Page 80 of A Treachery of Swans

“I was, for a moment,” Marie admits. “But the more I thought about it, the more I realized… part of me always suspected it was you. I simply did not want to admit it to myself. Those memories of us as girls were some of my most treasured, and I didn’t want to tarnish them. So I chose to ignore any suspicions I had, in favor of clinging to those last moments of freedom.”

“Marie,” I say, and for the first time in perhaps all my life, my heart aches. “I—”

“I am sorry,” she interrupts. “About that day in the stables. I should have said it long ago. I didn’t want to… to bring it up. To reopen old wounds. But… I never should have left you there. My mother… Well, I told you I was a coward. And it is her I’ve always feared most of all. It’s not that I didn’t want to stop her, Odile, I swear it. It’s that… I couldn’t. And I’m so very sorry.”

“I understand,” I say. And I do. Perhaps part of me always did, just as part of Marie always knew it was I who stole the diamonds. But I’d clung to the pain of that moment because I wanted to be angry, to justify the actions I had taken after. To feel righteous instead of guilty. “I’m sorry, too.”

Marie gives me a grateful smile, her eyes rippling with sorrow. I feel the cracks between us like they are a chasm—I don’t know howto repair them; I’ve never had to before, but I can’t stand seeing her anguished. There’s a strand of hair curling loose and unruly over her face, and on an impulse I reach up to tuck it behind her ear.

When I draw back, her cheeks are pink, her lips parted in surprise. Her reaction fills me with sudden wicked delight. Feeling impish, I poke the tip of her nose.

Marie blinks, catlike. Then she turns away abruptly. “Come inside,” she says, curt and formal, almost comically so. “And wipe that smug smile off your face.”

I follow Marie back into the Dauphine’s chambers. She settles primly on a couch, curling her feet under herself, while I set my candelabra on the vanity and remain standing, full of tense, erratic energy.

Marie leans forward. “What is it that you wanted to tell me?”

“My father is Bartrand de Roux,” I blurt immediately. “At least, I believe he is. It should be impossible, I know. But Aimé and I once stumbled across a journal inscription that said sorciers could prolong their lives somehow. And I think—I think that’s what he did. To live this long.”

I explain my discoveries to her, about Regnault and about the Couronne, and watch as her face grows drawn and troubled. “If what you say is true… then he is perhaps more dangerous than we could imagine.”

“I’m not certain yet. I hope I’m wrong.” I rub my arms. I know in my gut that I’m not.

“I… I fear I have made discoveries of my own,” Marie says. “After you were arrested, I went back to Madame de Malezieu’s study in the hope of finding something that would clear your name. Did you know she kept a diary?” She lifts something off the low table in front of her—it’s an unassuming leather-bound journal. “I took my time to read it. It was… Odile, we could never have known what we were getting into.”

“What do you mean?”

“Did—did Aimé ever tell you how his mother died?”

I shake my head. “He only told me she died after he was born.”

“That’s because no one knows the cause of her death,” she says. “All that is known is that she died soon after childbirth, supposedly from illness. But that’s not true at all.”

I have a horrible feeling I know what Marie will say next. And she does.

“A beast killed her. Or rather, King Honoré as a beast. This curse on Aimé? It’s generational. And according to Anne, it’s awakened by strong emotions. King Honoré kept a controlled grasp on it all his life. Until his son, his heir, was born, when he was so overwhelmed that he transformed and killed his own wife.” She looks down at her hands, pained.

“Anne told me the King married her because she was a sorcier,” I recall.

Marie nods. “She was a mere herbalist from Verroux. The King gave her the estate of Malezieu so that she might have a title, and then he took her as his wife. In exchange, she made medicines that helped suppress the curse.”

I begin to pace, my mind racing. “So King Honoré needed the potions too.”

“He was much better at keeping it secret,” Marie says. “It took Anne some time to perfect the potions too—they had side effects of their own. Erratic behavior. Paranoia. The night of the King’s death, it seems she gave Aimé a too-small dose, and it didn’t work.”

I pause mid-step, turning to her in realization. “He fought with King Honoré that night, after the ball. If heightened emotions trigger the change, well…”

“Indeed. Anne recounts that she went to comfort Aimé in his rooms, but he was gone—he had run away to the lakeside, wherehe transformed and disappeared into the forest. King Honoré went after him.”

“And the beast slaughtered him,” I finish. “But how did Aimé turn back into a human afterward? Did Anne help him somehow?”

“She writes that the transformation doesn’t last long—about an hour or so. He falls into a deep sleep afterward, which is how Anne found him. She took him discreetly back to his rooms. It was in that time that Damien found the bodies.”

“So he became the scapegoat.” I walk over to the couch and slump down beside Marie. “Regnault intends to kill Aimé,” I tell her somberly. “I don’t know why. I could hardly understand his ramblings, but when he was speaking to Morgane—if it truly is Morgane, in the Couronne—he said that he would bring her sisters to join her, that he…oh.” Understanding strikes me like a punch to the gut, leaving me breathless. I reach out to grip Marie’s arms. “Oh, Marie. The mission, the ritual, all of it… it was never about bringing back one of the Mothers. It was about imprisoning all of them.”

Her eyes widen in understanding, her fingers tightening around my wrists. “And he needs to kill Aimé to do it.”

I nod sharply. “I need to get that crown away from my father. If it truly is Morgane that is trapped within, we need to free her. Perhaps then we will be able to lift Aimé’s curse.”

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