Chapter 30

I was no longer in the king's chambers.

The air was cooler now, no longer humid with the steam from King Marnaigne's bath. It was softened by a resin incense and scented vapors so thick, I felt as if I were in a verdant forest. I took a deep breath and rolled to my side.

Slowly, carefully, I opened my eyes.

The room around me was spartan and functional. Rows of simple cots ran its length. I was the only occupant, positioned somewhere in the middle. The sheet covering me was rough and thin, the woven fibers coarse. I shivered, startled to find I no longer wore my own clothing. I'd been dressed in a cotton shift striped green and yellow.

Only when I sat up did I see the mural covering the wall.

The towering figure of the Divided Ones loomed over the room with potent energy. Calamité's and Félicité's painted eyes peered down with realistic flickers, watching with keen and discerning judgment.

I fought to free myself from the scratchy bedsheets, bewildered by the gods' presence.

"Oh, you shouldn't do that."

An older woman in yellow and green robes hurried over to my bed. Her eyes were a startling amber, full of radiant peace. Dozens of the Divided Ones' sigils clattered from the bracelets around her brown wrists.

"Where am I?" I felt embarrassed to ask it, ashamed to admit I couldn't remember coming to this place.

"You're in the Rift." She tried to get me to lie back down, her bony fingers digging into my arms. "I'm Amandine, one of the priestesses here."

There was a smattering of giggles behind her, and I leaned over to see a trio of small girls. They wore cotton dresses just like mine, and their pale blond hair was neatly plaited up and away from their little faces.

I stared at them in confusion, certain I knew them but unable to recall their names or where we would have crossed paths.

"That will be enough, girls," Amandine called to the three. "What do you remember?" she asked me. Her kind eyes flattened as I threw my legs over the side of the bed, winning the struggle.

"I was at the palace," I began, trying to pinpoint the last memory I had. I'd been with the king. He'd been in the bath. I stopped short as I recalled the deathshead. My heart thudded and I took a deep breath, trying to quell my rising anxiety.

"You fainted," she supplied when it was clear I wouldn't finish. "When they couldn't wake you, you were brought here so we might pray for a swift return to health."

"Oh."

The priestess made a face of understanding. "We know of your…godfather, of course, but he has no temples within Chatellerault. Ours is closest to the palace. I hope the Dreaded End will show understanding and mercy. They were doing the best they could, under urgent circumstances."

I tried to smile at her, grateful for the care they'd shown me. A wide band across the back of my head ached, and I rubbed the spot tenderly. "I'm certain he will. Thank you for your kindness. Are the guards still here? I'm afraid I must get back." I tried to stand but quickly sank back onto the mattress as the room spun wildly.

"There'll be none of that," Amandine said, pushing me gently into the pillows. "Girls, water, please?"

The blond trio scurried out of the room, and their footsteps and whispers echoed down the corridor.

Woozy with vertigo, I allowed Amandine to tuck me back in. "How long have I been here?"

"A few hours, I've been told. Our high priest was with you at first. My charges and I took over after lunch."

"I appreciate your prayers," I said, pressing my fingertips at points along my forehead, desperate to relieve the building pressure. "But I truly must get back."

"Not until you can sit up without keeling over," she said firmly, and sat on the bed beside mine. "They said you struck your head on the tiled floors?"

I nodded, and it made me want to throw up. "There's marble everywhere at the palace," I confided.

"You've probably a concussion," she surmised. "You need observation and rest."

"You sound like a healer."

"We've all had to take on new roles," Amandine admitted. "Since the war began."

"The war?" I echoed, surprised at her ominous term. "It's only a few skirmishes, isn't it? With the militia?"

A burst of laughter barked out of her before she covered her mouth. "Militia? Is that what they're calling it?"

I nodded uneasily.

"Make no mistake, Mademoiselle Trépas. It's an army." She toyed with the charms on her bracelets. "I'm sure the palace doesn't want to admit it, but Baudouin is drawing ever closer to Chatellerault, gaining more followers by the day. They've been ransacking villages on their way in from the north. So many lives have been lost. So many children orphaned. We've been taking in as many as we can. The three you saw have only recently come to us. They're all that's left of their village."

I blinked, certain I'd misunderstood her. "What village?"

"Ansouisienne."

I'd heard of it. It was along the river, only a day or two's ride from the capitol. "Baudouin is that close?"

Why weren't more people in the palace concerned by this? Everyone was carrying on as if the fighting was nothing but a little annoyance that would soon peter out.

Amandine nodded, her face lined with sorrow. "He's been blazing a trail down from his duchy, recruiting soldiers to fight in his name. Those who do keep heading south. Those who don't…" She sucked in a breath, implying the worst, then waved her hand about the room. "This used to be one of our reflection vestibules. We've converted it into sleeping chambers for the littlest ones. Most of them are at services now, but come tonight, this will house dozens of children."

"Dozens." I looked around the room, wondering how they'd allfit.

Amandine nodded. "The Rift isn't the largest temple in Chatellerault, but we're doing our part. I've heard the Ivory Temple has over three hundred orphans now." She pursed her lips, her expression clouded. "The Holy First commands ever so many more offerings than the Divided Ones."

I wondered how often Margaux returned to the Ivory Temple, if she'd seen the number of children housed there. If she had, wouldn't she have said something to the king?

Even though the room was empty, the priestess dropped her voice, whispering to me. "I overheard that you're at court to take care of the king." I nodded, leaning in to make out her conspiratorial tones. "Not everyone knows, of course. But High Priest Théophane was asked to perform a special ceremony for the king, in private, to beseech Félicité's favor. We've heard…" She looked guiltily to the hall. "Théophane was told it's the Shivers."

I froze, unsure of what to say but certain I shouldn't reveal the extent of King Marnaigne's illness.

Amandine nodded, my silence evidently confirming her fears. "I hope you don't mind, but I've spent my time here praying for your successful treatment of His Majesty. He must heal, and heal quickly. The armies need to see their monarch strong and ready to fight with them. Only he can rally them to victory. Only he can stop this war."

I pushed aside memories of the grinning deathshead. It was hard to meet her open, fervent gaze. "I will certainly try my best."

Amandine grabbed my hands, encircling them with her warmth. "You must, Mademoiselle Trépas." Her smile deepened with embarrassed chagrin. "I don't mean to put pressure on you—I know you need rest and care yourself, but every hour the king is away, every day that he hides from his public, from his supporters, more are lost. If Baudouin should take the throne…" Tears grew in her eyes. "…it would be catastrophic. The country would be ruined, tens of thousands of lives lost. Maybe hundreds. Oh, Mademoiselle Trépas, we are putting every faith in you. I know Félicité will guide your hands."

I swallowed, unable to answer. The hopeful spark in her eyes pierced my heart.

There would be no saving the king. Not with the deathshead upon his face.

Leopold's voice echoed in my memory, asking how he'd look in the crown.

I shuddered.

The orphaned girls returned then, carrying a tray. Again I was struck by the uncanny sense that I knew them all from somewhere.

"Amandine has said that you are from Ansouisienne?" I asked, trying to make friendly conversation as the oldest busied herself at a side table, pouring the water and sprinkling herbs across it.

"We were," she said flatly. "Ansouisienne is no more."

"I'm sorry to hear that," I said, my eyes darting toward Amandine in apology. "Could I ask you girls for a favor?"

The middle girl, no older than seven, nodded before glancing at the high priestess for permission.

"I'm going to have to go back to the palace soon," I said, carefully pushing myself up from the mattress. "Do you think you could help me find my clothes?"

The youngest jumped into action. "I know where they are! I put them in the cupboard!" she exclaimed, happy to have a task.

"Not so loud, Hazel, please," Amandine reprimanded.

"I'm sorry," the little girl and I said in unison before I realized the priestess had not been talking to me.

I looked over at the little girl with fresh interest. "Is your name Hazel?" She nodded. "How funny! So is mine!"

She gasped before hurrying back, nearly tripping over my dress and petticoats.

"The gods must be at work here," Amandine mused. "Such coincidence."

"Mama named me after her sister," the little girl said proudly.

"Our aunt," the middle girl added.

I'd been about to slip out of the shift but paused. "You're cousins?"

Little Hazel nodded. "Their mama is my aunt Genevieve."

I took in their blond hair once more. It was as pale as corn silk, just like all of my siblings'. And their eyes…I wanted to laugh that I'd not noticed it before. Those were Mama's blue eyes shining brightly from their little faces.

"Your mother's name is Genevieve?"

Genevieve. My oldest sister.

Though I'd not seen her in years— ten years, a voice in my head acknowledged—my heart swelled as I heard her name. I turned to little Hazel. "And you, who is your mother?"

"Mathilde," she answered, handing me my petticoats, wholly unaware of the revelation unfolding within me.

"Mathilde," I echoed, feeling my blood sing with wonder.

These were my sisters' children.

These beautiful girls were my nieces!

"How are they?" I asked, hurrying to throw on my chemise. "Your mothers?"

I had a sudden urge to see them, to invite them to Alletois. They could bring their children and stay with me at the cottage. We could play in the wildflower fields with Cosmos and I would take my sisters out for afternoon tea at the village bakery. It wouldn't matter what our past had been; we could begin a new future, a new chapter. I nearly laughed imagining it all.

"Dead," the oldest girl said, staring at me as though I were incredibly stupid. "They're dead."

"Oh." My dizzying daydreams crashed as reality set in.

Amandine had said these girls were orphans, that they'd been brought to the Rift after their village had been overrun, its townspeople massacred.

Their mothers, my sisters, were dead.

"I'm so sorry, of course," I murmured, feeling flustered that I'd let myself be carried away in imagining all that would never be.

I wanted to tell these girls who I truly was to them. I wanted to promise that I'd take them from the Rift once my messy business with the king was at an end, take them back to the cottage and care for them, raise them, love them, but I stopped short.

I couldn't care for these children. I didn't know if I'd be able to return to Alletois. Not after killing the king.

No. I'd have to run, have to flee the palace, flee the capitol, perhaps even flee Martissienes itself.

A series of bells rang throughout the temple, and the priestess frowned. "That's the call to evening prayer," she explained. "I must leave you now, but someone else will come and sit with you."

Footsteps echoed in the hall just outside the room, and she brightened.

"Here he is now," Amandine announced, and I quickly slipped my dress over my head, letting the embroidered linen fall into place.

"Thank you for taking care of me," I began, memorizing each of the girls' faces. "I—"

"Let us leave Hazel to her rest now." The priestess reached out and smoothed a benediction over me, tracing her fingers over my brow, cleaving my face into segments, just like those of the gods she served. "Blessings on you, Mademoiselle Trépas, and may Félicité's fortune shine brightly upon His Majesty."

I thanked her once more and straightened out the sheet. I was unaccustomed to being the one in the sickbed and found I disliked having so much attention thrust upon me.

"Fortunes and blessings upon you," said the new postulant from the doorway. He carried with him a smudge stick that filled the air with a black agar–scented haze.

"And upon you as well," I said, turning to him.

Amandine placed a hand on the doorframe, barring the new arrival's entrance as she whispered instructions to him. I could see the top of his head bob with assurances before he pressed his fingertips together and offered the priestess a low bow as she turned to leave. He was much taller than her, with pale skin and sun-lightened hair.

Before entering the room, he flicked the smudge stick at each corner before setting it in a bronze bowl just inside the threshold.

He walked with a pronounced limp, heavily favoring his left side. When he reached the foot of the bed, I saw he was a member of the Fractured—one of the Divided Ones' sects so devout they carved themselves up into separate pieces, just like their gods. Long lines of scar tissue ran across his face, dividing it into five parts. One of the cuts had gone through his lips, tugging one corner of his mouth into a perpetual frown, leaving the other side in a smile.

But no amount of scarring could disguise him from me. I instantly knew who he was.

"Bertie?"