The mood in the room changed at the sound of that name. I cast my eyes to the map, searching for the place he spoke of. I finally found it, a slender strip of woods on the Morgane, MacQuinn, and Allenach border, a forest that stood in the royal castle’s shadow.
“I think this is a good start,” Yseult said, the trance of Mistwood broken. “It’s very risky, but it’s also bold, and we need to move bravely if we are going to do this. What Amadine is offering is selfless and invaluable. And the plans cannot move forward without her.” She drummed her fingers on the tables, staring at my pawns. “I say Liam needs to begin the forgery of the invitation. As to which man will go under pretense of the hunt . . . that can be decided later, although I have a good inkling as to who it should be.”
I looked helplessly across the table at Luc. It obviously would have to be him, since the three lords would be easily recognized. Again, Luc looked ill, like his dinner wanted to come back up.
“Liam, we also need to arrange a list of safe houses, should something go wrong after we cross the channel,” the queen continued, and Liam nodded. “All of us need to be aware of Maevans who would be ready to house us—to hide us at a moment’s notice—if plans are uncovered and pursuit is employed. Let’s plan to meet two weeks from now, when d’Aramitz will be present, and we can finalize the plans.”
Because autumn was on the horizon. We would have to weave our plans together and strike quickly.
A chill danced down my spine as I met Yseult’s gaze. There was a question in her eyes, solemn as it was desperate. Are you certain, Amadine? Are you certain that you desire to do this?
Was I certain that I was brave enough to stand before a corrupt king and speak the name of MacQuinn, a name that would undoubtedly bear a cost? Was I certain that I wanted to go stay at Lord Allenach’s castle, knowing my father might be one of his thanes, one of his servants, one of his cronies? Knowing that my heritage was rooted in that land?
But I was ready, ready to find the stone and redeem my ancestor’s past transgressions. To set a queen upon the throne. To return to Cartier and gain my cloak.
And so I whispered, “Let it be done, Lady.”
NINETEEN
SUMMER’S END
September 1566
Two days before our second strategic meeting, I came down with a fever. Agnes commanded me to remain in bed, where in vain I drank every healing tonic, ate every nutritious root possible, and sipped copious amounts of slippery elm tea. But it was to no avail; I burned steadily off and on, as if I were a fallen star trapped on Earth.
Luc came and saw me, right before he, Jourdain, and Liam were to leave for the Laurents’ dinner. He laid his hand on my brow and frowned. “Saints. You’re still burning, Amadine.”
“I can go,” I panted, weakly attempting to push the heap of quilts away. “I can go to the meeting.”
I was worried Jourdain would try to upend my plans, and Luc saw it in my glassy eyes.
“You are not going anywhere,” he insisted, sitting beside me on the bed, tucking the blankets firmly about me. “Don’t worry; I will make sure your plans are upheld.”
“Jourdain will try to undo them,” I croaked, which prompted Luc to reach for my cup of lukewarm tea.
“He will try, but he will not go against the queen,” my brother said, tilting the cup to my lips. “And the queen is drawn to your ideas.”
I took one sip and then had to lie back on my pillows, my strength fading.
“Now rest,” Luc ordered, rising from the bed, setting my tea on the table. “It’s more vital that you heal from this so you are ready to cross the channel soon.”
He was right.
I didn’t even remember hearing him leave my room. I fell into a tangle of dark, feverish dreams. I was at Magnalia again, standing in the gardens, the fog thick on the ground, and a man was coming toward me. I wanted it to be Cartier; I nearly ran to him, my heart overflowing with the joy of seeing him again, until I realized it was Oran—Tristan’s older brother. He was coming to cut me down for stealing pieces of his brother’s memories. And I had no weapon but that of my two feet. I ran through a never-ending maze for what felt like hours and hours, until I was ragged and exhausted, until I was ready to kneel down and let Oran cut me in two, until light seeped into my eyes.
I woke, achy and drenched, but the sunlight that streamed in through my windows was pure and sweet.
“She’s woken!”
I turned my head to see Agnes there, her rosy, plump cheeks trembling as she jumped up from her chair. “Monsieur! She’s awake!”
I winced at her hollering, winced at the urgent creaking of the stairs as Jourdain appeared, halting on my threshold, as if he was too embarrassed to enter my room.
“Tell me,” I tried to say to him, but my voice cracked into pieces.
“I’ll go fetch you some water,” Agnes promised, touching my brow. “Ah, the fever has finally broken. Praise Ide.” She scurried from the room, which enabled Jourdain to ease inside, still a bit hesitant.
He finally settled in the chair Agnes had abdicated, at my bedside.
“What did I miss?” I croaked again, feeling as if coals had been raked down my throat.
“Shh, just listen,” Jourdain said. He acted like he wanted to reach for my hand, but was too shy to do it. “Everything you planned is going to occur. The invitation has been forged; we have the sum of money Allenach requires for the hunt. D’Aramitz is going to cross the channel next week. He will be staying at Damhan under the pretense of the hunt, but he is also there to quietly gather and ready my forces. In addition to that, I have requested that he keep an eye on you, that he be your shield, your protection, your ally should you need him.”
“But, Father,” I rasped, “I do not know what he looks like.”
“As I know. We prepared for this, though. The first night you are at Damhan, when you go into the hall for dinner, wear this in your hair.” Jourdain retrieved a delicate silver rose from his pocket, the edges crusted with tiny rubies. He set it into my palm. “This is how d’Aramitz will identify you, although you will likely be one of very few women there. He will be wearing a red jerkin with this emblem stitched over the center.” He withdrew a piece of parchment. I blinked, my vision still blurry from the illness, but I could see it was a drawing of a great oak, encompassed in a circle. “We discussed this at length, and everyone has come to the conclusion that it is best that once you make the acknowledging eye contact with him the first night, you avoid d’Aramitz the remainder of the time. Should he be caught, I do not want you to be caught with him. Do you understand?”
Ah, fatherly orders. He sounded so stern, so formidable. But that gleam was in his eyes again, that star of worry. I wished I could extinguish it somehow.