The Shadow Queen A Novel (32 page)

The attendant ushered us into a small stone chapel lit by only two branches of dripping candles. He whispered instructions to me and left, the door closing behind him.

“Well?” Athénaïs’s voice was muffled behind her mask.

I hesitated. What the attendant had told me was shocking. “He said you’re to remove your clothes.” And stretch out mother-naked on the table in front of the altar. Sacré coeur.

“All of them?”

“Except your mask.” It had been a mistake to come. “Are you sure you want to go through with this, Madame?” The sweet scent of ambergris filled the air.

“I’ve already paid a small fortune,” Athénaïs said, irritated, pulling off her gloves. She turned so that I could unlace her.

“Your chemise too, I’m afraid.” At least a brazier had been lit and it was warm. I spread Athénaïs’s blue velvet cloak over the table and helped her climb up onto it.

She stretched out, pulling the sides of her cloak up over her breasts and pubis. “Maybe I’ll have a bit more of that brandy,” she said.

“You finished the flask on the way down, Madame.” Along with two opium pills, for nerves.

A door creaked open and the valet entered carrying a torch. He was followed by a priest, who smelled of tobacco. He had high coloring and a terrible squint. “Madame, your maid must wait outside,” he said.

“She stays,” Athénaïs said drowsily.

The priest scowled at me.

“I can be trusted,” I said, clasping Athénaïs’s hand, which was damp. The room was smoky; my eyes burned.

With resignation, he put a white napkin on Athénaïs’s bare belly and set a heavy chalice on it. “You must remain absolutely still,” he cautioned, his breath foul.

Had Athénaïs heard? “Madame?”

She nodded sleepily.

“She won’t move,” I assured him. His eyes rolled grotesquely in different directions.

“In nomine magni dei nostri Satanas,”
he began. His voice—a curiously beautiful voice—echoed in the stone chamber.
“Introibo ad altare Domini Inferi,”
he intoned, and the valet, standing by the chimney, responded,
“Ad Eum Qui laetificat juventutem meam.”

This wasn’t what I had expected. It was like a Mass, but different.

Domini Inferi.
Lord of the Grave.

Nomine Satanas.
In the name of Satan.

I understood little Latin, but I knew enough to sense that Satan was being invoked. I clutched the cross at my neck with a trembling hand and glanced at Athénaïs. Was she sleeping? I wanted to wake her, put a stop to this!

The priest uncovered the chalice and raised it. The smoke of burning incense filled the tiny chamber. My throat burned; I coughed. I could hardly see through the thick haze.
“Veni Satanas, Imperator Mundi, ut animabus famulorum …”

“Dominus Inferus vobiscum.”
Lord of the Grave, be with you.

“Et cum tuo,”
the valet responded. And with you.

A bell rang three times. A door creaked open and shut.

The priest was now hunched over a bundle on the sideboard.
“In spiritu humilitatis, et in animo contrito suscipiamur a Te, Domine Satanas; et sic fiat sacrificium …”

Sacrificium.
In
sacrifice
?

Something gleamed bright in the torchlight. A blade? And then I thought I saw the bundle move, but it was dark, too dark to be sure. A baby’s sharp cry startled me, and then—chillingly—there was silence.

Athénaïs did not stir. Had she not heard?

“That’s enough,” the priest said, and the valet left with the bundle.

I held onto the table to steady myself. What had I witnessed?

“Speak your wish, Madame,” the priest instructed Athénaïs, holding the chalice above her.

I touched Athénaïs’s shoulder. “Madame?”
Was
she asleep? My mind recoiled from the thoughts that were forming—too horrible to believe.

“Speak your wish,” the priest repeated, a little impatiently.

“I ask for the exclusive love of my paramour,” Athénaïs said, her voice rasping.

Chanting, the priest spilled something dark from the chalice onto her bare belly. She giggled in protest as drops trickled down her sides.

The priest put the chalice back down on the sideboard and sounded a bell. He held his hands out over Athénaïs, his fingers hovering over her skin.

“Ecce sponsa Satanae.”
Behold the bride of Satan.

“Ego vos benedico in nomine Satanae.”
I bless you in the name of Satan.

I was shaking. I feared I might faint.

“Ave Satanas.”
Hail, Satan.

Athénaïs began softly snoring.

“In nomine Satanas. Amen.”

“You may dress now, Madame,” the priest said, and disappeared the way he had come.

“Madame?” My voice a croak.

Athénaïs stirred. “Is that it?”

“Don’t move,” I said. “I have to clean you.” I used a nose cloth to wipe her belly. I sniffed the cloth:
blood.
Almost retching, I did my best to help Athénaïs back into her gown.

“What was that all about?” Athénaïs asked, lifting her mask. Her face looked ghostly in the candlelight.

“I’m … I’m not sure,” I said, clenching my teeth to keep them from chattering. It was warm in the chamber, yet I felt chilled to the bone.

“So long as it works,” Athénaïs said, securing the diamond-studded clasp of her cloak at the neck.

CHAPTER 54

I
couldn’t sleep for nightmares, the suffocating spirits that rose up in the dark. Even among the scented courtiers at Versaie, even in the blooming palace gardens, even deep in the heart of the palace Labyrinth, where I could usually find respite from my cares, even
there
I could smell ambergris, a haunting reminder.

Athénaïs seemed entirely unaware. Confident, she regained her wit, her humor, her charm. And now, with the King’s ardor “magically” aflame once again, she was considering a second ritual to ensure her dominion over the royal scepter.

“Madame, please—
don’t.
”

“Claude, it works!” She leaned forward, peering into her looking-glass and stroking her chin. “I have nothing more to fear. This afternoon that trollop Angélique paraded before the King half-naked, but he didn’t even lift his eyes.”

I tried to swallow, my mouth dry. “But it’s the Devil’s power, Madame.”

She burst into a gale of laughter. I’d begun to fear that she’d been taken over. Was she under a spell? Had her spirit been stolen?

“You’re talking like a peasant,” she said. “It has nothing to do with the Devil. A priest officiated, calling on the Divine.”

“You were asleep. He invoked
Satan.
”

“You keep telling me I was asleep. I wasn’t asleep! Why are you not pleased? This is a miracle.”

I wanted to cry. “Your eyes were closed. A swaddled baby was brought in and … and
murdered.
” I pressed a hand over my mouth. I was sure of it now. A horror!

“You were seeing things. You took some of my opium pills, confess.”

“The priest spilled the baby’s
blood
on your belly, Madame. I smelled it.”

Athénaïs snorted with amusement. “Next you’ll be telling me there are werewolves in the garden.”

There was no way to stop her. I heard my father’s voice.
There are things we do not do, things we will not do.
My heart skittered, knowing the risks: Gaston could be forced to leave his beloved monastery, Sweet Pea could be taken from me—or worse. I arranged Athénaïs’s silk shawl around her shoulders and stood back. I felt numb from lack of sleep. “I have to go,” I said finally, bluntly.

Athénaïs pulled old Popo onto her lap and turned one of the pug’s ears inside out, examining it for mites.

Had she heard me?

She folded back the dog’s ear and set him down on the tiles. He ambled over to his pillow by the fire. “How long will you need, Claudette?”

Claudette.
She’d first called me that at the ball at the Palais-Royal. We were so young. “Forever, Madame. I’m … I must leave your service.”

“Are you serious?” she asked, looking up at me, her enormous eyes searching.

I bit my lower lip. I’d known Athénaïs as a girl; we’d been through so much together. I understood her in a way nobody else did; understood her temper, her frustrations—her pain. I understood what she’d once had, and what she had lost. “My health has not been good.”

She snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re as healthy as a beast of the field.”

I felt a cat rub against my ankle. “I don’t care to burden you, Madame, but I do have problems.” My sleepless nights had weakened me; I feared the Devil’s presence.

“I’ll have my doctor attend you,” she said kindly, applying the blade of a pair of scissors to her chin. It was a small pair used for cutting nails, but sharp as a razor, useful for eliminating unseemly hairs. “Just get some rest, my dear. You’ll be fine. I’ll have one of the cooks make you a healing gruel.”

My ring of keys was heavy: I fumbled detaching it from my underskirt. I clunked it down on the marble toilette table amongst her jumble of gems, the crystal perfume bottles with solid gold stoppers. “I’m serious. I can’t be part of this.” My voice quavered dangerously. “I’m leaving … today.”

The frown lines between her brows were caked with powder. “Is it money you want?”

“It has nothing to do with money.”

She stared at me, harder now. “You
are
serious.”

“Oui, Madame. I am.”

“And you actually think you
can
leave me?” She smiled, a cold mocking look. “Take back your keys, Claude. You’re not going anywhere,” she said, turning back to her image in the glass. “His Majesty will forbid it.”

Was I indentured for life, a slave? I looked out the window. The brocade curtains had been pulled open, tied back with ropes of braided silk. The summer light was bright. “He would agree were you to press my case.”

“And why, pray, would I do that?” she demanded, toying with one of her lovelocks. The stiff curl of bronzed hair was lacquered about her ear like a tragedy queen’s.

I heard heels on the parquet outside the door, animals scurrying, the thrumming wings of a bird allowed to fly free. “Because there are things you would not want His Majesty to know,” I said evenly.

She turned to me with tears in her eyes. “You’re threatening me?” The spots on her cheeks stood out like those on a clown’s sad face.

Her eyes, so transparent and blue, had always had a captivating power over me. I looked away.
Oui
: I am threatening you. It’s all I have, all that is left to me, the knowledge of your secrets.

“You threaten
me
?” She stood with such violence that the table overturned, glass shattering on the tiles. The air filled with the stench of her musky perfumes. “Do you not understand that I am queen of this damned country!” she shouted, spittle flying in her fury.

A guard and a maid burst into the room. “Out!” she screamed, and they hastily backed away, stumbling over each other. She pointed the scissors at me. Although small, they could be deadly if aimed at an eye or the throat.

Shards of glass crunched under my feet. “An infant was murdered at that ritual,” I said, my voice rising. I no longer cared who might overhear. “The priest spilled its blood on your belly.”

“Don’t lie to me, you whore.” Her teeth, her lovely teeth, were stained pink from wine, like the teeth of the condemned at hangings. “There isn’t a confession you’ve made to Père d’Ossat I don’t know about. You think I didn’t notice my missing trinkets, the opium pills that disappeared? Taken, you no doubt told yourself, to ease the pain of your floozy mother.”

“You will go to Hell, Athénaïs.”

“And you’re so virtuous? You
used
me to fulfill your lusts. You’re an unnatural woman, feigning to be above your station, among the quality. You think you
belong
here? You’re no different from the beggar women in the market, your hand always out. You’re loveless—and it’s no wonder! You’re a leech, one big hungry mouth, never sated, never satisfied.”

I felt a choking sob rise up in my chest. “I
saw
it.” I was bigger and stronger than Athénaïs—and quicker too, no doubt. My eyes on the scissors she held, I scooped up the splintered stem of a glass. “I’ve served you loyally, but I—”

I’m sorry,
I wanted to say. Sorry for the monster she had become, sorry for the horrors I’d witnessed, been part of. The temptations I’d given way to.
Encouraged.
I’d given evil counsel.

“You thankless slut! I raised you up out of the gutter. I gave you everything! You’d have nothing were it not for me. I
bought
your idiot brother’s salvation.”

“For which I’ll always be grateful,” I cried, weeping now, buffeted by a confusing welter of emotions.

I glimpsed a hint of sadness in her eyes before she turned away. She stood still as stone. I waited, holding my breath, violently trembling.

“I will have your trunk sent on,” she said finally.

I breathed with relief.

“To the world, this will be an amicable parting. You’re never to say a word about what has passed. Understand?
Not one word.
Or—!” She faced me, her features hard. “Or I’ll have your precious baby thrown into a bear pit.”

Deus! I believed her, believed she could do such a thing. “I won’t speak of it, Madame.” I threw down the shard, as if it were a sword. “I vow to that—so long as my brother and daughter are not harmed.” I was striking a deal with the Devil.

The pendulum clock chimed the hour.

“Damnation,” the parrot squawked.

I turned to the door, glass crackling under my feet. Was it possible to walk away from this world, as if exiting a stage?

A
CT
V
L
ABYRINTH

(1680, Château de Suisnes)