From below. From the palace. That means it is too late for carriages, too late to flee. Father will not be spared from the revolution. His bribes did not work.
I turn to Mama, but she is already standing, her petal mouth pinched. “I will not go,” she says before I can even speak. “Aurélie, I will not!” She leans down over Delphine, strokes her cheeks and her dress, almost frantically. “Do not ask me to, Aurélie, do not ask me—”
A rumble is growing outside. The sun is almost gone, the last shades of bronze fading behind the poplars. I hear them approaching now, shouts and singing, rough voices drifting in the quiet of the park.
I cross the distance between us, snatch her hand, and drag her toward the door.
“I am not asking you, Mother. We will not die here. I will not, and I will not allow you to, either. Hurry.”
Our dishes are removed again. Tiny finger bowls of lavender water arrive, followed by perfect, rose-colored orbs of pomegranate sorbet in martini glasses.
I’m just finishing mine, slipping my spoon along the edge of the glass, when one of the waiters returns. He’s carrying a tray of crystal water glasses on small pewter coasters. The coasters have pills on them, dark red and glimmering, like droplets of blood. The waiter sets one coaster down in front of each of us. Whispers out. I catch a glimpse of a tattoo on his neck, a black swirl disappearing under his collar.
I pick up one of the pills. Watch the air bubble in its center shift. “What’s this?”
Dorf reaches for his coaster, puts his palm to his mouth, and throws back his head. Swallows. “The palace is one hundred feet below the earth’s crust,” Dorf says, dabbing his mouth with his napkin. “These are to avoid symptoms of pressure sickness.”
Except his coaster was empty. I know it was. The waiter brought six glasses. Six coasters. One of them didn’t have any pills. Dorf’s.
My skin goes cold. “That’s ridiculous,” I say. Try to keep the tremor out of my voice. “Our bodies will start digesting these right away. The effects will wear off in our sleep.”
Dorf’s gaze falls on me, and for the first time I see annoyance in those calm gray eyes. He doesn’t say anything. Lilly’s gaze darts between us. Did she see what I saw?
But Hayden’s already picking up his pills. “Bottoms up,” he says, and downs them. I stare at him, watch the straight-razor angle of his jaw work as he swallows. I kind of expect him to sprout claws, fur, horns, maybe fall off his chair and start writhing on the floor. He doesn’t. He pounds his chest twice and grins at me, as if he’s somehow proving me stupid.
Is he?
Lilly and Jules both pick up their pills. Glance at each other. Jules swallows his and Lilly, not wanting to be left behind, follows suit. Dorf smiles at me again, that sickening you’re-a-joke smirk. “See?” he says. “Nobody died.”
At the edge of my vision I see Will looking at his pills philosophically. Does he at least sense anything off?
Guess not. He downs his pills, too.
I stare at the one resting in my palm. Red-dark-red-dark. And suddenly the pill looks like a puncture, blood blooming out of my skin.
No. I’m not overreacting. This is not smart. I grab the other pill and shove my chair back. The legs screech against the floor.
Hayden is starting to move weirdly, like he’s underwater. His head lolls against his chest. He flops upright a second later with a weak laugh, but this isn’t funny. Everyone stares at him. Everyone but Dorf.
His eyes are fixed on me.
“Anouk?” he says, and his voice is rock hard. “Sit down. Take the pills.”
Chateau de Bessancourt—October 23, 1789
We whirl down the stairs, deeper and deeper into the earth, and all I can see is Mama turning away from us, the blood soaking her gown.
They shot her. The bullet ripped through flesh and sinew, lodging amid the pearly snakes of her intestines like a speck of a coal, a black seed, sprouting death. In five minutes she will no longer be able to breathe. In ten she will be gone forever. . . .
“Aurélie,” she screamed. “Do not leave me behind.”
But I did.
Above, I can hear the roar of flames as they consume the chateau, becoming steadily quieter, as if we are leaving chaos and gunpowder behind us, descending into another world entirely, a world where such things do not exist.
Our only light is from the open lantern in the old guard’s hand. The hot stench of it catches me in the face as I descend—animal fat and dirty rags and kerosene. Bernadette hurries behind him, dragging at her skirts, her tongue clucking like a goose as she cries. Charlotte is close at her back, doing the same, always her sister’s little shadow, even in distress. Delphine and I are next. The young guard brings up the rear, pushing us onward in a dogged panic.
I don’t sit down. I tuck the pills behind my teeth. Taste the gel casing, smooth, cold on my tongue. And run for the hall.