Count Lucien considered, his brow furrowed for a moment. “M. de la Croix has the right of it,” he said to Marie-Josèphe. “His Majesty need not be troubled twice to forgive a single transgression. I must caution you against another lapse.”
Count Lucien bowed to Yves, to Marie-Josèphe, and took his leave. He leaned on his walking stick heavily, after the long hours of inactivity. Though the sides of the tent remained open, he departed through the entrance, and the musketeers held the curtains aside. Outside, his Arabian bowed. He clambered into the saddle and galloped away.
When he was out of earshot, Marie-Josèphe said, “I’m so sorry, I’ve made such a dreadful tangle of today—of your triumph.”
“Truly,” Yves said, “it’s forgotten.”
She gave him a quick, grateful hug.
“Go feed the creature—hurry. And bid it be silent!”
Marie-Josèphe entered the sea monster’s cage and captured a fish. It twisted in the net, weak and nearly dead.
“Sea monster! Dinner! Fish!” She swept the net through the water. Her fingers dipped beneath the surface, into the low vibration of the sea monster’s voice.
Beneath the hooves of the dawn horses, the sea monster lifted her head. Her hair, her forehead, her eyes rose above the water. She peered at Marie-Josèphe.
“Will it scream again if I take down the curtains?” Yves asked.
“I don’t know, Yves—I don’t know why it started screaming. Or why it stopped, or why it sings.”
He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter—the noise won’t trouble the King.”
The lackeys pulled down the makeshift curtains and remade the sides of the tent.
“It was in such distress,” Marie-Josèphe said. “Come here, sea monster. Are you all right? Are you hurt?”
Silent, the sea monster swam toward her. Marie-Josèphe let the live fish free. The sea monster darted forward, netted it between its webbed hands, and ate it in one bite.
“It’s so quick!”
“It wasn’t quick enough to escape the net.”
Marie-Josèphe threw it another fish. The sea monster kicked its tails, jumped halfway out of the water, and caught the fish in the air. It disappeared into the pool, crunching the fish’s bones and fins between its teeth.
“But you said—it was mating, it was entranced—”
“I don’t care to discuss that.” Yves’ face flushed beneath his fading tan.
“But—”
“I will not discuss fornication, even animal fornication, with my sister who is straight from the convent!”
Yves’ tone startled her. When they were children, they had discussed everything. Of course, when they were children, neither had known a thing about fornication, animal or otherwise. Perhaps he still knew nothing, and his ignorance embarrassed him, or the truth of it frightened him, as what Marie-Josèphe had learned in the convent frightened her.
She netted the last fish and offered it to the sea monster from her bare hand. The sea monster swam within an armslength. The fish thrashed in Marie-Josèphe’s fingers.
“Come, sea monster. Fish, good fish.”
“Fishhhhh,” said the sea monster.
Marie-Josèphe caught her breath, delighted. “She talks, just like a parrot.”
She let the fish swim into the sea monster’s hands. The sea monster crunched it between her teeth, and submerged.
“I can train her—”
“To be silent?” Yves said.
“I don’t know,” Marie-Josèphe said thoughtfully. “If I were sure what distressed her. She sounded so sad—she almost made me cry.”
“No one minds if you cry. But the sea monster’s wailing distressed His Majesty. Come along, we must hurry.”
Marie-Josèphe packed her drawing box while he chained the gate and fastened it with a padlock. She drew out her sketch of the male sea monster’s face, with its halo of glass and gold.
“What are these decorations? Where did the glass come from? The gilt?”
“A broken flask. Debris from the Fountain.”
“The live sea monster put them here? Is that what she was doing last night? Why?”
He shrugged. “The sea monsters are like ravens. They collect shiny things.”
“It looks like—”
“—nothing.”
Yves took the sketch from her hand, crumpled it, and thrust it against the slow-match. The paper ignited. The halo around the dead sea monster’s head blackened and crumpled. Yves threw Marie-Josèphe’s sketch into a crucible and let it burn.
“Yves—!”
His smile dazzled her. “Come along.” He folded her hand in the crook of his elbow and led her from the tent.
Behind them, the sea monster whispered, “Fishhhh…”
6
Marie-Josèphe stretched her arms up into the new court dress as Odelette lifted it over her head.
The beautiful blue satin and silver lace banished all Marie-Josèphe’s regrets for the ruined yellow silk. One of Lotte’s servants had brought the dress; Odelette had worked magic on it, taking it in and rearranging the trim.
The boned bodice and skirt slipped down over camisole, stays, and stockings, petticoat and underskirt. Odelette did up the fastenings, tucked back the skirt to reveal the petticoat, and deftly adjusted the ruffles.
Marie-Josèphe was so grateful to Lotte. Mademoiselle’s gift allowed her to attend the Pope’s arrival in a proper dress.
Marie-Josèphe wondered if she would be allowed to meet the Holy Father, to kiss his ring. Surely she would not; that privilege must be reserved for important members of court. She would see him, which she had never hoped to do, for his visit to France was extraordinary.
He is such a good man, she thought. A good man, a holy man. When His Holiness and His Majesty are reconciled, they’ll stop the evils of the world.
Odelette brought out an elaborate new fontanges decorated with leftover lace from the dress and Marie-Josèphe’s last few ribbons.
“There’s no time for you to arrange it,” Marie-Josèphe said. “I’ll be late to attend Mademoiselle.”
“I worked so hard to make it beautiful,” Odelette said.
“And it is—Bring it with us, you may present it to Mademoiselle.”
Odelette reluctantly put the headdress aside and arranged Marie-Josèphe’s hair simply, with a single false diamond as ornament.
Odelette sighed. “Wish for the King to give you a real diamond, Mlle Marie,” she said. “Everyone knows all you have is paste.”
“Everyone knows I have no money,” Marie-Josèphe said. “If I had a diamond, they would wonder where I got it.”
“They all borrow money. From the King, from each other, from the merchants. No one thinks a thing about it.”
Odelette plunged a lamb’s-wool puff into a jar of powder. About to powder her mistress’ bare throat and the curve of her breasts, she stayed her hand.
“No,” she said thoughtfully, “no, powder will hide the blue veins beneath your skin, that prove you are fair.”
The floury powder rose up in a cloud. Marie-Josèphe sneezed.
“Good,” she said. “I’m pale enough.”
Odelette patted her own forehead and cheeks and throat with the wool puff, mottling the smooth tan of her perfect skin with smears of white.
“You’re the most beautiful woman at court,” Odelette said. “All the princes will look at you and say, Who is that lovely princess? I must marry her, and the Ambassador from Turkey must marry her attendant!”
Marie-Josèphe laughed. “I love you, Odelette.”
“It might happen,” Odelette said. “It happens in all the fairy tales.”
“Princes marry princesses, and Turkey isn’t likely to send an ambassador to France.” Though France and Turkey both made war against the same enemy, the King hardly considered the Turks his allies. In the past his armies captured and sold Turkish prisoners, like Odelette’s mother, into slavery. “The gentlemen will say, Who is that colonial girl? I could not marry anyone so plain and unfashionable—unless she had an enormous dowry!”