“Yes, Your Majesty.” Yves stepped down.
“I’m proud of you,” Louis said. “Very proud, my son.”
Yves turned back, bewildered. “Your Majesty—?”
“Your mother would forgive me for telling you now,” His Majesty said. “She would not have me acknowledge you while her husband was alive.”
His carriage grumbled away across the hard-packed earth. The Princes of the Blood and the other favored courtiers galloped after, to prepare for the competition.
His Majesty’s son? How could it be?
Yves followed the servant blindly to the grandstand.
It explains so much, Yves thought. Our family’s exile to Martinique. The King’s attention. My rise at court…
The servant showed him to the royal box. Yves collapsed on the bench, torn among elation, grief, and guilt.
“Father de la Croix,” said Mme Lucifer. “How kind of you to keep us company, when all the other men desert us and give us no place in their games.”
She slipped her hand across his knee, casually, as if only to support herself while she leaned close to inspect his medal. Madame and Mademoiselle sat nearby, with Marie-Josèphe in attendance. Yves could not meet his sister’s eye.
I cannot bear it, he thought.
But he must. Mme Lucifer and Mlle d’Armagnac pressed him close between them, crushing him with their touch, their voices, their perfume.
“Are you here to make a sinner of me?” whispered Mme Lucifer, his half-sister.
While Lucien rushed into his Carrousel costume and checked Zelis’ decorated harness, Jacques ran away to the pigeon loft and returned downcast.
“No message, sir.”
Lucien nodded. He had hoped for news of the treasure, but he had not expected it. He hurried to the stableyard. In a silken pavilion, the King prepared for the games.
“M. de Chrétien. I approve of your costume.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”
The Roman teams of the past always wore red trimmed with white, rubies set off with diamonds. Lucien disliked bright red; it flattered neither his fair complexion nor his light eyes. In general he preferred auburn, blue, or gold; he even used blue silk ribbons to tie his baudruches.
For Carrousel, he had indulged himself with a tunic of cloth-of-gold beneath the red leather armor, knowing the King might command him to change it at the last minute.
“Your Majesty, you’ve done me the honor of offering me a favor.”
“Right now, M. de Chrétien?”
“Tomorrow I will not want it, Sire.”
His Majesty’s voice grew wary. “If it is in my power.”
“I ask for the life of the sea—”
“Do not!” His Majesty cried. He spoke again, in a normal tone. “Do not ask the impossible of me.”
“You have, on occasion, asked the impossible of me.”
“Don’t reproach me, either,” His Majesty said. “Don’t you value my life, Chrétien?”
“More than my own, Sire. As you know well.”
“Mlle de la Croix leads you to this folly. Talking monsters, secret treasures! I never thought to see you—you!—baffled by a woman. You should have taken her—”
“I do not take women, Sire,” Lucien said, offended.
“You’re too scrupulous by half. One could mistake you for a Christian.”
Lucien bit back his reply. Responding to the insult would not benefit him, or Marie-Josèphe, or the sea woman.
“Your Majesty, Mlle de la Croix’ opinion is common sense—and unlike her brother’s, it’s disinterested.”
“You’d have me believe my own blood lies to me.”
“Would this be unique in your experience, Your Majesty?”
If Louis expected the revelation of Yves’ parentage to surprise Lucien, he would be disappointed; but the King must be aware it was not much of a secret. Except, of course, to Yves and Marie-Josèphe de la Croix.
Louis drew himself up angrily, suddenly burst out laughing, stopped, and regained his dignity.
“I value your candor, Chrétien.”
“I don’t say Yves de la Croix is a liar,” Lucien said. “I do say he has good reason to deceive himself.”
“And Marie-Josèphe de la Croix has none?”
“What reason? The brother wins your favor. The sister risks your ire.”
“I cannot give up the sea monster,” Louis said. “I will not. Don’t ask me for the creature’s life, so you and I may remain friends.”
Lucien bowed. I’ve done my best, he thought. I cannot do more.
He had not expected to succeed, and though he hated to fail, he was surprised not to be disappointed.
He was angry.
Marie-Josèphe gulped wine from her silver goblet. As soon as the servant refilled it, she drained it again.
A week ago, she thought, the gift of a silver goblet from the King would have pleased me beyond all measure. Only a week! She waved away the servant and put the goblet on the floor. Getting a little drunk might benefit her courage, but getting very drunk would impede her.
Trumpets sounded a fanfare; drums announced the beginning of Carrousel. The jugglers and singers ran from the parade ground. Torches flared, hundreds bursting into flame simultaneously, filling the air with smoke and pitch, illuminating the Place d’Armes with harsh light and long shadows. The full moon hung huge and orange in the eastern sky, opposing the sun.
Sherzad had only a few hours to live.
The Carrousel teams galloped onto the practice field.
His Majesty, as Augustus Caesar, Emperor of Ancient Rome, led the procession, riding the tallest spotted Chinese horse. Its red leather harness sparkled with an encrustation of rubies and diamonds; its crest exploded in pompoms of red and white feathers. Every buckle and fastening on saddle and bridle, breastcollar and crupper, glinted gold. Red and white ribbons fluttered from the horse’s mane and tail.
The King wore a tunic paved with diamonds, while rubies nearly covered the lambrequins of the skirt and sleeves of his red leather armor. Silver ribbons, studded with diamonds, fastened his high-heeled red sandals. Gold dust adorned his bright blond perruke. A fantastic headdress of white ostrich plumes fastened with enormous rubies arched over his head; the plumes cascaded to his horse’s rump. He carried a round Roman shield. His device, the sun in beaten gold, dispersed clouds of burnished silver.
The grandsons rode at His Majesty’s right, each in a variation of His Majesty’s costume, each on a spotted Chinese horse: His Majesty on a warhorse, Bourgogne on a cavalry charger, Anjou on a palfrey, Berri on a pony. The rest of the Roman team rode dapple greys.
Lucien rode immediately behind the King. His shield bore the full moon, shining with the light of the sun.
The teams circled the parade ground at a gallop. Riding his black Spanish charger, Monsieur carried a mirrored shield, to reflect the rays of his brother the Sun King. Lorraine rode beside him, on his matched black stallion. Together, in Japanese robes, lacquered armor, and fanciful helmets, they led their team two abreast.
M. du Maine’s following, in turbans and voluminous desert robes, rode red-gold bays. Silk tassels of all colors trimmed their silver bridles. M. du Maine carried a branch of the laurel tree, sacred to the sun.
Chartres led his band of ancient warriors, in their translucent Egyptian linen. He carried a tall sheaf of sunflowers that whipped in the wind, shedding yellow petals. His band of chestnuts challenged Maine’s bays, until the two troops raced head to head, running up on the heels of Monsieur’s team.
Emeralds studded Monseigneur’s leather leggings and gleamed in the fur of his breechclout. The cloak of iridescent feathers fluttered from his shoulders. The Grand Dauphin carried a leather shield edged with egret plumes and painted with a silver eagle, its eyes turned to the golden sun.