Twilight of a Queen (14 page)

Only with the birth of their son did Justice’s ambitions stir, a natural fatherly urge to provide Leon with a secure inheritance. He had begun making journeys to the mainland, seeking opportunities, investing in sea voyages and merchant’s caravans. At the moment, he was traveling to the great fair at Tours and Ariane missed him dreadfully.

She twisted the metal band on her finger, the ancient ring whose mystic powers she had never fully understood. But she knew all she had to do was press the ring close to the region of her heart and she would be linked to Justice despite all the miles between them.

One breath, one thought would be all it would take.
“Justice, I need you.”
And wherever he was, whatever he was doing, her husband would come racing back home to her.

But exhaust and alarm him for what reason? Merely because a stranger had washed up on the island and reopened wounds Ariane had thought long healed?

Words that her mother had spoken to her so long ago echoed through Ariane’s mind.

“All I wanted was the peace of my island, my girls. I knew that that was not enough excitement for your papa. I should have spent more time in Paris with him, kept him from temptation. Louis was never as strong as I, something that I always realized and accepted. It did nothing to diminish my love for him and that is why I was able to forgive him. You need to forgive your father, too, child.”

Ariane honestly believed she had done so until the shock of discovering she had a half brother had brought all the old hurt rushing back again.

Ariane sighed, resting her chin on her knees. As if she did not already have enough to deal with, deciding whom to name as her successor as Lady of Faire Isle.
“Ah, you are yet too young to be fretting over such a thing,”
Justice had told her before he had left on his journey. But her brave, strapping husband had ever flinched from facing the prospect of her death.

Ariane was not eager to embrace the thought herself, but she had to be practical. She knew all too well how swiftly illness or a tragic accident could strike down the heartiest person.
Now
when she was at the peak of her strength and mental powers was the perfect time to choose her successor. There was so much training to do, so much knowledge Ariane had to impart and the other daughters of the earth would need time to accustom themselves and accept her choice. She had narrowed her selection to three, their names a constant litany in her mind. Meg, Seraphine, or Carole. Meg, Seraphine, or Carole.

The council was less than a week away, and Ariane still
had no idea what her choice should be. Many would regard it as a trivial thing. The title of Lady of Faire Isle was not an official one, sanctioned by any kingdom or law.

No, only sanctioned by a custom much older and deeper than any present government. The last rite of an ancient order that had been fading for some time.

Ariane had often felt unequal to preserving the ancient role of the Lady of Faire Isle. She had succeeded in reviving the council meetings upon the cliffs for a time only to have the island torn asunder by witch-hunters, Ariane herself driven into exile.

She had tried to delude herself into believing the island had healed. But as she gazed at the women strolling and gossiping in the fading sunlight, she could not help seeing how small this gathering was, how very few there were compared to that long ago day when she had been designated her mother’s successor. So many of those wise women gone now. Her mother, even her great friend, Marie Claire.

A tug at her sleeve drew Ariane from these melancholy thoughts.

“Milady. Your sister has arrived.”

Ariane stood eagerly. There was no prospect of Gabrielle making the long journey from Navarre at such a dire time. But Ariane had happily anticipated Miribelle’s arrival from her farm just outside of Paris. Her joy at seeing her youngest sister was now tempered by the sobering prospect of what she was going to have to tell Miri.

Worldly Gabrielle had always taken a more prosaic view of their father’s indiscretion. But Miri had been closest
to Papa, all but idolizing the man. Ariane dreaded telling her about Xavier.

Shading her eyes, Ariane watched Miri dismount. The greetings of the other women were respectful, but restrained in a way that pained Ariane to observe.

Miri had committed the greatest sin any daughter of earth could. She had married a witch-hunter. Simon Aristide had renounced his profession and done his best to make amends for the past, but he would always be remembered as the man who had once led the raids against Faire Isle. Miri was no longer regarded as the beloved youngest child of Evangeline. She was now Madame Aristide.

If the lack of warmth saddened Miri, she gave no sign of it. Ariane could not be sure her sister even noticed. A bit fey, Miri ever lived in her own world, more comfortable with creatures who walked on four legs instead of two.

The coldness of the women may have been lost in the joyous greeting Miri received from two Irish wolfhounds, their owner having great difficulty in calling them back.

Spying Ariane, Miri beamed and headed in her direction. Ariane flew to meet her halfway, clasping her in her arms.

“Miri, it has been far too long. Welcome home, my dear.”

“It feels like an age since I have been to Faire Isle, longer still since I have been to the far side of the island.” Miri trained her gaze wistfully toward the distant cliffs. “Remember how it used to be my favorite part of the year, when we would all make the journey up to the cliffs of Argot to pay homage to the lady giants.”

“There is no reason we could not revive the old custom, make it just like the old days.”

Miri smiled, but shook her head. “No, we couldn’t. Whether we wish it or not, things change. It is the way of life. Faire Isle is no longer my home.”

“Miri—”

“It is all right, Ariane. I have no regrets about the path I chose. I am quite content on my little farm on the mainland. I love my husband and he adores me. I have been blessed with a beautiful daughter and now another child on the way.”

“Miri! Oh, my dearest, you should not have traveled all this way.”

“I am fine. It is early days as yet. No physician or midwife could even detect the babe, not even a healer as skilled as you. But I know he is there.” Miri caressed her abdomen. “I can sense him, blooming into life beneath my heart.”

“Him?”

“Were you not able to sense that you were carrying a boy long before Leon was born? Speaking of my nephew, is that him?”

Ariane nodded proudly.

“And those must be Gabby’s youngest girls. Oh, how they have all grown.”

Ariane linked her arm about Miri’s waist as they strolled toward the children.

“I am so looking forward to becoming reacquainted with everyone,” Miri said. “But first you must tell me all about
him
.”

“Leon. Well, he—”

“No, I mean the stranger you are struggling to find a way to mention.”

Ariane froze, peering down at her sister. “I always thought you were better at reading animals’ eyes than humans’.”

“I still am. But I know you all too well, my protective older sister. And I have been barraged by a full measure of gossip ever since I landed on the island. The speculation has already spread as far as Port Corsair.”

Ariane grimaced. Of course. She should have guessed as much.

“Is he really so like Papa?” Miri asked.

“In appearance at least.”

“And what is his name?”

“Apparently that Maitland witch presumed to name him Louis Xavier Cheney, but he goes by Captain Xavier. Much more than that, I cannot tell you. He guards his thoughts well, but he all but flung his origins in my face. He is Marguerite de Maitland’s bastard.”

“And our father’s son.” An awed expression crept over Miri’s face. “So we have a brother, Ariane.”

Ariane frowned. This was not at all the reaction she had expected from her sister.

“You do realize what this means, Miri. Father’s affair went on longer than any of us ever dreamed, perhaps even Maman. If I were to guess at this Xavier’s age, I would wager that he is not much younger than you.”

Miri shrugged. “Is the duration of the liaison of that much consequence? It is all in the past now, Ariane. And
Maman forgave Papa before she died. I thought you had, too.”

“Forgiving is one thing, but it is not as easy to forget. It will be even more difficult with this Xavier as a living reminder.”

“Might he not prove a blessing? As though part of our father had been returned to us.”

“He may look like Papa, but there the resemblance ends. Our father was charming, polished, every inch the gentleman. Xavier is rough-hewn and rough-tongued. He swears like—like a sailor.”

“Perhaps because that is what he is,” Miri replied with a smile. “If he voyaged with Papa to Brazil, think of the stories he can tell us, the questions he can answer about Papa’s final days. He is our brother, Ariane. Can we not give him a chance?”

“Half brother,” Ariane insisted, although her voice no longer carried the same conviction as before. Miri’s generous attitude made her feel a trifle ashamed. “I am not sure that Xavier wants any chances. He did not seem to be more pleased with making my acquaintance than I was his.”

“Well, if you had been wrenching my broken arm about and pouring vile draughts down my throat, I would not have been so delighted with you either.” Her sister replied so reasonably, Ariane was forced to laugh in spite of herself.

She gave Miri another hug. “Oh, Miri. It is so good to have you here.”

Miri beamed up at her, then immediately sobered. “I hope you will think so even though I bring more tidings to
make you uneasy. As you know, Simon still has contacts in Paris. He has been attempting to keep an eye on Catherine as you requested.”

“Now what is that vile woman up to?”

“Nothing terribly sinister. At least I hope not. There were rumors that last autumn, Catherine was consulting a seer.”

“Bah.” Ariane gave a contemptuous shrug. “She always had an interest in astrology. Maman never set much store by such things.”

“This man may have been more than an astrologer. It is rumored that he was some sort of necromancer as well and he had Catherine completely enthralled.”

Ariane’s brows arched in surprise at the notion of the ruthless Dark Queen susceptible to anyone’s charms, least of all any man’s. “She must be losing her wits in her dotage.”

“Perhaps, but this mysterious magician has not been seen in many months. He just simply vanished.”

“People who get too close to the Dark Queen often do.”

“Simon worries that Catherine may have sent this man on some sort of mission.”

Ariane tensed, realizing what her sister was implying. “You think Catherine is still searching for Meg and the
Book of Shadows?”

“I don’t know.” Miri frowned, looking as troubled as Ariane felt. “The coven of the Silver Rose did threaten Catherine’s throne. Unlike our Maman, the Dark Queen does not forgive or forget. Do you think it likely she has ever stopped thinking of Meg?”

“No, but I hoped her other problems with the duc de
Guise would keep her preoccupied. I have assured Meg again and again that she is safe on Faire Isle. I hate to frighten the child.”

“There is no need to do so until Simon finds out more about this vanished wizard.”

Ariane nodded. The sun dipped lower on the horizon, spreading its golden light across the waves. The summer’s day that had begun with such fair promise appeared to be ending the same way. But to Ariane there might as well have been another storm brewing.

T
HE CAVALCADE MADE ITS WAY THROUGH THE STREETS, A
contingent of guards leading a horse-drawn litter. Heavy curtains shielded the Dowager Queen from sullen eyes as she was borne from the Hôtel de la Reine to the Louvre. The air was thick with dark mutterings of resentment as Parisians scattered out of the way.

Inside the stifling litter, the hum of angry voices was as distant to Catherine as the drone of bees. Despite her best efforts, her head bobbed, her chin coming to rest upon her chest, her eyes drooping closed. Suddenly she was no longer a fat old woman, her aching bones being jarred by the bumping of the litter. She was gloriously young again.

Catherine tore across the hunting field, her spirited gelding’s legs throwing up clods of grass and turf. She leaned forward
in the saddle, gripping the reins, feeling the glorious rush of wind through her hair, her heart swelling with pride, the consciousness of being the finest horsewoman in all of France. Surely the eyes of the entire court must be upon her
.

Except that they were not. All gazes were trained upon her royal husband Henry cantering beside Diane de Poitiers, the Duchesse de Valentinois. Henry bent toward the dark-haired beauty, exchanging some private jest with his beloved mistress that caused Diane to throw back her head and laugh
.

Catherine reined in, shouting, “No, Henry, turn away from her. Look at me!”

Her plea went unheard. She might as well have been invisible. The entire court buzzed about Diane as though she were the true queen of France
.

But suddenly the arrogant woman’s smile fled. Clutching her throat, Diane tumbled from her horse, sprawling into the dirt where she belonged. Catherine watched with satisfaction as the duchess writhed with spasms, Catherine’s poison racing through her veins
.

It would not be long now. Nothing and no one could save the haughty duchess. Catherine urged her mount forward, eager to observe the end. But as she drew closer, she saw someone bending over Diane’s prostrate form
.

Evangeline. Catherine’s dearest friend, using her healing magic to revive Catherine’s hated rival
.

“No!”

But her voice carried no more force than before. A heavy mist crept over the scene, her husband, Diane, the other courtiers vanishing before her eyes
.