Page 81 of The Thirteenth Child
“Alletois, Your Royal Highness.”
Leopold turned to Bellatrice, lowering his voice. “Is that the one to the east?”
She dropped the hand that had been shielding her inflamed eyes and squinted at him. “The south.”
“No, I think east. With all the trees, yes?” His head swung back to me. “Trees, yes? You have trees in your region?”
“There are trees in Alletois,” I replied flatly.
Leopold laughed as if my irritation delighted him, and every trace of sympathy he’d wrested from me last night went up in flames.
Before I could think through the ramifications of my anger, I stood, bumping into the table and causing the teacups to rattle in their saucers. “I don’t need to be here, you know,” I snapped. “I’ve plenty of other patients who need looking after. Ones who haven’t dragged me into their homes and hurled insults my way for sport. If you think my skills so suspect, you certainly need not avail yourself of them.”
I expected Aloysius to come running, stopping my outburst as he attempted to smooth everything over with his calm and careful wording, but he only waited for Leopold’s reaction.
The prince studied me, his eyes unreadable. And then he smiled. “Oh, Just Hazel, I think I like you.” He nodded enthusiastically, applauding as though he’d just witnessed a masque onstage. “Yes! I do! Brava, little healer. Show us your mettle, your stalwart backbone.”
Bellatrice sighed, covering her eyes once more. “Must you be so loud in your praise? Of course we want her here. She’s the one Margaux foretold, the one who lives with the Dreaded End. Who better to wrest Papa away from certain death?”
Euphemia gasped and Bellatrice blanched, realizing how cruel her cavalier words had been.
“Phemie, it’s just an expression. Papa isn’t really going to die. Is he?” she asked, turning her attention to me, arching one eyebrow to accentuate her point.
I looked down the table, wanting to say something to ease the princess’s fears.
“The Dreaded End,” Leopold scoffed, forestalling any falseassurances I might try to make. “What a useless god. Who in their right mind would worship a deity of death?”
“Do you really live with dead people?” Euphemia asked curiously, pushing berries around her plate.
“I don’t actually live with him,” I replied. “I have a very nice cottage that he visits. And he’s not surrounded by the dead.”
Not like me,I thought absently, wondering if my line of salt upstairs still held. I’d have to make my way to the kitchens later this morning for a larger container of salt.
Leopold let out a noise of disbelief. “A death god who doesn’t live among the dead? It sounds as though your godfather is shirking his responsibilities. You know, I’ve never truly understood the purpose of half of these deities. What’s the use of a goddess of fortune? A lord of anger? Next there will be a numen of potatoes, a mistress of silver polish.” He smirked.
“You…you don’t believe in the gods?” I asked, aghast.
“I suppose I must believe in them, but I think any power we ascribe them, any hope that they do things to benefit us, is utter rubbish. Their blessings—or curses—are just things the peasants make up to get through their days, to help them cope. Isn’t it easier to blame an invisible all-powerful entity for your crop failure than to admit you’re just a bad farmer?” He glanced around the table.
Euphemia looked stricken, while Bellatrice’s expression suggested she agreed but found it distasteful to admit.
I’d never heard someone speak out against the gods like this, and witnessing such rancor from a prince so entitled, so clearly blessed by Félicité’s favor, made my blood boil.
Bingham returned with a cup and saucer for me, temporarily waylaying my retort.
Leopold watched me bite my tongue, a lazy smile playing at hislips.
My anger amused him.
I narrowed my eyes, feeling the fury flicker up my spine. I’d wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt last night. I’dpitiedhim. It wasn’t a mistake I’d make twice.
“You really shouldn’t say things like that,” chastised a voice from across the room. “They’ll hear, you know.”
A young woman, roughly my age, approached the table. She wore a long, oversized set of robes in layered navy chiffon. The silver bracelets encircling her wrists indicated she was a reverent of the Holy First. She stared at Leopold, openly challenging him with wide brown eyes.
“Just family today, Mademoiselle Toussaint,” Aloysius warned, holding out a hand to stop her approach.
“Oh, please, can’t Margaux stay?” Euphemia asked, her voice wavering. “I asked her to join us. She’s family, yes? She’s just like my sister.”
