Page 79 of The Thirteenth Child
I had the presence of mind to pull my two dresses off their hangers and toss them aside before drawing a thick line of salt at the lip of the armoire. The ghosts flailed against one another, turning into a mass of putrefying arms and ragged clothes, milky eyes and protruding bones. They could no longer speak, but how they tried anyway, gnashing their gums, clicking teeth and bone in equal measure to form a ghastly symphony.
I slammed the door and salted the floorboards in front of it for good measure, then collapsed onto the edge of the bed, burying my head in my hands.
The day hadn’t yet begun and I was already exhausted.
As if summoned by the unfortunate hand of Calamité himself, a knock sounded at the door. Without opening it, I knew from the crisp, efficient pattern it would be Aloysius.
“Good morning,” I greeted him, feeling as though it was anything but.
“Yes,” he said, his eyes flickering over my hastily donned robe. “I trust you slept well?” Before I could answer, he went on. “I wanted to apologize for your…removal last night. His Majesty is in much better spirits this morning and is eager to speak with you.”
“Good. I’d like to start with—”
“But first, the royal family wishes you to join them for breakfast.”
“Breakfast?” I repeated in disbelief. “No. I need to first see theking.”
Aloysius blinked.
“To check on him…,” I began, feeling ridiculous for needing to further justify my request.
“I’m certain His Majesty appreciates your concern, but he believes that breakfast is a fine idea.”
I could feel him silently urging me to simply go along with the plan, as absurd as it was. I had no time to share a leisurely meal with the king’s children. I wasn’t there to assuage them, I was there to treat their father. But I sensed that any argument would be quickly countered. “Of course,” I finally said, smiling through gritted teeth.
At least there would be coffee.
“Breakfast will be with just the immediate family this morning,” Aloysius explained later as he led me through the halls down to the dining room. “His Royal Highness requested a more intimate setting for your first meeting.”
“Are all the king’s children here now, at court?”
He nodded.
I twisted my fingers into my skirt. “Was there ever talk of perhaps sending them away? Since we’re not sure how the Shivers spreads, it might be best to distance them from it.”
“His Majesty had similar thoughts,” Aloysius said, heading down another hall. “But given all the troubles with Baudouin, it seems safer for the children to remain here, protected from outside forces.”
“I haven’t heard much of…the troubles,” I admitted. “Is it…bad?”
Aloysius sniffed. “I’ve known the boys since they were toddlers. There was never a moment when Baudouin did not yearn for his brother’s things. He used to go through His Royal Highness’s playroom, grabbing whatever struck his fancy, heedless of damage. All these years later, he’s still after toys he can’t have.”
As a subject of the king, I chafed at being so summarily reduced to being a “toy,” but I ignored the insult. “And yet there have been…battles?”
Aloysius scoffed. “Nothing more than skirmishes.”
Coming to the end of a servants’ wing, Aloysius rapped on a set of double doors. They swung open and we stepped through the pair of guards flanking them to enter a grand hallway. The high ceilings arched into sharp points above us, with golden stars painted upon the dark wood. The curtains and carpet runner were patterned in rich ambers, and the walnut paneling imparted a sophisticatedgravitas.
“This way, please,” Aloysius said.
The dining room was long and narrow, featuring a formal table with dozens of chairs positioned down its length. At the far end sat King Marnaigne’s children.
The oldest, Princess Bellatrice, reclined against the tall back of her chair, utterly resplendent in layers of lemon chiffon. I’d never seen skin so luminously pale, like fine milk glass. Her hair was black as jet and just as glossy, swept into a low chignon. Her plate of food was untouched, but she sipped a cup of tea, leaving behind a perfect semicircle of lip stain along the porcelain rim. Her eyelids fluttered as Aloysius and I approached, her gaze flickering over me with unchecked curiosity.
Leopold appeared half dressed, in cream breeches and a lawnshirt with impractically full sleeves. His vest, a dark green damask, was left unbuttoned, and his jacket was cast over the back of his chair in a thoughtless heap. He cut into a ham steak and dunked a piece in a puddle of syrup before biting into it with ravenous gusto.
Remembering how those lips had enraptured me in my dream, I looked away, feeling uncomfortably warm.
The youngest, Princess Euphemia, sat at the head of the table, presumably in the king’s chair. She looked about seven years old, with wide eyes as blue as her father’s and a halo of loose gold curls flowing down her back. Her dress was a pale blue silk, trimmed in white lace, with puffed sleeves and a full skirt. Her plate held mostly sugar-dusted berries, and one poached egg. Spotting us, she visibly brightened.
