Miri had raced after Simon, tripping over the hem of her skirts. All she could do was watch helplessly as the events of her dreams spun into reality before her eyes. The dust that flew from the book was no miasma, of that much Miri was certain.
Instead of being incited to madness, anyone within range of the book, the Dark Queen, her guard, and Simon, had crumpled to the ground. Simon had managed to fall on the book and close it up. But he had crashed against the bench, the grass around him littered with chess pieces. His brow was gashed open, blood trickling down the side of his face.
Miri flung herself down beside him, feeling frantically for his pulse. It was thready, but still strong. She glanced toward where the Dark Queen had fallen nearby, one hand outstretched, her handkerchief fluttered to the grass.
Miri snatched it up and wet it in a nearby fountain. She applied the cool cloth to Simon’s face, chafing his wrists. To her relief he moaned. His eye fluttered open.
“Miri?” he breathed, his voice thick and slurred. “Wh—what happened?”
“I am not sure,” she said. “I think the book only contained some sort of sleeping powder.”
Simon’s head drooped to one side. “Where—where’s Cassandra? The girl?”
Miri, in her concern for Simon, had forgotten all about the sorceress and her daughter. But as her gaze searched wildly around, she saw there was no sign of them or Gillian Harcourt either. And Martin . . . Miri had believed him hard at her heels. But he appeared to have vanished as well.
Simon squeezed Miri’s hand, tried to rise, only to sag back weakly. “I’ll be all right,” he said. “Go . . . go find the child . . .”
———
MEG FELT HER MOTHER’S HANDS dig into her arm like claws, dragging her as they half stumbled down the bank toward the bend of river below the palace. There should have been a small boat moored, Finette and Odile waiting to help them make their escape. But Meg saw no sign of anyone. She tried to dig in her heels, protesting, “Maman, there’s no boat. I think we are lost. We—we must have come the wrong way. We have to go back.”
Cassandra drew up panting, one hand flailing out in front of her in a desperate gesture. “What! Go back where?” she shrilled. “Where is that wretched Harcourt woman? She was supposed to have helped us get away.”
“I don’t know,” Meg sobbed. Gillian had fled at the first sight of the witch-hunter. Perhaps she had reached the river first, warned the others and they had all abandoned Meg and her mother.
Cassandra’s nails dug in as she gripped Meg by both shoulders, giving her a ferocious shake. “Damn you! You betrayed me. You betrayed our cause! What was in that potion you translated? It was no miasma, that’s for sure!”
“I—I’m not sure,” Meg faltered. “I think I made a mistake. It was just some sort of a sleeping draft.”
Her mother grated her teeth. “You made no mistake. You did it on purpose, Megaera. Damn you!”
Although Meg trembled, some fierce surge of defiance shot through her. She lifted her chin. “Yes! I did! I did it on purpose! I didn’t want anyone to be hurt and I don’t want to be queen and my name is Meg!”
Her mother dealt her a ringing slap, but at that instant a stern voice called out, “Stop, Cassandra! Let her go!”
Meg’s heart fluttered in her chest as she spun about toward the sound and saw him coming down the bank. The man she’d never thought to see again, despite what he’d promised her when they parted. But yet he came like a warrior prince with his dark hair and his magnificent clothes, his sword clutched in his hand.
Meg’s breath left her in a whisper, the name escaping her that she’d waited all of her life to utter. “Papa!”
But as he bounded toward her, her mother’s arm hooked possessively about her shoulders. Cassandra’s fingers flew to her medallion, and as Martin drew closer, she said, “Stay back. One step more and I swear I will destroy her. I won’t let you or anyone else take my Silver Rose from me.”
Meg trembled. She saw her father hesitate, not knowing what to do. And she knew that as brave as he was, there was no way that he could defeat her mother’s terrible power. She looked up at him piteously.
“It’s all right, Papa. There’s nothing you can do. It’s enough that you came.”
He took another hesitant step forward, only to freeze when Cassandra’s hand tightened around the terrible medallion. But at that instant a lady came rushing down the bank wearing a blue gown. A tall lady with a mass of white-blond hair. She drew up short beside Meg’s father.
“Martin,” the woman said.
He turned to her desperately. “I don’t know what to do. Miri, she’s got that cursed medallion. The other one is about the child’s neck.”
Cassandra’s hand clamped down on her daughter’s shoulder. “Who is that? Whose voice?”
Meg stared up at Miri, saying in hushed accents, “It’s a fairy.”
Miri came closer, smiling at the little girl. “No, I’m your papa’s friend. My name is Miribelle Cheney.”
“Miribelle Cheney?” Cassandra snarled. “I remember you. You’re Gabrielle’s sister. The insignificant one.”
But ignoring her, Miri’s attention focused on the child. She knelt down in front of the frightened little girl. “Meg, I want you to listen to me carefully and keep looking into my eyes. Even a magic amulet can only have power over you if you allow it. I’ll tell you something my mother told me a long time ago. All magic is, is the power that comes from your own mind.” Miri touched her hand to her temple. “But even stronger is the magic that comes from here.” Miri placed her hand over her heart.
“No one can have power over you unless you allow it, not even your own mother.”
“No?” Cassandra sneered. “Let me show you the degree of my power.”
Cass’s hand tightened over her medallion. Meg clutched at her chest, giving a little cry of pain.
Martin rushed forward, tugging at Miri’s arm. “Miri, what are you doing? You can’t—”
But Miri pulled away, commanding him to be silent. She kept her gaze focused on Meg, engaging the child’s eyes, never wavering. Though the child’s eyes were filled with tears and fear, she looked back at Miri as though mesmerized.
“Look at me, Meg. Only at me,” she commanded, “and do what I tell you. Take hold of the medallion and pull it off.”
The little girl’s fingers reached for the amulet around her neck. Her mother’s breath came out in a furious hiss and Meg cried out in pain again, sinking to her knees, looking up at Miri.
“I c–can’t. It’s too heavy. It’s pulling me down.”
“Miri, stop! You’re going to get her killed!” Wolf protested again, but Miri waved him fiercely aside.
“It’s not too heavy, Meg. It’s only a necklace, nothing more. Just pull it off.”
“You try to do that, Megaera, and I’ll kill you. I swear I will,” her mother ground out.
“No she won’t,” Miri said. “She can’t harm you, Meg. She has no power over you. Take the necklace off.”
The little girl looked desperately back at Miri, and as Miri stared into those green depths, she could see all the fear, the pain, and the hate that Cassandra was pouring into her daughter. All this time when Miri had been dreading standing up against this fearsome sorceress, she had never expected to find herself doing battle through the eyes of a child.
Her hands itched to reach out and tear the medallion away from Megaera herself, but she knew she couldn’t do this for Meg. All Miri could do was try to pour all her own strength and light and hope inside the child.
Meg sniffed, although the tears coursed down her cheeks. Her small shoulders squared with determination. She hooked her fingers around the chain and with one mighty wrench, she yanked the medallion off and over her head, flinging it down on the ground. The effort cost the child the last of her strength, and she fell to the ground, sobbing. But Martin was already there, waiting to catch her, gather her up in his arms.
Cassandra’s f
ingers tugged futilely at her own medallion, and she gave a horrible cry. The woman fell to her knees, tears streaming down her cheeks. “No! What have you done to me? You can’t take my Silver Rose! She’s all that I have!”
Martin cradled the sobbing child in his arms. Placing her hand on his shoulder, Miri gave him an urgent shake.
“Martin, you have to get Meg out of here now. Before the queen recovers enough to send the guard after her and Cassandra.”
Martin stared up at her. “And what of you?”
“I have to go back for Simon.”
“The devil you are—” Martin began, but Miri cut him off.
“There is no time to argue. Meg is the one who is in the most danger from the Dark Queen. Get her out of Paris and back to Simon’s farm. We will join you there somehow.”
Martin stood, lifting Meg into his arms. The little girl clung to him, burrowing her wet face against his shoulder. Glaring fiercely at Miri, Martin said, “Damn it, Miri. You can’t expect me to leave you this way. Don’t ask me to choose—”
“The choice isn’t yours. It’s mine! Now go before it’s too late.”
Even now, distant shouts could be heard, warning of the palace guard’s imminent approach. Martin cast Miri one final agonized glance before fleeing with his daughter in the direction that led back to the city.
As Miri hesitated, trying to decide herself what to do next, she realized that Cassandra had made her way to the river’s edge. During her argument with Martin, Miri had all but forgotten the sorceress. Cass had used the interval to grope her way to the end of the embankment. Whether by accident or design, she slipped, tumbling down into the river with a loud splash.
Miri hurried to the edge of the embankment, dropping to her knees, hoping somehow to catch the edge of the woman’s skirt, but the current was already pulling Cass away from shore. She flailed wildly as the water soaked her gown, the weight of the fabric dragging her down. Her frantic efforts to stay afloat were only driving her farther from the bank. She disappeared under, only to emerge, gasping.
By this time, the palace guards came rushing down the embankment. Miri felt a hand clamp down on her own shoulder. She turned desperately to the man towering above her. “We have to do something. Try to help her!” But she realized that it was already too late. Cassandra’s dead white hand broke the surface of the water one last time only to sink down, and vanish beneath the sparkling waters.
———
SIMON LAY STRETCHED OUT on the bed, his eyes closed. He winced as Miri tended to the cut on his brow. The room was a beautiful one with hanging tapestries and a four-poster bed that was used by some of the maids of honor of the palace.
Better than the dank dungeons of some prison, which was where Miri had almost feared they would end up. But they were prisoners all the same. She only prayed that Martin and Meg had succeeded in escaping.
Miri dabbed the blood off Simon’s brow. It had been all she could do to keep the man lying down as she attended to him.
“I’m not as skilled at attending a man as I would be if you were a dog, but it looks to me as if you might still need a stitch.”
“I’m fine, Miri,” he said. “I need to get up.” He pushed her aside, even though she tried to urge him to lie still.
“I’m not sure you have shaken off the effects of Meg’s sleeping dust.”
“No.” He curled his nose up in distaste. “It’s the perfume on that pillow that’s making me dizzy. Reminds me too much of . . .”
“Of Gillian Harcourt?” Miri said in a small voice.
He lowered his hand from his eyes, looking at her somewhat guiltily. “Miri, I’m sorry you had to find out about it that way. But Gillian and I were finished a long time ago. We never even began. It was just a brief period of weeks where we were both using each other.”
“Oh, Simon, you don’t have to explain to me.”
He slipped his hands in hers, but before she could respond there was a knock and the door opened.
Ambrose Gautier entered, the man’s jaw swollen from Simon’s blow. He addressed Simon with grudging courtesy, “Ah, forgive me for interrupting this tender moment, but I’m here to escort both of you into the presence of Her Majesty.”
Flanked by guards, Miri and Simon were escorted to the queen’s antechamber, but as soon as Ambrose Gautier had announced them, he made a respectful retreat. Simon was a little surprised to find that they had been left alone with Catherine. She looked pale and shaken after the events in the garden. He knew his own head still reeled. He realized that it was sheer, indomitable will that allowed Catherine to rise to her feet to meet them.
Simon, as ever, hardly knew what to expect from this woman. He just knew he’d rather be facing the Dark Queen without Miri. He tried to keep her slightly behind him as he stepped forward to make his bow.
The Dark Queen acknowledged them. “Monsieur Aristide, Mademoiselle Cheney, please come forward. My eyesight is bad enough these days and breathing in a lungful of that infernal dust certainly hasn’t helped.”
Simon made his bow, but Catherine barely acknowledged him. All her attention focused on Miri. When Miri started to curtsy, she held out her hand, saying, “Come closer, child.”
Simon half started to intervene. The Dark Queen said wryly, “Never fear, Monsieur Aristide. I’m not about to eat the girl.”
Miri strode forward, looking as tall and proud as any of the Ladies of Faire Isle. Although she sank into a curtsy, she held her head up proudly. Catherine caught her chin between her fingers, squinting down at her.
“Miribelle Cheney. So you would be the youngest of Evangeline’s daughters. I remember you from that summer you visited your sister, Gabrielle, in Paris. Quiet young thing you were, the girl with the disturbing eyes.”
“Disturbing, Your Majesty?” Miri asked.
“Yes, child. I was once very good at reading eyes. I could ferret out the darkest secrets of anyone’s soul. Your eyes were always more like a troubling mirror, reflecting back one’s own darkest secrets.” She let go of Miri’s chin and stepped back. “Oh, never mind. It’s the aftereffects of that infernal potion. I’m rambling.”
As Miri rose and stepped back to Simon’s side, Catherine rubbed the bridge of her nose as though trying to clear her head. “Well, Monsieur Aristide, our alliance did not end up exactly as I had hoped. Of course, at the time I didn’t realize that you were also receiving help from Faire Isle.”
“I didn’t see the need to mention it, Your Grace. After all, our aims surely were all the same,” he challenged, knowing she couldn’t well refute that, admit what she had really been after.
“True. All the same, you must admit the three of us made a very unlikely trinity. And now, since you have been a little remiss in forwarding your reports, perhaps you could clarify exactly what was going on in my garden today.”
Simon quickly filled her in with what he had been able to piece together of Cassandra’s plot. “I think the original intent was for the Silver Rose to inflict a miasma upon Your Grace. Something so powerful as to drive you to madness. And when the duc de Guise came—”
“It would incite me to murder him, which would have set all of Catholic Paris in an uproar and they would likely have come to destroy me and my son. A very clever plan.”
Miri ventured to speak up. “Truly, it seems like total madness to me, Your Grace.”
“No, my dear. It could possibly have worked, except for a small matter, that the duc de Guise is not in Paris. His meeting with the king has been postponed until next month. But your Silver Rose was not to know that, because Gillian didn’t know it either. The woman has showed herself markedly ungrateful to me. Although she managed to flee the palace grounds, my guard is still searching for her. Hopefully she will be captured before she leaves the city and then I will deal with her disloyalty.”
The way Catherine said that sent a chill through Simon. Despite Gillian’s treachery, he felt a stab of pity for his former mistress, but there was nothing
he could do for the woman.
Simon studied Catherine, trying to gauge her mood. She had to be angry about the trick that had been played upon her, bitterly disappointed that the text she had believed to be the Book of Shadows had turned out to be a fake. But she appeared to have her emotions well in hand as she demanded, “And so this Cassandra Lascelles woman, she was the one behind all of this? She was the Silver Rose? And you are certain she is dead?”
“Presumably so, Your Grace. She fell into the river.”
“I—I saw her drown myself,” Miri added in a quiet voice and shuddered. Despite the Dark Queen’s presence, Simon reached out to take her hand comfortingly in his.
“The woman is undoubtedly dead, Your Majesty,” Simon said. “And sadly, she dragged her poor child down with her. Neither of them could have survived.”
When Miri started in surprise at his words, Simon gave her hand a warning squeeze. But Catherine was too absorbed by her own thoughts to notice. She paced her antechamber scowling.
“The child is of no concern to me. What I want to know is what became of the real Book of Shadows.”
“Alas, Your Grace, that is something we may never know now that the Silver Rose is dead,” Simon replied blandly. He had his own ideas regarding the book’s location. He intended to launch a thorough search of the Maison d’Espirit at the first opportunity. But he kept his expression carefully neutral as Catherine glared at him.
“It seems I placed far too much faith in your skills, Master Witch-hunter. I had expected you to track down the location of the witch’s coven and that infernal book as well. Who knows how many of her members might still be at large?”
“With the Silver Rose gone, I doubt they will pose any threat to Your Grace.”
“All the same, you have keenly disappointed me.”
“Disappointed you?” Miri quivered with indignation. “Your Grace already seems to have forgotten that Monsieur Aristide risked his own life to foil the sorceress’s plot. If it had been a miasma instead of a sleeping draft, you would have lost your reason and the entire country might now be on the brink of revolution.”