Chapter Twenty-Six - Wherein Things Somehow Get Worse

"Why do I have to go hunting?" I asked, kicking out at a carved sofa leg. "It might be the best way to get more information about the comte, but I already know it's going to be awful."

We all sat in the antechamber of the apartments the king had granted us for the time being—Jacqueline and Renée on the lamb's wool sofa and Étienne and me on the floor. Mathieu, to everyone's surprise, had fallen asleep, and now lay snoring on the chaise in the drawing room.

It was a series of apartments near the back of the palace, where people were less likely to stumble upon someone meant to be in the Bastille and someone whose mind had been altered by a mantle clock. Though the rooms were small, they were bright and well-furnished. White ostrich feathers adorned a grand four-poster bed, its polished mahogany wood gleaming in the light from a cascading brass chandelier. Woven tapestries depicting lush forests and flower fields hung from the powder blue damask walls, and overstuffed settees embellished in golden thread took residence in each corner. rWe'd cracked the windows the second we entered, but perfume still permeated the air, smelling of rose water and spice.

Renée plucked a candied anjou pear from a gold serving tray and plopped it in her mouth. A fine dusting of sugar lingered behind on her fingertips. "Because you're the only one who can go."

I frowned. "Étienne could go. He knows how to use swords and guns far better than I do."

"I can't go because I've been sentenced to death," Étienne said.

"God, Étienne, you don't have to say that so casually." I turned to my sister. "Why can't you go?"

Renée blinked. "Because I'm a woman, and also being around that many old, sweaty men sounds revolting."

I glanced at Jacqueline, opened my mouth, closed it, and threw my hands in the air. "Ugh. Fine."

"That isn't even what we ought to be discussing at the moment." Renée popped another candied pear in her mouth, chewing with vigor. "You still haven't told us what truly happened in the comte's workshop with Étienne and Jacqueline's father."

I held back a flinch. It had been easy enough to accept Gaspard Chaffee as Étienne's father when I'd been in the workshop, but hearing Renée refer to the man as his birth father now sounded wrong in every sense of the word. Étienne's father wasn't stuck in the de Colignys' home, making clocks in a workshop. He was in the Palais-Royal, gambling away a small fortune on lansquenet and whist.

"I apologize for not telling you everything before, Étienne," Jacqueline said, "but I didn't wish to say anything in front of the king in case he became angry. Father has been forced into working for Comte de Coligny."

A myriad of emotions flickered across Étienne's face—surprise, confusion, disbelief. And then some I couldn't quite place, some I'd never seen before. Grief? Fury? Despair? Étienne had always been steady and understanding. Calm as a summer pond.

But he wasn't calm now.

His hands curled into fists, breath escaping his mouth in short, erratic bursts. "He's being forced? What did he say? Was he well? Does he know what happened to me?"

Jacqueline nodded. "Comte de Coligny told Father if he successfully taught him to build the clocks, you would be released, and we could all be a family again."

Étienne's gaze moved from me to Renée for the briefest of moments before he asked, "Why would the comte wish to make the clocks himself?"

"Does that even matter right now?" I cut in. I wasn't sure how much longer I would be able to sit around and listen to Jacqueline and Étienne talk about their potential family. "Everyone has been lying to us! Jacqueline's father and our father have apparently been friends for years, Mother never told us about all the children she lost, and—" I glanced at Étienne, my conviction dying in the back of my throat. Somehow, knowing he'd lied to me as well was the worst part of it all. "Anyway, the only person who hasn't lied in the past few weeks is Renée. Unless she has a secret set of webbed toes she's keeping from us all."

Renée gave me a flat look. "You've seen my toes, Olivier."

"Not recently."

"I understand everything you learned today came as quite a shock," Jacqueline said, "but I do think it is rather important we try to figure out what Comte de Coligny aims to do."

"Well, we could have told the king about it," Renée mumbled.

"And risk the king arresting the comte before he admits to everyone that he framed Étienne for murder?" I scoffed. "Absolutely not. Have you forgotten the king agreed to have Étienne released if—and only if—we find a way to stop the comte's plans?"

Étienne frowned. "Perhaps that isn't the best idea."

"Hush. You're vexingly self-sacrificial and therefore have no say in any of this."

"There is a masquerade happening in three days," Renée said, licking sugar from her fingers. "Perhaps he'll try to do something then."

I raised my eyebrows. "You can't really believe Comte de Coligny intends to do something at a masquerade?"

"Why not? Everyone there will be preoccupied with the party. It's the perfect opportunity to do whatever he wishes."

I kicked my legs out in front of me, nudging my toe into a pillow. Dirt from the bottom of my shoe crumbled off onto the cream velvet. "Or perhaps I should find a way to push him off his horse tomorrow so he'll die and we won't have to worry about any of this anymore."

Étienne gaped at me.

"Don't look at me in that tone of voice!" I smeared more dirt onto the pillow. "Why is it that I'm always being scolded for saying the things we're all thinking?"

"I was not thinking that," Renée said.

I glowered at my shoes, preparing to make another retort when I caught Jacqueline's expression out of the corner of my eye. Her hands were curled around a pillow, nails digging into the gold embroidery. Her lip was caught between her teeth, the skin outlined in a furious red.

"Jacqueline?" Étienne asked. "Is everything all right?"

For a moment, she said nothing, only dug her nails deeper into the pillow. Then she whispered, "No one else should die."

I blanched. Her words were hushed. Broken. Sad. "That was a jest," I said quickly. "I don't actually wish Comte de Coligny dead." I paused, then mumbled, "Though it would make things easier."

Renée kicked out at me with her boot.

"What?"

She motioned to Jacqueline with a flick of her head. I glanced over and froze. Her hands were still clutched around the pillow, but her head was held high, a fire brewing in her brown-gold eyes. This wasn't like her reaction in my home's entryway on the night of the opera, nor earlier when she'd collapsed onto the cobblestone streets. This was biting, sharp, and—I had to admit—I was a bit in awe. I, too, longed to learn how to make the panic subside, how to appear strong and in control, even if everything inside my body said otherwise.

"This is all my fault," she said.

Étienne reached out a hand. "Jacqueline, it isn't—"

"Yes, it is. I wish we would all quit denying it. If I hadn't come to see you, Étienne, none of this would have happened. Olivier said as much, and he's correct." She turned her attention to me. "What is it you called me?"

My heart fell to my stomach. I thought back to just this afternoon, when I had finally felt that someone understood me. And then hours later, when that understanding had been deepened with a kiss. I thought perhaps her thoughts about me were changing as well. But the hurt in her gaze now said otherwise. "I didn't. . . I mean, it was never my intention to—"

"Just answer the question!"

"I called you murderer," I whispered, wishing to bury myself in a hole and never come back up. Stupid. God, I had been so stupid.

Jacqueline waved her arm. The tiny gold bracelets around her wrist clicked together. "Exactly. I'm a murderer. I murdered that coachman, and now I'm going to be responsible for the death of my own brother because I'm too cowardly to admit to my crimes."

Étienne leapt up so quickly, he knocked over the golden tray filled with candied pears. They all tumbled to the ground, sugar scattering across the navy carpet like clusters of distant stars. "No, you're not! It was an accident. All of this was an accident."

"An accident you're going to die for!" she yelled. She lowered her head, and a dark wave of hair slipped free from her updo, tumbling into her face. I had the sudden urge to sweep my hand through it and feel the silky strands against my fingertips. Then I remembered what she had accused me of mere seconds before, and shame burned through me, all the way to my bones.

"It was awful growing up by myself, without you or Mother or Father," she continued. "I was so lonely all the time, and whenever I was upset or sick, I had to take care of myself. No one looked out for me. No one cared. Duveaux feigned interest at times, but I knew it was only because he needed me to design his clocks.

"Clock making was all I had, and I threw all of myself into it. But even then, I knew no one would ever know I was the one behind the designs. When those men came into the shop and started talking about you, I thought perhaps I could finally have part of my family back. That I could finally be happy." She yanked at a gold thread in the pillow, and it snapped free. "But I didn't want this. I didn't want you to die for something I did."

"I wanted you back, too, you know." Étienne knelt on the floor next to her. "Even as I grew to love Renée and Olivier with every part of myself, I never stopped thinking about you. I never forgot. I never quit wishing one day we would find each other again."

Jacqueline swallowed, and guilt lanced through me like the tip of a red-hot rapier. I felt suddenly, viciously awful for being so angry with her because she wanted to reunite with Étienne. It was true none of this would have happened if she hadn't shown up, but could I really blame her? Renée and Étienne meant everything to me. I'd almost lost myself in the few short days I was separated from my brother. I couldn't fathom spending fifteen years away from my family, and I especially couldn't fathom coming out of it as strong and fearless as Jacqueline was.

"Jacqueline, I wasn't thinking before," I said. My voice sounded desperate, but for once, I didn't try to force it away. "I—"

"I know. I'm not angry, I assure you. I'm just tired of us all acting like my mere presence hasn't ruined everything."

And before anyone could respond, she stood up and walked to the bedchamber. The door closed behind her in a soft, barely audible click.

"I'll go talk to her. She isn't thinking clearly, is all," Renée said, hiking up her skirts and retreating to the bedchamber.

I looked over at the windows, watching the moon-soaked clouds roll across the sky. My throat burned.

"I'll convince her to realize that isn't true," Étienne said. The words were quiet, as if they were meant for himself alone.

"We'll figure out this clock nonsense." I rubbed at my temples. "I'll make certain we do. That is the reason I agreed to go hunting tomorrow, after all. Then no one will have to be hurt anymore."

I rolled onto my back, and Étienne followed suit, lowering himself onto the carpet until we laid side by side, our shoulders brushing.

"Ah, right." He smiled, though I was certain the facade of cheer was for my own benefit. Even after everything, he was trying to ensure I wasn't upset. The same way he always had. "It really is a shame I can't watch."

I elbowed him in the ribs. "Quit it. I can hunt like a proper gentleman, with guns and bears and all that."

"You don't use bears to hunt, Ollie."

"Never mind. I shall go, and I shall figure out when the comte plans to use the clocks."

"Good luck, little brother." Étienne leaned over to ruffle my hair, laughter lingering on his tongue. "You'll need it."

I pushed his hand away. "You're just upset because you'll be stuck here watching over Mathieu so he doesn't try to follow me."

Étienne laughed again, then fell silent. After a handful of moments, he said, "There is something I wished to thank you for."

"And what is that?"

"For helping Jacqueline."

My heart leapt against my chest.

"Oh?" I asked, attempting to make my tone sound casual.

"When she first arrived at our house, she was so timid; she could barely say two words to me. I didn't know how to talk to her, either. We both tried, but it was difficult. I feared she would never open up. But since she's met you, she has."

I let out a bark of laughter. "You can't believe it's because of me. She's becoming more comfortable with everyone, is all."

"Perhaps. But there is something about you, Ollie. You know how to make people smile. Even when they don't want to."

I turned my head to the chandelier, spreading warm light across the ceiling like morning sunbeams. Jacqueline had smiled today. When we'd laughed together in Saint Germain l'Auxerrois, and later when I'd told her about digging up the de Colignys' garden with spoons. I couldn't have been the reason she felt more open around us, though. Could I?

I glanced at the bedchamber door. "I'm sure she must hate me after everything I said to her before."

"No," Étienne said. "I really don't believe she does."

I stayed silent, not ready to admit aloud how greatly I wished that were true.