Chapter Ten - The Only Thing Worse Than the Opera is Imminent Death

My body moved before my mind, shoving past Mathieu and barreling down the corridor in the direction of the private boxes. Mathieu called after me, but I was too focused on my destination to answer.

I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. All I felt was panic, sharp and hot and shooting through my veins like white arsenic. Before, Étienne’s death seemed like a distant dream, like trying to grasp onto a fog-soaked sky. Now, it felt as if I was crashing straight through a wall of jagged glass.

If I did nothing, come this time next week Étienne—my older brother, my protector, the one person I trusted more than anyone else in this world—would be gone.

Forever.

I pushed my way through the crowd, ignoring the scoffs and protests and snide comments about my lack of decorum. The opera had yet to start, but the sound of the orchestra warming up reverberated through the cramped opera house, and everyone was making their way to their seats. Their bodies were hot and their voices were loud and their perfume clung to the inside of my throat like sickly-sweet honey. I wanted to break free of the crowd and go where no one could see the fear in my eyes or hear my labored breathing. But I couldn’t.

Because my brother was going to die.

I darted to the right of the amphitheater, scanning the mass of powdered wigs and dyed ostrich feathers. I had to find the king now, but where was he? The confusing layout of the boxes ensnared me in a maze, much like the incessant images haunting me of my brother swinging from a noose. Memories washed over me.

Étienne’s voice as he read aloud to Renée and me in the library.

I collided with an older man in my haste and tripped over his heeled shoe, stumbling sideways. My shoulder connected hard with the wall, but the pain barely registered. My plan had been to wait to speak with the king once I had a better idea of what to say, but I couldn’t wait. Not anymore.

Étienne, pointing out the different birds in our aviary whenever I was feeling panicked. “This one is a canary,” he would say. “Did you know only male canaries sing?”

At the end of the hall, I spotted an entrance to a private box, flanked by two members of the royal guard. I sprinted to it, my lungs burning and my heart thundering in my chest. Everything in me screamed to stop, stop, stop. But I didn’t.

Étienne, slipping into my room during thunderstorms when we were children, pillow stuffed under his arm and saying, “I think it won’t be as scary if we’re together.”

“He didn’t do it!” I screamed, running up to the box. “You can’t let him die! He’s innocent!”

The guards retaliated, grasping me by my upper arms and hauling me away. I struggled against their grip, but I was too tired from panic and fear and my dash through the opera halls to break their hold. “You have to let me see the king,” I pleaded. “I must speak with him. I have to tell him my brother is innocent. Please.”

“Monsieur,” said one of the guards, “you must return to your seat.”

I tried to wiggle my way out of their grasp, but they slammed me up against the wall. Breath left my lungs in a shaky gasp. “You don’t understand. My brother has been sentenced to death for a crime he didn’t commit. He’s going to die if the king doesn’t stop it!”

The guards exchanged a look. “This is hardly the place to speak with the king about such matters, monsieur,” one said. “If you—”

“But I have to speak with him now! My brother was framed, and if the king does nothing, he’s going to hang by the end of this week.” I opened my mouth, using my last bits of strength to yell out, “Your Majesty! Your Majesty, I must speak with you!”

One of the guards tightened his grip around my arm. “Monsieur, if you continue with this racket, we’ll be forced to arrest you.”

“Fine, arrest me. Hang me, beat me, peel off my fingernails with your little torture machines, I don’t care. But I need to speak with the king.”

“Monsieur, you cannot—”

“What is all this noise?” a voice called from over the guard’s shoulder.

I looked up, and there was Louis XV, the King of France, head poking out between the box’s crimson curtain. I sucked in a breath. I knew he and I were the same age, but I wasn't expecting him to look it. His thin frame was nearly swallowed whole by swaths of navy velvet, the edges decorated with golden fleurs-de-lis. Rings of sapphire, ruby, and onyx weighed down his fingers, glittering in the light of the nearby candelabrum.

“Your Majesty,” I began, “you have to listen to me, I—”

“We apologize for the interruption, Your Majesty,” a guard cut in. “We’ll ensure this boy returns to his seat.”

The king peered at me. “No, you may release him. I would hear what he has to say.”

Even once the guards let me go, I stared at the king, silent and unmoving. After all my running and screaming and pleading, I hadn’t thought he would agree to speak with me so easily.

“Your name is Olivier d’Aumont, is it not?” the king asked. “Your father is a skilled gambler. I believe I owe him money.”

Half my brain wanted me to fall to my knees and beg the king to let my brother go, no matter what it took. But the other half couldn’t get over the fact that he knew my name.

Which was why all I could think of to respond with was, “Yes, hello. That’s me. Your hair is very shiny.”

The king blinked. “You wished to speak with me about something?”

“Oh. Yes.” I drew in a breath, willing myself to stand up straighter. Before leaving for the opera, Renée had told me about the king’s reputation for being young and shy and easily influenced. She’d said we might be able to sway him to take our side as long as we sounded convincing enough. Which meant I couldn’t mess this up. “Your Majesty, my brother, Étienne d’Aumont, was recently arrested for the murder of Comte de Coligny’s coachman.”

“Yes, I am aware.”

“Right. You ordered the arrest; of course you’re aware.” I cleared my throat. God, I needed to Get. Myself. Under. Control. “He’s been sentenced to death, but you must pardon him because he didn’t kill anyone.”

“The Comte de Coligny’s coachman was found drowned in the Seine with a stab wound. Étienne d’Aumont was spotted running from the Seine with a bloody dagger in his hand. If your family’s ward did not kill him, then who did?”

An image of Jacqueline flashed in my mind. Of the horror on her face when she heard of Étienne’s sentence, the way she’d dropped her knife and whispered, “Étienne didn’t kill the coachman. I did.”

I swallowed. Too late, it occurred to me the original plan had been to tell the king the coachman was killed in self-defense, not that Étienne hadn’t done anything at all. “I—I mean my brother was attacked,” I said quickly. “The coachman attacked him unprovoked, and Étienne was only trying to defend himself.”

The king peered at me. “So, your brother did kill the coachman?”

“No. No, I—” What was I doing? “He was framed! He was framed by Comte de Coligny because the comte wants to use his arrest to convince Étienne’s father to do something with clocks.”

“With clocks?”

“I don’t know what it means, but I overheard Comte de Coligny and Monsieur de Launay talking about it near the opera café. The comte wanted Étienne to be arrested because of his birth father and some clocks.”

The king looked behind him to where loud fanfare from the orchestra leaked out into the halls. I could tell he was growing impatient. “I know the comte’s decisions have been questionable as of late”—he whispered the words to me like it was some great secret—“but I simply cannot believe he would do such a thing.”

“I know, and I’m not sure why he would either but. . .” I was growing desperate now, grasping at every last bit of information I had. I couldn’t let this amount to nothing. I couldn’t. “The coachman wasn’t in his right mind. He wasn’t normal. He attacked my brother and was acting strange and wasn’t paying attention to anything my brother was saying. There must have been something wrong with him.”

The king tapped his fingers against his thigh. “Hm. I’m afraid unless you can give me evidence of this peculiarity, there isn’t much I can do with the information.”

“No, wait! Your Majesty—” I jumped out in front of him, arms thrown wide. “I’ll take you to the comte!”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The comte. He is probably still in the opera café. If you go there with me, you can see he’s planning something.” I gripped the wall, fingers digging into the hard plaster. “All I ask is ten minutes and then I’ll never speak to you or even look at you again. Your Majesty, please. I can’t lose my older brother.” I took a deep breath, words coming out choked and wet as I said, “He means everything to me.”

It must have been the desperation in my voice that did it, or the king’s desire to ensure I’d let him alone forever. But he stopped, glanced at the opera box, and sighed. “All right. You have ten minutes. And I’m only agreeing to accompany you so I can then prove to you that Comte de Coligny is not doing what you claim.”

It took everything in me not to throw my arms around him in gratitude.

“Well.” I cleared my throat. “It’s this way. The café, I mean.”

“I know where the café is, Monsieur d’Aumont.”

“Right. Sorry.”

We were off, passing the throngs of courtiers and their lace fans and polished rapiers. They gawked at us as we walked by, muttering out a confused chorus of “Your Majesty”. There was no doubt they hadn’t the slightest idea what business the strange d’Aumont boy had with the king. The thought of it all brought a smile to my face.

Two guards trailed us, far enough away to give us space, close enough for the warm sensation of being watched to creep up the back of my neck.

“Do they follow you everywhere?” I whispered.

He grinned. “Indeed, they do.”

“Really? Even when you need to relieve—”

“Olivier! God, there you are. Renée and I split up to find you.”

I spun around, and there was Jacqueline, dark curls piled up onto her head, wearing a dress of blood orange silk I could have sworn I’d seen before on my sister. Her lips were painted red, there was a beauty patch on her cheek, and I had absolutely no idea what she was doing here.

Her presence took me by so much surprise, in fact, the only thing I could think of to say was, “Why in God’s name are you here? No one asked you to come.”

“You did ask me to come here, actually. And it seems as if it’s a good thing I agreed since the opera has already started, and all you’ve done is disappear for half an hour when we could have been using that time to speak with the king.”

The king stepped forward. “Mademoiselle, who might you be?”

Jacqueline’s eyes slid from me to the king, and a second later she gasped, dipping low to the floor in a rather atrocious curtsy. “Your Majesty! I did not see you. I’m Étienne d’Aumont’s blood related sister, Jacqueline Chaffee.”

The king’s eyebrows rose. “Étienne d’Aumont’s sister? What an unexpected development.”

“She’s not important,” I said, resuming our walk. I only had ten minutes with the king, and I wasn’t about to waste that time speaking to Jacqueline.

Jacqueline straightened and fell in step alongside us. “Wherever you’re going, I’m coming along as well.”

A groan built in the back of my throat, but I swallowed it down. The sooner Jacqueline quit talking, the sooner we could spy on the comte.

A minute later, our journey led us to the blessedly empty hall below the amphitheater. The opera had begun on our trek down, and orchestra music swirled overhead, mixing in with the clack of our shoes against the wooden floorboards. My heart sped up the closer we got to where I’d last seen the comte, sweat beading along my temples. What if he had already left, and the king became angry with me for forcing him out of his box? What if this failed and I wouldn’t be able to save my brother after all?

Yet, as we rounded the room’s small seating area, Comte de Coligny’s voice leaked out from the gap in the door.

He was still here.

Heart swelling with anticipation, I crept to the door, waving the king and Jacqueline over. The two guards stayed behind at the demand of the king, manning the entrance to the café.

“He’s in there,” I whispered to the king. “If you put your eye against the door, you can see what is happening inside.”

“This feels a bit ridiculous,” the king said.

My stomach fell. “Oh. Sorry, Your Majesty. I thought—”

“But I suppose I’ll do it.” The king approached the door, grin stretching from ear to ear. “This is the most thrilling thing that has happened to me in months.”

A few moments passed where the king said nothing. And in those few moments, a myriad of scenarios flashed through my mind. A scenario where the comte declared he framed my brother for murder. A scenario where the comte wasn’t in there at all, merely someone who sounded like him. A scenario where the comte spotted us on the other side of the door and challenged me to a duel.

The king turned to us, whispering, “He’s in there with three gentlemen and a clock. I heard him tell the men they were not allowed to begin until intermission.”

“A clock?” Jacqueline asked, eyes wide with shock.

I walked up to the door, hoping to get a better view. But a second later, I realized how close I had become to the king, and stopped. “Is this—I mean, if I—Will I be arrested if I’m this close to you?”

“Not unless I tell the guards to arrest you.”

I swallowed, not quite certain if he was serious or not, but I was certain I didn’t wish to find out.

The king, however, stepped away, allowing me a peek into the room. As before, the comte stood near the back corner, looking as haughty and self-important as ever. But Monsieur de Launay had gone, and in his place were three men. One with a wig that made him look as if he had round horns on either side of his face, one with a coat the color of goat droppings, and one with a long scar that ran up his hand and disappeared into his laced sleeves. None of them were talking, only staring ahead at a gilded ormolu clock held in the comte’s hands.

“What are they doing?” I whispered.

“It seems Comte de Coligny is showing the men one of his clocks,” the king replied. “He is known to have a vast clock collection, but do you suppose it could be code for something? Secret espionage, perhaps?”

Oh, God. The king thought this was all a joke.

“I think there is something wrong with that clock,” Jacqueline said.

The king and I turned in unison. The shock in Jacqueline’s eyes hadn’t abated, and she stood still as a garden statue, save for the hands fisted around her silk skirts.

“What do you mean?” I asked. “Why would anything be wrong with it?”

Jacqueline shook her head. “You won’t believe me.”

I bit back a sigh. “Perhaps try? Unless, of course, you don’t wish to have Étienne released.”

“The clock,” Jacqueline started, slow and careful, “it might be dangerous.”

“It might be what?” I said at the same time the king straightened up, smoothing down his brown curls.

“Dangerous how?” The king’s blue eyes were bright. “Is it a cleverly disguised bomb?”

Jacqueline blinked. “No, Your Majesty—”

“Your Majesty,” a guard whispered from behind us, “your absence will be noted at the opera if you’re gone for much longer.”

He frowned. “It has been ten minutes already, hasn’t it? I suppose I must take my leave.”

It was as if someone had yanked a rug straight out from under my feet. I turned to the king, hands shaking. The metallic tang of bile crept up my tongue. “No, Your Majesty. You can’t leave. If you listen for a bit longer, I’m sure—”

“From what I can see, the comte is showing a few interested parties items from his clock collection. You’ve provided an amusing break from my normal routine, and I thank you for that, but as I said before, there is nothing suspicious about the comte’s actions.”

“But I was here earlier!” My voice pitched, and I stepped away from the room, not trusting myself to keep my words to a whisper. “I heard him say he framed my brother.”

“I did wish to believe you. But with what I have seen, and this mention of. . . dangerous clocks, I sadly cannot.”

I shot Jacqueline a biting glare. How dare she come here and ruin this? “Don’t listen to her. There aren’t any dangerous clocks. The comte is—”

The king rubbed at his temples. “I apologize, Monsieur d’Aumont. I know you must be devastated by what has happened, but you have to understand the court won’t allow me to let a murderer—who has confessed, mind you—go free. Rest assured, I will make certain your reputation isn’t ruined. I know none of this is your doing.”

“You think I’m worried about my reputation?” I could hardly believe the words coming from the king’s mouth. How had this all gone so horribly wrong?

“I truly am sorry, Monsieur d’Aumont,” the king said, turning to leave.

“Your Majesty, no. Please. I promise—”

But the king had already disappeared through the café entrance with his guards, and I was left alone with Jacqueline.

“I didn’t mean for that to happen,” she said, voice quiet.

But I had no more energy left to argue.

It hadn’t worked.

I’d pushed my fears aside and found a way to speak with the king, and it hadn’t worked.

And now, there was nothing else I could do.

I turned and ran down the hallway. Past the jewel-toned curtains leading into other courtiers’ boxes. Past bronze statues of Apollo and muscled horses leaping into battle. Past couples using the shadows for a stolen moment of privacy. Until I reached the entrance of the opera and burst through the doors, stumbling into the Paris night.

Outside, the air was stifling. Sweat pooled at the back of my neck and gathered at my temples, making my skin sticky with pomade.

I needed to be alone, but there was too damn much around me, and everything was too damn loud—the passing carriages, the link-boys escorting couples through the dark alleys, the cacophony of summer creatures in the surrounding trees. My consciousness tilted and swirled, and suddenly I was eight again, drowning in the lake and trying to grab purchase on loose rocks as the water pulled me under, under, under.

I clapped my hands over my ears, hoping that would somehow keep my mind rooted to earth, when a solid form slammed into me. In my confusion, I tried to push the person off, thinking it was a random passerby. But then fingers grasped onto my coat, and a familiar scent of roses filled my nose.

“Renée?”

Renée tightened her hold, burying her head in my chest and muttering out a string of incomprehensible words.

“What?” I asked.

She lifted her head. “Olivier, I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry? Why?”

“I should have never said those horrible things. I’m just scared for Étienne and angry with our parents. It wasn’t fair of me to take it out on you.”

I dug my nails into my thighs, swallowing back my frantic breaths. Renée didn’t know Étienne’s hanging had been moved to the end of the week. But I couldn’t say the words aloud. I couldn’t tell her our brother was going to die and there was nothing we could do. I couldn’t admit that I hadn’t been able to save him—that I could never save anyone.

“Listen, I’ve thought of a plan to speak with the king,” she said when I didn’t respond. “Jacqueline has agreed to help us, and now that I’ve found you—” Her eyes swept over me for a moment. “Is everything all right?”

“No,” I said, because it wasn’t.

It had been easy enough to ignore my own body’s protests when my main concern had been speaking with the king. But now, with all hopes to save my brother burned and reduced to smoldering ash, it became impossible to disregard the way my heartbeat thrashed against my eardrums. Or the way it was so, so hot, making blackness cloud my vision like a velvet drape had been pulled tight over my eyes.

I shook my head, hoping that would clear my mind and I could pretend as if nothing was wrong.

It didn’t.

“Is this about Étienne?” Renée asked. “Because you needn’t worry. I believe we might be able to have him released once we speak to the king.”

Étienne.

Since the first time my nerves and weak heart had caused me to faint, Étienne had been there. He’d made up stories and excuses to get me out of social gatherings when I wasn’t feeling well. He’d always caught me when I stumbled.

What would happen if I fainted now and Étienne wasn’t here to catch me? Or carry me somewhere safe? Or calm me when I woke, shaking and scared?

“Olivier?” Renée asked, hand clasped around my arm.

I tried to respond, but my thoughts were all too jumbled up in my head, and I couldn’t string together a coherent sentence. I desperately searched my mind for any names of birds I could think of to calm myself, but nothing was there.

Die, die, die, was all I could think. My brother is going to die.

“Olivier,” Renée said again. I vaguely sensed she was shaking me. “Please, say something.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Jacqueline asked, coming up behind us. Though I wasn’t sure if her voice was close, or if it was miles away. I couldn’t hear anything over the damn pulse pounding in my ears.

Renée dragged me closer to the stone walls of the palace. She didn’t use much force, but I toppled into her, nearly causing us both to lose our balance.

The black spots around my vision grew larger, until it was impossible for me to see a thing as Renée lowered me onto the ground. Then she was yelling at Jacqueline to find someone to help and Jacqueline was trying over and over to get me to speak to her. But it was all such a screwed-up mess in my mind and my head hurt and my chest hurt and I couldn’t breathe and I couldn’t think and Étienne was going to die.

“Renée,” I whispered. “Renée, help me. I believe I’m going to—”

But I wasn’t able to finish my sentence before everything went dark.