Chapter 27

I woke with a start, gasping for breath and fighting against the sheets tangled around my limbs. It felt as if a terrible weight was holding me down, as if the nightmare had somehow followed me into waking life.

It was too dark to see the room around me, but I had a vague memory of returning from the Between, of being taken to the palace.

The palace, I thought, trying to sort through all the unfamiliar shadows of the room. I was in the palace. I struggled to roll over, remembering there'd been a candlestick on the little table beside thebed.

I struck a match, bringing a small glow to the room, and jumped, stifling a scream.

Kieron's face was just scant inches from my own.

His dead, unfocused eyes stared in my general direction with the terrible hollowness of no recognition. His nose had begun to rot away, leaving a tattered hole where fragments of gray cartilage poked out. And his mouth…

His mouth was too wide, too large, and without any lips. It hung open and slack, a perfect circle, like a lamprey's, and then suddenly it was on me, pressed against the hollow of my throat, not biting, not mauling, but sucking.

In vain, I swatted at him—I couldn't touch ghosts, but they could certainly touch me—extinguishing the match in the process, and the room fell dark once more. I heard the creak of the bed ropes as he followed me, as other figures I hadn't seen followed him, and I realized with a start that all my ghosts were here. They'd found a hole in the salt wards—Aloysius was right, there were too many doors here, too many feet walking over too many thresholds—and stumbled and staggered their way through the endless miles of halls, and now they'd found me.

I thrashed, feeling the pressure of their lips and the disgusting tugging sensation as they got what they wanted and pulled.

It didn't matter that I'd been acting upon the will of the deathshead, that it had been sanctioned by my godfather, that I'd been given a gift from an actual god—each of the ghosts had been victims of murder. Even as I'd tried to do my best, providing them with clean and easy deaths, their last moment of life had been one of confusion and fear and rebellion. There was nothing the dying wanted more than more.

One more minute of breath.

One more minute to remember the good parts of their life.

One more wish to magically fix what was happening.

One more, one more, one more.

And so, in death, the ghosts followed me, wanting more.

They went after my memories of them, pulling and sucking at me like leeches.

Some—the soldier, the baker—didn't have many to consume.

But Mama. Papa.

Now Kieron.

They drew my thoughts of them from me like a healer would excise a guinea worm, inch by inch, slow and winding. It felt like walking into a spider's web; I could feel the telltale sticky threads on me for hours after.

The ghosts had only caught me unaware a handful of times, but each attack had been brutal. I relived the memories as they fed, saw their deaths again and again, the horror, the pain.

Papa in particular had not gone down easy.

And Kieron…I had no idea what Kieron's last moments had been like. I'd been in the Between, killing him with the swift fall of a candle snuffer. What memories would he pull from me?

I had to get out of the bed.

I kept a vial of salt with me in my valise for moments like this, moments when I'd been distracted, moments when I'd thought myself safe.

I rolled through their grasping hands, wincing as their bony fingertips scratched at me, clawed at me. There would be no marks left behind, but it still hurt in the moment.

I fell out of bed and their disintegrating shapes paused, sensing their prey had departed. Papa tried to get around the bed first but stumbled and fell and began to drag himself over the mattress ticking, lumbering after me like a seal on dry land.

In the dark, I fumbled to find my bag, and once it was in my hands, I easily located and opened the vial. I threw a handful of salt at their approaching figures and they flinched, air rustling over throats that would never again make a sound.

Where to put them? Where to put them?

The armoire in the corner. It wasn't very big, but it would have to do for now.

There wasn't enough space in the room for a clear path to the piece of furniture. The only way to reach it was by going through the horde of spirits.

As I crossed by the soldier, he grabbed at my arm, and I felt something stretch from me, like taffy on a confectioner's pull. My head throbbed, my mind screaming in all the ways I wanted to but could not.

"Get in," I hissed, opening the door to the armoire and flinging more salt at the ghosts. I herded them past me, back and back, until they had nowhere else to go.

I had the presence of mind to pull my two dresses off their hangers and toss them aside before drawing a thick line of salt at the lip of the armoire. The ghosts flailed against one another, turning into a mass of putrefying arms and ragged clothes, milky eyes and protruding bones. They could no longer speak, but how they tried anyway, gnashing their gums, clicking teeth and bone in equal measure to form a ghastly symphony.

I slammed the door and salted the floorboards in front of it for good measure, then collapsed onto the edge of the bed, burying my head in my hands.

The day hadn't yet begun and I was already exhausted.

As if summoned by the unfortunate hand of Calamité himself, a knock sounded at the door. Without opening it, I knew from the crisp, efficient pattern it would be Aloysius.

"Good morning," I greeted him, feeling as though it was anything but.

"Yes," he said, his eyes flickering over my hastily donned robe. "I trust you slept well?" Before I could answer, he went on. "I wanted to apologize for your…removal last night. His Majesty is in much better spirits this morning and is eager to speak with you."

"Good. I'd like to start with—"

"But first, the royal family wishes you to join them for breakfast."

"Breakfast?" I repeated in disbelief. "No. I need to first see theking."

Aloysius blinked.

"To check on him…," I began, feeling ridiculous for needing to further justify my request.

"I'm certain His Majesty appreciates your concern, but he believes that breakfast is a fine idea."

I could feel him silently urging me to simply go along with the plan, as absurd as it was. I had no time to share a leisurely meal with the king's children. I wasn't there to assuage them, I was there to treat their father. But I sensed that any argument would be quickly countered. "Of course," I finally said, smiling through gritted teeth.

At least there would be coffee.

"Breakfast will be with just the immediate family this morning," Aloysius explained later as he led me through the halls down to the dining room. "His Royal Highness requested a more intimate setting for your first meeting."

"Are all the king's children here now, at court?"

He nodded.

I twisted my fingers into my skirt. "Was there ever talk of perhaps sending them away? Since we're not sure how the Shivers spreads, it might be best to distance them from it."

"His Majesty had similar thoughts," Aloysius said, heading down another hall. "But given all the troubles with Baudouin, it seems safer for the children to remain here, protected from outside forces."

"I haven't heard much of…the troubles," I admitted. "Is it…bad?"

Aloysius sniffed. "I've known the boys since they were toddlers. There was never a moment when Baudouin did not yearn for his brother's things. He used to go through His Royal Highness's playroom, grabbing whatever struck his fancy, heedless of damage. All these years later, he's still after toys he can't have."

As a subject of the king, I chafed at being so summarily reduced to being a "toy," but I ignored the insult. "And yet there have been…battles?"

Aloysius scoffed. "Nothing more than skirmishes."

Coming to the end of a servants' wing, Aloysius rapped on a set of double doors. They swung open and we stepped through the pair of guards flanking them to enter a grand hallway. The high ceilings arched into sharp points above us, with golden stars painted upon the dark wood. The curtains and carpet runner were patterned in rich ambers, and the walnut paneling imparted a sophisticatedgravitas.

"This way, please," Aloysius said.

The dining room was long and narrow, featuring a formal table with dozens of chairs positioned down its length. At the far end sat King Marnaigne's children.

The oldest, Princess Bellatrice, reclined against the tall back of her chair, utterly resplendent in layers of lemon chiffon. I'd never seen skin so luminously pale, like fine milk glass. Her hair was black as jet and just as glossy, swept into a low chignon. Her plate of food was untouched, but she sipped a cup of tea, leaving behind a perfect semicircle of lip stain along the porcelain rim. Her eyelids fluttered as Aloysius and I approached, her gaze flickering over me with unchecked curiosity.

Leopold appeared half dressed, in cream breeches and a lawn shirt with impractically full sleeves. His vest, a dark green damask, was left unbuttoned, and his jacket was cast over the back of his chair in a thoughtless heap. He cut into a ham steak and dunked a piece in a puddle of syrup before biting into it with ravenous gusto.

Remembering how those lips had enraptured me in my dream, I looked away, feeling uncomfortably warm.

The youngest, Princess Euphemia, sat at the head of the table, presumably in the king's chair. She looked about seven years old, with wide eyes as blue as her father's and a halo of loose gold curls flowing down her back. Her dress was a pale blue silk, trimmed in white lace, with puffed sleeves and a full skirt. Her plate held mostly sugar-dusted berries, and one poached egg. Spotting us, she visibly brightened.

"Will we get to see Papa today, Aloysius?" she all but shouted from across the room.

"Perhaps," he answered without a trace of commitment in his voice.

Her eyes fixed upon me. "Are you the healer who is going to make Papa well again?"

The intensity of her hope unnerved me. "I certainly hope so." Aloysius needled me in the ribs and I remembered to drop into a curtsy. "Your Royal Highnesses."

Leopold took a long slurp from his mug. "Do come and join us. You must be famished."

Aloysius gestured to the place setting facing the two eldest, directly opposite the prince, with Euphemia on my left. I held Leopold's stare for a long, uncertain moment. He gave no indication he remembered meeting me the night before. Recalling his dilated pupils, I wasn't surprised.

His eyes were clear today, if a little bloodshot, shining the same light blue as the king's.

"This is the girl—the healer—the seer spoke of," Aloysius said, tilting his head toward the chair once more. "Mademoiselle Trépas."

"You can just call me Hazel."

"Sit down, then, Just Hazel," the prince said, and waved to a servant holding a silver kettle. "More coffee for me, Bingham, and whatever the healer would like. Cook is an absolute gem. I'm sure she can come up with an approximation of whatever rustic fare you're accustomed to."

His languid disdain shriveled any trace of hunger, and I waved aside the offer.

"Come, you must have something. Cook makes a delightful cinnamon croissant. Bingham, croissants all around. Aloysius will have one too," he ordered magnanimously, as if the host of a madcap tea party. "Tea or coffee?"

"None for me."

"Coffee, Bingham," Leopold decided with an upturned twist of his mouth.

Over the prince's shoulder, Bingham stared, silently pleading with me to not cause a scene. "Black, please." I offered the footman a smile. "Thank you."

From the corner of my eye, I watched Aloysius edge from the table. He remained at hand, there to help as needed, but blended himself into the surroundings to create a semblance of privacy.

Bellatrice rubbed her forehead, scowling at the windows. "It's too bright in here. Can't we close the curtains?"

Leopold's eyes danced with amusement. "This is what happens when you stay out all night doing"—he paused, glancing toward Euphemia—"well, you know."

"You're a fine one to talk." She set her teacup in its saucer with a petulance I'd never seen in someone older than three. "You were right there with me."

"I?" He chuckled. "I was in bed by midnight. Maybe not my bed, but bed all the same." He winked at me. "The curtains remainopen."

"As His Majesty commands," Bellatrice said, sarcasm dripping from her words as she glowered at her younger brother.

"Too right. Besides, we're ignoring our guest."

The room's attention shifted back to me.

Leopold trailed a finger along the rim of his cup, sizing me up. "Tell us, Just Hazel, what trickery do you intend to peddle to our dear father?"

I was too surprised to answer, unused to defending myself. People who thought me a charlatan never called upon me when they fell ill. If Leopold had already made up his mind, I saw little chance of changing it. Speaking of past achievements felt like boasting, a language I wasn't fluent in.

Aloysius stepped forward. "We've looked into her background."

I stole a quick look his way. Had they? When?

"I assure you, she's quite celebrated in her region."

"Which is where?"

My eyes narrowed. We'd had this conversation just last night.

"Alletois, Your Royal Highness."

Leopold turned to Bellatrice, lowering his voice. "Is that the one to the east?"

She dropped the hand that had been shielding her inflamed eyes and squinted at him. "The south."

"No, I think east. With all the trees, yes?" His head swung back to me. "Trees, yes? You have trees in your region?"

"There are trees in Alletois," I replied flatly.

Leopold laughed as if my irritation delighted him, and every trace of sympathy he'd wrested from me last night went up in flames.

Before I could think through the ramifications of my anger, I stood, bumping into the table and causing the teacups to rattle in their saucers. "I don't need to be here, you know," I snapped. "I've plenty of other patients who need looking after. Ones who haven't dragged me into their homes and hurled insults my way for sport. If you think my skills so suspect, you certainly need not avail yourself of them."

I expected Aloysius to come running, stopping my outburst as he attempted to smooth everything over with his calm and careful wording, but he only waited for Leopold's reaction.

The prince studied me, his eyes unreadable. And then he smiled. "Oh, Just Hazel, I think I like you." He nodded enthusiastically, applauding as though he'd just witnessed a masque onstage. "Yes! I do! Brava, little healer. Show us your mettle, your stalwart backbone."

Bellatrice sighed, covering her eyes once more. "Must you be so loud in your praise? Of course we want her here. She's the one Margaux foretold, the one who lives with the Dreaded End. Who better to wrest Papa away from certain death?"

Euphemia gasped and Bellatrice blanched, realizing how cruel her cavalier words had been.

"Phemie, it's just an expression. Papa isn't really going to die. Is he?" she asked, turning her attention to me, arching one eyebrow to accentuate her point.

I looked down the table, wanting to say something to ease the princess's fears.

"The Dreaded End," Leopold scoffed, forestalling any false assurances I might try to make. "What a useless god. Who in their right mind would worship a deity of death?"

"Do you really live with dead people?" Euphemia asked curiously, pushing berries around her plate.

"I don't actually live with him," I replied. "I have a very nice cottage that he visits. And he's not surrounded by the dead."

Not like me, I thought absently, wondering if my line of salt upstairs still held. I'd have to make my way to the kitchens later this morning for a larger container of salt.

Leopold let out a noise of disbelief. "A death god who doesn't live among the dead? It sounds as though your godfather is shirking his responsibilities. You know, I've never truly understood the purpose of half of these deities. What's the use of a goddess of fortune? A lord of anger? Next there will be a numen of potatoes, a mistress of silver polish." He smirked.

"You…you don't believe in the gods?" I asked, aghast.

"I suppose I must believe in them, but I think any power we ascribe them, any hope that they do things to benefit us, is utter rubbish. Their blessings—or curses—are just things the peasants make up to get through their days, to help them cope. Isn't it easier to blame an invisible all-powerful entity for your crop failure than to admit you're just a bad farmer?" He glanced around the table.

Euphemia looked stricken, while Bellatrice's expression suggested she agreed but found it distasteful to admit.

I'd never heard someone speak out against the gods like this, and witnessing such rancor from a prince so entitled, so clearly blessed by Félicité's favor, made my blood boil.

Bingham returned with a cup and saucer for me, temporarily waylaying my retort.

Leopold watched me bite my tongue, a lazy smile playing at hislips.

My anger amused him.

I narrowed my eyes, feeling the fury flicker up my spine. I'd wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt last night. I'd pitied him. It wasn't a mistake I'd make twice.

"You really shouldn't say things like that," chastised a voice from across the room. "They'll hear, you know."

A young woman, roughly my age, approached the table. She wore a long, oversized set of robes in layered navy chiffon. The silver bracelets encircling her wrists indicated she was a reverent of the Holy First. She stared at Leopold, openly challenging him with wide brown eyes.

"Just family today, Mademoiselle Toussaint," Aloysius warned, holding out a hand to stop her approach.

"Oh, please, can't Margaux stay?" Euphemia asked, her voice wavering. "I asked her to join us. She's family, yes? She's just like my sister."

Bellatrice's lips twisted, but she said nothing.

Aloysius paused, evidently weighing the consequences of his decision.

"Oh, let her," Leopold said, waving the valet back into his corner. "I don't mind. Bells? Healer? Do you?"

Margaux stepped forward, a soft smile lighting her face. "I'm so glad you've come!" She reached out without hesitation to embrace me, squeezing my shoulders before she pulled away. Her voice had a musical lilt, like a wind chime on a spring afternoon. "Welcome! Welcome! You look just as I imagined you would!"

I glanced about the table, hoping someone would help fill in the gaps for me.

Leopold sighed heavily. "Margaux is the seer who ordained your arrival."

"Oh." An oracle! I looked over the girl with fresh interest. I'd never met anyone else so intimately acquainted with the gods. "Thank you. I suppose."

"I'm sure you don't mean that at the moment," she said with a laugh, smiling beatifically at me, and I felt my icy disdain begin to thaw. For the first time since arriving at the palace, I felt as if I'd found someone I could relate to. "But you will be thankful. Intime."

Her eyes went starry as she saw things the rest of us could not. She glanced at Leopold thoughtfully, then back at me, and I wondered if that was how I looked when I beheld my cures.

"Have you seen the king yet?"

"That's what we're trying to figure out, Margaux. Do sit down if you're staying." Leopold gestured to the chair on my right.

She slipped in and we waited as Bingham rushed into service once more, expertly putting together a place setting and pouring a cup of tea before fading to the walls near Aloysius.

"You mustn't take anything Leopold says seriously," Margaux said, leaning in to speak with a conspiratorial smile. She stirred a cube of sugar into her tea and tasted it. Quickly, as if hoping no one would notice, she added a second.

"I say what I mean and mean what I say." The prince fell back against his chair, ripping into a croissant. "Just because you're here on orders from the temple doesn't mean I'm obligated to listen to your drivel." He clasped his hands together. "?‘I can see the future, this is what you're to do!'?" He frowned. "How many of your prophecies have actually come true?"

"I didn't wake at the crack of dawn to listen to you two bicker," Bellatrice snapped. "I want to hear about Papa. You've seen him, yes?" she asked, fixing her hard eyes on me.

Something about this princess made me want to straighten my shoulders. "Briefly, last night."

"How is he?"

Aloysius cleared his throat. "As Mademoiselle Trépas said, it was a brief meeting. She arrived quite late, and—"

"I remember you!" Leopold exclaimed, striking the table with sudden triumph. "I saw you in the hallway! You and your freckles. I thought that was just a trick of the absinthe, but it was you, wasn'tit?"

"What's absinthe?" Euphemia asked.

Leopold snorted into his coffee. "It's a glorious drink, Phemie. Green as a beetle and tastes like licorice. And when you drink it, you see the most beautiful worlds. Mermaids and fairies and—"

"Fairies! You see fairies? Why haven't you ever shared it withme?"

Margaux reached out, bracelets jangling, to derail the princess's thoughts. "Absinthe isn't for little girls like you, dear heart." Her eyes fell on Leopold. "It's not good for anyone."

"Truly? I find it just about the only thing that helps me tolerate the presence of some," Leopold quipped, a false smile painted on his lips.

"Have there been any improvements?" Bellatrice asked over the chaos. "In our father's health? You know, that very big and important reason we brought you here?"

I paused, certain someone would interrupt me before I had the chance to speak, but the table fell silent with expectation.

Bellatrice's eyebrows rose, exasperation radiating from her. "Well? We've established you've seen Papa, for however short a visit. How did he look?"

"I—I'll be doing a more thorough examination of him toda—"

She sighed. "So you know nothing. Just like the others. Thank you so much for all the trouble you took to find her, Aloysius. I can see it was well worth it." She slammed her teacup on the table and stormed off, leaving the broken bits of porcelain for someone else to clean up.

The room fell silent, and I longed to excuse myself.

Then Euphemia sniffed, and I saw her lower lip tremble.

"Oh, darling, no tears this morning," Margaux said. "I can't stand it."

Leopold pushed the tray of croissants down the table. "Phemie, chin up, love. Papa wouldn't want you sad today. Not with the healer here. She's come to fix him."

"Please, Mademoiselle Hazel, please heal him." Euphemia turned her large eyes to me, beseeching. "There have been so many who came, saying they could, but they all lied. You…" She paused, deep in thought. "I know you can."

"I'll try my best. Starting now." I set my unused napkin down beside the cup and saucer, readying to leave. "If there are no other questions for me here, I really ought to get to work."

The little girl's fingers twisted together. "Will you tell him that we love him and we miss him?" Euphemia looked at me with such wistful hope.

My heart ached for her, to be quarantined from her father so soon after losing her mother. I nodded, and she pulled a bit of folded paper from her pocket. Her eyes were bright with tears.

"Do you think…do you think if I drew him a picture, you could give it to him?"

"Of course," I promised quickly.

"When are you going to make me a picture, Phemie?" Leopold asked, stealing her attention. "I want a painting on one of your biggest canvases."

"My biggest one is only this big," she said, approximating the size with her hands.

"Oh no, it'll need to be much bigger than that. You know the one of the fox hunt in the great hall? That awful one Great-Uncle Bartholomew did?" She nodded. "You can just paint over that!"

I excused myself from the table as she began to laugh.

Catching my eye, Aloysius indicated I should follow him, before disappearing through a side door.

I hurried after him.

"It would be best if you took Mademoiselle Toussaint's words to heart when dealing with His Royal Highness the prince. Very rarely does he say anything with complete seriousness."

"So I've noticed."

Aloysius bobbed his head, still looking fretful. "I would hate for certain words, most assuredly said in jest, to reach the ears of your godfather."

"You might be surprised to learn how little the opinions of mortals matter to him. To any of them, really. But tell me more about the seer—Margaux? How did she find her way to court?"

He indicated that we make a turn, guiding us toward a set of stairs that looked vaguely familiar.

"Ah. Mademoiselle Toussaint. Her mother was a distant relation of Queen Aurélie's. The queen wished for the girl to come serve as a companion for the princesses and act as spiritual counsel. I'm told she's quite respected within the Holy First's most inner circle." He leaned in, lowering his voice. "Some even say she has been particularly blessed, that her visions come straight from the Holy Firstherself."

I raised an eyebrow, fascinated. Though the temples all across Martissienes were filled every week with people praying for favor and good fortune, very few ever actually received a god's blessing.

"Do you know anything else about her family?" I prodded, curious.

We crossed under one chandelier, then two, then went by the king's portrait.

Aloysius frowned, thinking. "Lady Anne has quite a large brood. I believe Mademoiselle Toussaint once said she was her mother's thirteenth."

"Thirteenth?" I echoed with surprise. Her blessing made more sense now.

"Here we are," Aloysius said, stopping in front of the massive carved doors.

He tapped on the dark wood, and for a moment, it sounded like my ghosts, trapped inside of my closet and pleading to be let out. A chill rippled through me, and I had the terrible thought that Kieron would be the one to open the king's door, his skin flapping, white eyes roving over me as he took one staggering step toward—

"Mademoiselle Trépas?" Aloysius prompted, snapping me from the horrible daydream.

A footman stood at the open door, very much alive and very much not Kieron. Before he could usher me inside, I turned to the valet, keeping a light smile on my face. "I forgot to mention this earlier, but I'm going to need more salt."

Aloysius blinked, considering my request. "More…salt."

I nodded, unconcerned with how backward or foolish it might make me look. "Yes. Lots and lots more salt."