“Why do you persist in this delusion?” he cried.
“My friend Sherzad is dying of despair.”
“Beasts know nothing of despair. If the sea monster doesn’t please me, I might as well give it to my cousin’s holy Inquisitors.”
He put down the chalice. He wore dark brown and black, with only a little gold lace.
He offered Marie-Josèphe his hand. She took it and let him raise her to her feet, as if they were back on the floating platform in the Grand Canal, about to dance.
“Or I could eat it, which would be a kinder fate.”
Marie-Josèphe wanted to cry, You promised! You’re a great King, how can you break your word, how can you betray me, and Sherzad, and break Lucien’s heart?
“Your Majesty,” she said, as calmly as she could, “you have the power to destroy her. To destroy me, and my brother, and Lucien, who loves you.”
“Do you say you do not love me, Mlle de la Croix?”
“Not as Lucien does.”
“He loves you more.”
“I know it, Your Majesty. It doesn’t mean he loves you less. Please, Your Majesty, is he all right?”
“He lives.”
“You haven’t—”
“I’ve done nothing but ferret his men out of my guard. Why should I trouble myself? His body tortures him.”
“May I see him?”
“I will see.”
“Sire, you have the power to show mercy to us all.”
“You’re even more stubborn than your mother!”
Marie-Josèphe’s outrage exploded. “She—you—my mother submitted to you entirely!”
“She refused…”
Marie-Josèphe watched, in amazement, as his expression grew sad and his eyes filled with tears.
“She refused everything I wished to give her.” He turned away until he recovered his dispassionate expression. “Come with me. Persuade her to carry out my will.”
For an eerie moment, Marie-Josèphe thought the King meant to refer to her mother.
His Holiness stood beside the cage. He sprinkled holy water through the bars. He chanted, in Latin, a rite of exorcism.
“Cast off your pagan ways,” he said. “Accept the teachings of the Church, and you will receive everlasting life.”
Sherzad snarled.
“If you defy me, your soul will never rest.”
Marie-Josèphe ran to the cage. “Let me in!”
Agitated, wild, Sherzad swam back and forth. Louis pushed himself from his wheeled chair. The musketeer unlocked the cage. Marie-Josèphe dashed in ahead of the King, oblivious to etiquette or simple manners.
“Sherzad, be easy, dear Sherzad—”
“Don’t interfere, Signorina de la Croix,” Innocent said. “You ignore my counsel at your peril!”
Marie-Josèphe ran down to the platform, while His Majesty remained at the top of the stairs.
Sherzad saw him. She shrieked.
“Sherzad, no!”
The sea woman propelled herself toward Marie-Josèphe. She swam with desperate speed. She launched herself, snarling, her claws extended, straight toward the King. Marie-Josèphe flung herself at Sherzad. They crashed together and fell in a heap. The edge of the stairs knocked the wind out of Marie-Josèphe. Sherzad lay in her arms. Blood poured from a splintery gouge across her forehead. Marie-Josèphe tried to stop the bleeding. Her hands, her dress, turned scarlet.
“Suicide is a mortal sin,” Innocent said. “She must vow obedience and repent before she dies, or I’ll know her for a demon.”
Marie-Josèphe looked up at the two men, the holy man who thought Sherzad had tried to kill herself, and the King who must believe she had tried to murder him. Perhaps they were both right.
Sherzad raised herself and sang furiously. Blood streaked her face. She looked like a monster.
“What did she say?”
Marie-Josèphe hesitated.
“Tell me!”
“She said—forgive her, Your Majesty—she said, Toothless sharks amuse me. She said, Will a fleet of treasure ships buy my life?”
“Where?”
“She’ll tell me—after you free her.”
“With what assurance?”
“Mine, Your Majesty.”
She thought he would dismiss her, call her a thief, accuse her of lying.
“You do not ask me for leniency? For yourself, for your brother, for your lover?”
Marie-Josèphe hesitated, then shook her head. “No, Your Majesty.”
Sherzad thrashed in the basin, splashing water through the net that restrained her. She cried and struggled, smelling the sea, desperate to reach it.
“Sherzad, dear friend, don’t injure yourself.” Marie-Josèphe worked her hand through the rough mesh so she could touch and comfort the sea woman.
Marie-Josèphe sat beside Sherzad’s basin, under a canvas canopy on the main deck of His Majesty’s flagship. On the upper deck, the King sat in a velvet armchair, shaded by tapestry. He spoke a word to the captain, who shouted to his men. The sailors burst into activity, preparing the ship to sail.
The flagship’s skiff cast off from the dock and rowed toward them. Marie-Josèphe whispered encouragement to Sherzad. She tugged her hand free of the net. The skiff came alongside. Lucien, elegant in white satin and gold lace, handed his sword-cane up the side and climbed the ladder to the deck. Marie-Josèphe ran to him; she caught his hands, fine and strong in deerskin gloves. No one would ever guess he had come straight from prison.
“Lucien, my love—”
“Pardon me,” he said. He walked unsteadily to the leeward rail and was sick over the side.
“The ship hasn’t even raised anchor!” Marie-Josèphe said. She brought him some water. He did not drink, but splashed it on his face.
The anchor cable groaned around the capstan. The sails fell open; the wind whipped them taut.
“It has now,” Lucien said, and leaned over the side again.
“My poor friend,” she said. “You’ll feel better soon.”
“No, I won’t,” Lucien said. The ship rolled a few degrees. He groaned. “I wish I were on the battlefield… in the rain… unhorsed… without my sword. I wish His Majesty had left me in the Bastille.”
“How can you say that!”
“Do me the kindness,” he said, “of leaving me alone.”
On the rough crossing from Martinique, many of Marie-Josèphe’s fellow passengers had been seasick, but none with the marvelous sensitivity of Lucien. The galleon sailed through calm coastal waters with barely enough breeze to make headway, but Lucien’s illness intensified. Marie-Josèphe worried as much about him as she worried about Sherzad. The King showed no sympathy for either of them. Even when the ship sat pitching and yawing at anchor all day while the skiff searched for Sherzad’s rocks, Louis showed no impatience. Marie-Josèphe became convinced that he found malicious enjoyment in stripping Lucien of his position and his blue coat and subjecting him to misery.
She tried, unsuccessfully, to coax Sherzad to eat a fish; she tried, unsuccessfully, to persuade Lucien to drink some broth.
The captain came to her under her canopy. He bowed.
“My respects, mamselle, and His Majesty demands your presence.”
In the King’s luxurious cabin, Marie-Josèphe curtsied.
“Where is this treasure you promised me?” he said.
She fancied that the King felt sick because of the ship’s slow erratic dance, and she felt glad of it.
“Your Majesty, Sherzad can’t see the ocean from the deck. Please free her. If she can hear the ocean properly, she’ll lead me to the right cove.”
“I will see,” His Majesty said.
Sometimes he meant it, but all too often he meant to refuse but did not care to say it. It was pointless to try to change his mind. Marie-Josèphe curtsied again. The King turned away, dismissing her.