* * *
As soon as we have cleared the fourth flight of stairs, I lift my skirts and break into a run. I throw the door to my room open and race inside. It is, indeed, empty. My hand flies to my mouth, as if to prevent a cry of alarm from escaping. I hurry toward the bed, yanking aside the canopies, tossing the bolsters to the floor, and pulling the counterpane from the mattress. Widening my eyes as if panicked, I call out, “Charlotte! Louise! Come out now, this is not funny!”
As the others watch, I drop to my knees and look under the bed, then rise and hurry to the window. I pull back the drapes and press my face against the glass, as if checking to see if they have fallen. It is easy enough to convey a mounting sense of alarm. I do not even have to pretend. What could have so emboldened Fremin that he would take this matter to the king?
I check the fireplace next, even looking up the chimney. “They’re gone,” I finally say, my voice small and hollow. “Not just them, but everything. Their clothes, their sewing, their dolls. All gone.”
It is a testament to my acting abilities that both Martine and the regent look discomfited. In the awkward silence that fills the room, Genevieve steps forward to take my elbow and help me rise from the hearth. “My lady, calm yourself. You did not know your sisters were leaving?”
I cannot tell what role she is playing, but use it for my own purposes. “No. There were no plans for them to go anywhere. Both had been ill recently and were being kept to their rooms.”
“Well,” the regent says briskly. “You’ve seen for yourself that they’re gone. The king has indulged you in this. Let us not make him wait any longer.”
* * *
I head directly toward Fremin once we reach the audience chamber. “You!” The word is so forceful he rocks back on his heels. “You did this. Where have you taken my sisters?”
“What are you blathering about? It is my men who are missing.”
“As are my sisters.” I take another step toward him. “You were most displeased with the king’s ruling. You even asked to see Charlotte and Louise afterward.” Although I long to back him up against the wall, I force myself to maintain my decorum. “When you could not get what you wanted by legitimate means, you took matters into your own hands.”
His face drains of some of its florid color as I publicly name the very thing he had been planning. “D-don’t be absurd. You only say that to cover your own actions.”
“Enough.” The king’s voice is as effective as a bucket of cold water on snarling dogs.
I am immediately contrite. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. My distress has caused me to forget myself.”
“It is understandable, Lady Sybella. The news of your sisters complicates things a great deal.” He gazes at Fremin, annoyed that the lawyer did not share this piece of the puzzle.
“Your Majesty! How was I to know the girls were not there?”
“How indeed,” a male voice muses, but I dare not look to see who it is.
There are few choices available to me on how best to play this, so I plunge ahead, using the truth to bolster my lies. “Your Majesty, I saw Monsieur’s attendants sitting in the antechamber the day he arrived. They are not mere attendants, or men-at-arms or even a simple escort. I know those men from the years I spent in my father’s household. They are the worst cutthroats among the men that serve my family. Men the d’Albrets have used to do their most unsavory deeds.
“At the time, I thought it unusual for a lawyer to have such an escort, but I assumed it was because the war was over and they had to find something for such men to do. But now, now their purpose is made clear. He would not need those sorts of men if he intended only to escort two young girls back to their family.”
The king whips his head around to spear Fremin with a look. “Who were these men who accompanied you?”
The lawyer swallows before speaking. “Their names do not matter, Your Majesty. What matters is that they are missing.”
“Oh, but their names do matter,” I continue, committing fully to this course of action. “I’ve no doubt some of your own men will have heard of Yann le Poisson.” There is an audible intake of breath. “Or of Maldon the Pious.” That name is followed by another susurration of whispers. “I know his exploits and strange taste for self-punishment have long been the source of rumor and gossip. And the Marquis? How many Frenchmen have been betrayed by him?”
From somewhere behind the king, a large man steps forward. “I have heard of these men.” His deep rumbling voice is so very familiar that I wrench my gaze from the king to look at him. “They are precisely as she claims.” He is uncommonly large—his nose, his jowls—everything but his eyes, which are small and narrow set. He has eschewed the more distinguished long robes of the king’s other advisors and instead wears a shorter military style, complete with vambraces. His deep blue mantle is held in place by two gold brooches.
By his sheer size and ugliness, he can only be Beast’s father, although his face has none of the charm or good humor that Beast’s possesses. I drop my eyes quickly lest he see the spark of recognition in them. Merde. Can the gods lob any more disasters at me this morning?
A new suspicion glints in the king’s eyes as he stares at Fremin. “What say you, lawyer? General Cassel has corroborated Lady Sybella’s claims.”
Cassel. The name goes off in my head like an alarm bell. Look . . . to . . . cas . . . tle were Captain Dunois’s—oh, how I miss his stolid presence!—words to me. Was he warning me of this man? But I cannot think about that now. Not with the king and Cassel himself watching me with coolly assessing eyes.
Fremin swallows again—a nervous habit I am quickly learning to recognize. “The road is a dangerous place, Your Majesty. Especially with so many mercenaries recently released from service. With such valuable cargo, of course Lord d’Albret would send his most skilled men.”
“There is skill, and then there is brutality,” I point out.
“Are you saying your brother would put your sisters in danger by sending brutish men to accompany them, Lady Sybella?” It is the first time the regent has spoken since we returned from my room.
Yes, I want to scream at her. They will always be in danger from him and their family. “I am saying he would send brutish men to retrieve them through unofficial channels should official channels not rule in his favor.”
With his eyes still on me, General Cassel leans down and speaks directly into the king’s ear. A flicker of annoyance crosses the regent’s face, and she leans ever so slightly closer in an attempt to hear.
When Cassel is finished, the king nods in agreement. “I must think upon this, for it is not as straightforward as first presented. Monsieur Fremin, you are excused for now. But do not leave the palace without consulting my marshal or General Cassel.” Fremin starts to protest. “I have not said I am putting the matter aside. You may rest assured that I will get to the bottom of this. Unless you doubt me?”
Fremin swallows the rest of his protestation and bows. “Never, Your Majesty.”
“Then leave. All of you,” the king growls.
Relieved at the dismissal, I sink into another deep curtsy. But as I move to disperse with the others, he stops me. “Stay a moment, Lady Sybella.” My brief hope of an easy victory crumples. He waves at the regent, Cassel, and the two bishops to stay, then studies me, mouth pursed in thought. “I am told that when they searched for you this morning, they found you in a chamber that . . . wasn’t your own.”