Chapter Sixteen - Wherein Deals are Positively Awful

This entire idea was a disaster, and I wished to say as much before Jacqueline embarrassed herself in front of French royalty. But then Renée asked, “Your Majesty, may I speak with my brothers alone for a moment?”

The king waved a conceding hand, lifting himself from the chair and joining Jacqueline by her stolen clock.

And I was left alone—still confused and hurt and more than a little angry—with my siblings. The second the king left, Renée ran to Étienne, burying her face in his chest and grasping her hands around the folds of his powder blue frock coat. “I’ve missed you so much,” she said into his coat lapels. “Olivier is far more obnoxious when I have to deal with him by myself.”

I scoffed. “Right. Just forget about how I tried to keep you safe when that man attacked us at the opera.”

Étienne gently pushed Renée away, brows creased with concern. He took her chin in his hand and turned her face this way and that, as if searching for injury. “What happened? Were you hurt?”

She shrugged. “A man attending the opera chased me out of the Palais-Royal with a pistol, and both Olivier and Jacqueline had to help stop him.”

Étienne swallowed as he lowered himself onto a velvet stool next to Renée. He turned his head to the other side of the room, gaze fixed on nothing in particular. His eyes were distant, worried. Nothing at all like the brother who took me by the shoulders when I was panicked and asked me to look at him—so I could see that as long as he was in my life, I would never be alone.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t think—I just wanted—” He let out a shaky breath, fingers curling around the stool’s golden tassels. “I never imagined you two would involve yourselves in this.”

Renée placed her hand atop Étienne’s. She opened her mouth to say something, but I blurted, “That’s right, you didn’t think.”

Étienne’s gaze moved to meet mine.

“Why in God’s name did you believe we wouldn’t help you?” I asked. “And what on earth was running through that book-clogged brain of yours when you decided to traipse around confessing to crimes you didn’t commit?”

Étienne didn’t have any idea what I’d gone through to keep him from hanging—pleading with the king at the opera, my nervous fit, the desperate plans I’d made with Jacqueline and Renée. He didn’t know that I’d do it all again, do it ten times over, if it meant saving him from death. And he had the audacity to say he didn’t think I would help?

Étienne gave me a confused look, eyebrows crinkled together. It was the same expression he wore whenever he was reading one of his boring-to-tears astronomy texts and came across a concept he didn’t quite understand. “Jacqueline has no one but me to save her. You and Renée have each other. You’re twins, for God’s sake. Neither of you need me, and if I’m gone—”

I shot up from the chaise, so quickly, a gilded candlestick holder next to my arm clattered to the floor. “Is that what you think, then?” I let out a mirthless laugh. It sounded more like a choked whisper. “You think Renée and I don’t need you? That if you died, we’d be all right with it and carry on with our lives like nothing happened?”

“Olivier,” Renée said quietly. “We won’t solve anything this way.”

But all Étienne did was lower his head and say, “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

I turned to the window and watched moon-tipped clouds pass across the darkening sky. Fifteen years of Étienne coming into my room at night when he thought I would be scared and unable to sleep. Fifteen years of helping distract me from my panic, of assuring Renée there was nothing wrong with her because of who she had feelings for, of huddling up with us by the fire while we talked about our deepest wishes and fears. And even after all that, he thought we didn’t need him? That I could stop my anxious fits? That Renée could face a world in which something she was born with was considered an unforgivable sin? That we could both do it alone, without our older brother?

“Ollie?” Étienne asked, voice quiet and pleading. “Please, say something.”

I narrowed my eyes. “I’m rather busy at the moment.”

“Why are you squinting?” Renée asked. “Is there something in your eye?”

I whirled around. “Fine. All right. What would you like for me to say?”

“Olivier, you’re hurt,” Étienne said, as if just noticing the fist-sized bandage that had been above my brow the entire evening.

“Yes, I was attacked by a madman while trying to save Jacqueline despite you thinking we would stay at home and let you die.”

He flinched back. “Oh.”

I knew I was being unfair, but I couldn’t stop the anger from seeping through my skin like spoiled honey. I felt so hurt and betrayed and scared. First, by Étienne deciding to take the blame for a crime he didn’t commit. Then, by the way he’d kept quiet about Jacqueline. And now, by his insistence Renée and I would be all right if he died.

I wanted to throw my arms around my brother and tell him how much I did need him, how much I would always need him. I wanted to push him away and refuse to ever speak to him again. I wanted to go back to a few weeks ago when I’d watched him sketch birds in the library and he was safe and Renée was safe and Jacqueline wasn’t in our lives and everything was perfect.

And now, everything was a goddamn disaster.

That’s when Jacqueline yelled out from the table. We all whipped our heads around to where she had the clock cracked open, cogs and screws and wheels spilling onto the lacquered wood like bits of metallic organ and bone.

“What is it?” Étienne asked.

“The hour and minute wheels are wrong. There are fissures on each of the spokes.”

I raised an eyebrow. “I don’t believe anyone but you knows what that means.”

“The fissures are making the hour and minute wheel rub together strangely, and it’s causing the clock hands to vibrate.”

“And?” I prompted.

“It was done on purpose. The vibration—I remember seeing something similar in my father’s journals. I believe it’s causing the clocks to alter people’s minds.”

I glanced at the king. He was at the fireplace, running a hand over the polished mahogany mantle. He picked up a porcelain paperweight of a deer, and it fumbled in his hand, the figure crashing back onto the mantle and one of the gold-tipped ears breaking clean off. He gasped and stuffed the broken bit of porcelain into a nearby pot of violets. Then he cleared his throat and said, “I would see the hour and minute wheel.”

Jacqueline held out the clock parts, and the king took them, spending the next few moments narrowing and widening his eyes like his vision had become irregular.

“I’ve worked with clocks a few times in the past,” the king said, “and I’ve never seen fissures like these on any of the spokes. But why would Fleury have a clock that’s been tampered with in his apartments?”

“Do you believe Fleury could have anything to do with the attacks?” Jacqueline asked. “That could be why this clock is here.”

“No. He loves France as much as I do. He would never do anything to hurt this country, or to hurt me.”

“Then perhaps the comte put this clock here to harm him,” Jacqueline offered.

“Why would he wish to harm Fleury? That is not what I—” The king shrank back, skin paling. “No, I cannot allow that to happen. I must stop this. Fleury has been with me since I was a child. He’s like a father to me. I have to make sure nothing happens to him. I have to stop this.”

“You, Your Majesty?” Renée asked.

“Yes. I—I’m the king. I have to do something. It’s my duty to help France and its citizens. My great grandfather surely would have put a stop to this, so I must as well.”

My breath caught in my throat, an idea forming itself in my mind. If he wished so greatly to be involved with stopping the attacks, then we could all work with the king and...

And perhaps that meant we had a chance.

“Release my brother,” I said.

“Olivier, what are you doing?” Étienne whispered at the same time the king asked, “Excuse me?”

I ignored Étienne, determined to not let myself falter. “Promise to release my brother, and we’ll help you.”

The king blinked at me, confused. “Are you attempting to make a deal with me?”

“I. . . erm. . . yes?”

The king leaned back in his chair, though the confusion on his face hadn’t dissipated. “All right, then. Tell me why I should release your brother.”

“Because none of this is his fault. I already told you the coachman wasn’t in his right mind when he attacked my brother. And you saw that the comte was doing something to those men with a clock, so you know I’m not lying. If you wish to stop the attacks, you’ll need our help. And we won’t give it to you unless you promise to have my brother released.”

The king harrumphed. “What makes you think I need your help?”

“Because Jacqueline is the one with the journals.”

“And yet the things written in the journals were discovered without Mademoiselle Chaffee telling a soul about them. Which leads me to believe I can get the same information on my own.”

“Well, yes, that’s true but—”

“But we could tell you how to turn people back to normal,” Jacqueline finished.

“You could?” the king asked, running a hand through his hair. The multi-colored rings on his fingers glittered in the candlelight.

“If we retrieve the journals, I can learn how to make people regain control of their minds once they’ve gone under the influence of the clocks. That way, even if the attacks continue, you can stop them before too much harm is done.”

“And you believe you can find out how to negate the clock’s effects?”

“If I can’t, my father certainly can. And he will help no one if he knows his son is in prison for a crime he didn’t commit.”

“Or,” the king said, “if Comte de Coligny is truly behind the attacks, I can have him arrested. I am the king, after all.”

“No! That won’t work,” I said.

“Why not?”

Because the comte is the only person who can admit he framed my brother for murder. Because if he’s arrested, there is no way to get my brother released for good.

“He might have some further plan set in motion, one with more attacks. And if he is arrested, no one will be able to stop it.” I set my jaw, determined to sound as commanding as possible. “Who knows how long the comte has been planning this, or if he has any accomplices. I could be mistaken, but he seems more the type to bring his dastardly plans with him to the grave. But if we figure them out ourselves and wait to arrest him until after those plans are stopped, you’ll ensure France remains safe.”

The king fell silent, chewing on his lip. Though I hadn’t found him intimidating when I first saw him at the opera, now he was the only thing standing between a situation with no favorable outcome, and a situation where everyone I loved could be kept safe. And that was a terrifying thought.

“Then, you must get the journals as soon as possible,” the king said to Jacqueline. “If both Fleury and the entirety of Paris are in danger, we cannot wait much longer. My great grandfather would have never wasted this much time.” He paused. “And take Olivier d’Aumont with you.”

My hand flew to my chest. “Me, Your Majesty?”

“Mademoiselle Chaffee is an attractive young woman and thus should not be expected to make such a journey alone. I cannot accompany her seeing as I’m the king, and the elder Monsieur d’Aumont cannot be seen roaming the streets away from the Bastille. That leaves you.”

“But she’s so annoying!”

The king’s eyes went wide. “I beg your pardon?”

“You can’t just argue with the King of France,” Renée whispered through her teeth.

She had a point.

“All right. I’ll go.” I paused, a sudden idea flashing through my mind. “I mean, I’ll go if you allow my brother to come home with us tonight. He can help us with the clocks. . . so. . . er. . . he needs to be with us. It’s important.”

The king glanced at Étienne. “Is that true?”

Étienne looked between Renée and Jacqueline and me, mouth opening then closing again. “It is,” he agreed. I nearly screamed with relief. “What Jacqueline said is true. My father won’t help us if he knows I’m in prison. But I will concede to being hanged if we don’t discover the comte’s plans by the week’s end, regardless of whether or not you decide the coachman was killed in self-defense.”

“Étienne,” I hissed.

He didn’t respond. So much for relief.

I expected the king to refuse or argue, but he nodded, saying, “I must take my leave before my absence is noted in the palace. But I expect Olivier d’Aumont and Mademoiselle Chaffee to retrieve the journals by tomorrow evening. I shall. . .” He tapped his fingers against his chin. “I shall visit your home then to oversee the progress. Right. That’s a good plan, is it not?” He walked halfway to the door, then stopped, turning to face us. “I trust you’ll all be able to make your way out of Versailles on your own? I’ll inform the prison governor Étienne d’Aumont is to be kept in my care for the time being, so see to it that he is not spotted.”

“We’ll be fine, Your Majesty,” Étienne said. “Thank you for everything.”

“If anyone attempts to go against what we agreed upon, Étienne d’Aumont will be brought to the Bastille and hanged straight away. I will pardon you for good if—and only if—Comte de Coligny’s plans are discovered and stopped. The courtiers will become angry with me if they learn I have agreed to help Monsieur d’Aumont given his. . . position in this country, so no one must know what we have spoken about tonight. Our agreement is to be kept between us at all costs. My reputation as King of France is on the line otherwise. Understood?”

At first, I assumed the king meant Étienne’s murder accusations, but then I noticed the awkward shuffle of his feet, and the way he kept glancing at Etienne then Jacqueline then back again like he thought no one would notice. He’d tried to relay the message politely enough, but his words were clear as day. We had to keep our agreement a secret not because Etienne had been arrested, but because Étienne was different. He was other and, in that, already seen as guilty.

Worst of all was none of us could utter a word of protest. It didn’t matter that his thoughts were wrong, that the whole goddamned country’s thoughts were wrong. He was the king, and what he said went.

Heart clenched, I shot a look at Étienne. As usual, his expression gave nothing away, but his hands were curled into fists behind his back. Even cast in shadows, I could see his fingers shake.

We had one week to figure out the clocks and think of a plan to have Étienne released for good. There was still the comte to deal with, and Jacqueline was still a huge pain, but I’d figure it all out. Because I had to. Because if I didn’t, my brother would die. And it would be my fault.