child up into her arms. But after all that had transpired within the last month, Meg truly was a child no longer. Ariane accorded her the dignity of distance that Meg seemed to require.
Meg stood in front of Ariane, folding her hands together like a penitent facing her confessor.
“I am sorry to disturb you at such a moment—”
“You aren’t,” Ariane assured her.
Meg summoned up a wan smile, but the effort to maintain it appeared too much for the girl. Her expression dimmed. “I have been waiting to speak to you alone ever since I returned. I never seemed to find the right moment or the courage. But perhaps this is the fitting time and place.”
Meg’s gaze traversed their surroundings. “After all, this is where you named me as your successor and I took the staff of office into my hands.”
Her gaze came to rest upon the candle that Ariane had placed upon the altar. Meg took a deep breath.
“I can’t do it, Ariane. I can never be the Lady of Faire Isle.”
Ariane had been half-expecting this. She did not react with the shock or outrage that Meg had clearly been anticipating.
As though fearing Ariane had not understood her, Meg rushed on, “I am not fit to lead the daughters of the earth. I have done something so terrible—”
Meg’s lips trembled and she was unable to go on.
“Something that happened when you were captured and taken to Blois Castle?” Ariane probed gently.
“I was never captured, Ariane. I went there on purpose to—to kill the Dark Queen.”
“And did you?” Ariane asked, although she read enough in Meg’s troubled eyes that she already knew the answer.
“No. The queen died of an inflammation of the lungs or it might have been the shock and despair that killed her after she learned what her son had done to the duc de Guise.”
Meg swallowed. “But it could just as easily have been me that killed her. I wanted to. I actually stood at Catherine’s bedside, preparing to use my witch blade. I had watched the scene played out in my crystal so many times. The moment had come to strike. If I had not hesitated—”
“But that is just it, Meg,” Ariane said. “You did hesitate. When the moment actually came, no matter what your crystal showed you, you chose to do the right thing.”
“But I am afraid I am just like the Dark Queen or my mother, seeking to make excuses for the evil I do. No matter what I do, the Book of Shadows will always be in my head, tempting me to use its dark power whenever I feel threatened or in trouble.”
Tears shimmering in her eyes, Meg peered at Ariane. “You are so good, Ariane. You cannot possibly understand.”
“Yes, I can, my dear. Far better than you can imagine. Do you realize that I once had the Book of Shadows in my possession?”
“N-no.”
“Oh, I was not as good at translating the text as you. But I managed enough to be able to work a rather lethal bit of magic. My sister Gabrielle was being held hostage by a witch-hunter. I tried to produce a diversion by setting off a small explosion. Instead, I succeeded in burning down an entire inn and harming a good many innocent bystanders.”
Meg regarded her, wide-eyed. “You did?”
“So you see, you are not the only one who has ever been lured by the dark ways. Strength is not acquired through never being tempted. Each time you stumble, every mistake that you make and what you learn from it, that is what will give you the wisdom you need to be the Lady of Faire Isle.”
Ariane smiled ruefully. “I myself am still struggling, still learning. It is a lifetime process.”
She placed her hands on the girl’s slender shoulders. “Please don’t give up on yourself, Meg. I assure you that I have not. But I can choose another successor. If that is what you really want?”
Meg looked up at Ariane, her tears spilling down her cheeks.
“No.” She said and flung herself into Ariane’s arms. A gentle wind blew through t
he clearing. As Ariane held Meg close, she watched as the Dark Queen’s candle flickered and went out.
JANE STOOD AT THE EDGE OF THE ROCKY SHORE, GAZING OUT across the channel toward England, but no longer with the fear and desperation she had once known.
Xavier slipped his arm protectively about her waist to steady her upon the rocks. “So Jane, your England is safe. They managed to defeat the armada without the aid of the French.”
“Perhaps because England had the aid of a more powerful ally,” Jane murmured.
The channel was so calm today. It was difficult to imagine the fierceness of the storm that had been the destruction of the Spanish fleet.
“I daresay they will be finding traces of wrecked galleons along the Irish coast for years to come,” Xavier said. “I have heard that many of the Spanish sailors who managed to struggle to shore were beaten to death by wild Irish clans.”
Xavier added after a moment. “Poor devils.”
Jane gazed up at him in surprise. “But I thought you hated the Spanish.”
Xavier shrugged. “I guess the rank and file were merely seamen like Jambe, Pietro, or myself. Not overly concerned with kings, religion, or politics. The poor bastards sailed for the love of the sea. They were just looking for a little adventure and hoping perhaps to make their fortune upon the way.”
“Jambe has certainly made his. He earned his share of the prize money by sailing with Drake.”
“That he did.” Xavier grimaced. “To say nothing of the fact that he also got that blasted bird of his back. Miri returned the Sea Beggar to him. Apparently, the parrot told her that he did not wish to seem ungrateful, but the Beggar prefers Jambe’s company to hers.”
“The parrot can talk that well?” Jane asked in astonishment.
“Apparently he can—to Miri.” Xavier laughed. His expression sobered as he added. “My sister had something to give me as well. She—she has been reading through the journals our father kept for her. She discovered the reason the chevalier never returned to France.”