Page 80 of The Thirteenth Child
“Will we get to see Papa today, Aloysius?” she all but shouted from across the room.
“Perhaps,” he answered without a trace of commitment in his voice.
Her eyes fixed upon me. “Are you the healer who is going to make Papa well again?”
The intensity of her hope unnerved me. “I certainly hope so.” Aloysius needled me in the ribs and I remembered to drop into a curtsy. “Your Royal Highnesses.”
Leopold took a long slurp from his mug. “Do come and join us. You must be famished.”
Aloysius gestured to the place setting facing the two eldest, directly opposite the prince, with Euphemia on my left. I held Leopold’s stare for a long, uncertain moment. He gave no indication he remembered meeting me the night before. Recalling his dilated pupils, I wasn’t surprised.
His eyes were clear today, if a little bloodshot, shining the same light blue as the king’s.
“This is the girl—the healer—the seer spoke of,” Aloysius said, tilting his head toward the chair once more. “Mademoiselle Trépas.”
“You can just call me Hazel.”
“Sit down, then, Just Hazel,” the prince said, and waved to a servant holding a silver kettle. “More coffee for me, Bingham, and whatever the healer would like. Cook is an absolute gem. I’m sure she can come up with an approximation of whatever rustic fare you’re accustomed to.”
His languid disdain shriveled any trace of hunger, and I waved aside the offer.
“Come, you must have something. Cook makes a delightful cinnamon croissant. Bingham, croissants all around. Aloysius will have one too,” he ordered magnanimously, as if the host of a madcap tea party. “Tea or coffee?”
“None for me.”
“Coffee, Bingham,” Leopold decided with an upturned twist of his mouth.
Over the prince’s shoulder, Bingham stared, silently pleading with me to not cause a scene. “Black, please.” I offered the footman a smile. “Thank you.”
From the corner of my eye, I watched Aloysius edge from the table. He remained at hand, there to help as needed, but blended himself into the surroundings to create a semblance of privacy.
Bellatrice rubbed her forehead, scowling at the windows. “It’s too bright in here. Can’t we close the curtains?”
Leopold’s eyes danced with amusement. “This is what happens when you stay out all night doing”—he paused, glancing toward Euphemia—“well, you know.”
“You’re a fine one to talk.” She set her teacup in its saucer with a petulance I’d never seen in someone older than three. “You were right there with me.”
“I?” He chuckled. “I was in bed by midnight. Maybe notmybed, but bed all the same.” He winked at me. “The curtains remainopen.”
“As His Majesty commands,” Bellatrice said, sarcasm dripping from her words as she glowered at her younger brother.
“Too right. Besides, we’re ignoring our guest.”
The room’s attention shifted back to me.
Leopold trailed a finger along the rim of his cup, sizing me up. “Tell us, Just Hazel, what trickery do you intend to peddle to our dear father?”
I was too surprised to answer, unused to defending myself. People who thought me a charlatan never called upon me when they fell ill. If Leopold had already made up his mind, I saw little chance of changing it. Speaking of past achievements felt like boasting, a language I wasn’t fluent in.
Aloysius stepped forward. “We’ve looked into her background.”
I stole a quick look his way. Had they? When?
“I assure you, she’s quite celebrated in her region.”
“Which is where?”
My eyes narrowed. We’d had this conversation just last night.
