Just yesterday she’d talked the king into executing Baudouin and his family. What was she trying to get me to do now? I couldn’t begin to guess what she was playing at, what her endgame was meant to be. But I knew I needed to be careful. I could give her no reason to think I suspected her of anything other than wanting the princess well.
Euphemia coughed, and a fresh wave of Brilliance poured from her mouth.
Margaux let out a sound of pained surprise. “Shouldn’t you be treating her?”
I held out my hands helplessly. “In your vision, did the First show you how I’m supposed to save her? The king has locked me in here, and I don’t have my bag. There’s nothing I can do, and she’s so terribly sick.”
Margaux brightened. “But there is! I have your medicines!” She gestured to the satchel crossed over her chest with a long strap, hidden in the deep pleats of her layered robes. I’d not even noticed her wearing it till now.
I blinked in surprise. “Why would you have those?”
Margaux’s smile was one of long-suffering patience. “I told you, the vision. I was at the ball—dancing with the prince, of all people—when I saw what was to happen. I knew you’d be trapped here, without your supplies.” She frowned, a look of guilt crossing her face. “I took a bunch of things from your workroom. I hope I didn’t make too much of a mess. I just wanted to grab whatever you might need quickly, so that you could fix all this.” She motioned to Euphemia.
At face value, the story sounded believable, but it still clanged against me all wrong.
Margaux, dancing with the prince?
“That was clever thinking,” I began slowly, unsure of how to handle this, what to do, what to say. “What did you bring?”
Margaux let out a sigh of relief and hoisted the satchel over her head. In her haste, part of the strap snagged at her neckline, pulling a button loose and exposing the hollow of her throat. It was the most undone I’d ever seen her. Her worry was palpable.
When I opened the bag, I was surprised to see it crammed full of vials and sachets, envelopes of herbs and powders. A whole chunk of black agar resin, a small mortar and pestle. Everything you’d need to treat someone with the Shivers, packed as thoughtfully and thoroughly as if I’d done it myself.
But Margaux couldn’t have known the princess had been stricken with something that looked like the Shivers. Euphemia had been fine before the ball—a little fevered, a little bright-eyed, to be sure—but the Brilliance had not begun until she and I were on the dance floor. And I’d covered her face the moment I realized what was happening, racing her from the hall before anyone else could see and panic.
The only people who knew she was sick were me, the king, and the two maids he’d kicked out.
How had Margaux known?
“These are…These will be very useful,” I said, rummaging through the bag and pulling out vials. Nothing within was an overt poison, nothing that would give Euphemia a quick death. I scanned my labels with a critical eye, pondering potential combinations. The pillow would probably be a quicker kindness.
“Such a blessing,” Margaux murmured distractedly. Her eyes were fixed on Euphemia’s chest, watching it rise and fall. “Are you starting treatments now? What can I do to help?”
She sounded in earnest, her concern most evident. There was an odd expression on her face, relief mixed with something bigger, darker.
Guilt.
My mind raced, trying to put together all the pieces I had, flipping them from this side to that, but I couldn’t make everything fit. I couldn’t see the full picture. Not yet. And I was running out of time.
I had no idea where the king was now, or if he’d found Bellatrice yet, but if there was a way, I needed to warn her. And I couldn’t do it with Margaux watching my every move.
“Margaux?”
She looked up, dragging her gaze from the princess.
“How did you know Euphemia was sick?”
She frowned. “I told you. The vision.”
I slowly shook my head. “I don’t think that’s true. I don’t think any of your story is true.”
She made an odd little noise, laughter mixed with disbelief. “Hazel, what do you mean? What could you possibly—”
“Euphemia isn’t going to make it. If the Holy First had actually sent you a vision, you would have seen that. You would have seen me kill her.”
Fear flashed through her eyes. “The pillow…I saw it in your hands when I arrived, but you wouldn’t have really…Were you going to kill her? Euphemia? Truly?” She swallowed, waving her hands as if to waft the horrible thought from her. “It doesn’t matter. I brought all the things you need to treat her. You have the medicines now. She’s going to get well.”
“Margaux, this isn’t the Shivers. These medicines won’t fix it.”
