Hysteria Page 2

  Immediately, Mary could tell something was seriously wrong. The family that rushed toward them and fell to their knees were shaking, all three of them, husband, wife, and young child. There was no blustering, no marveling to be in the same room as royalty, only solemn and silent panic, the kind that filled a room before even a word could be spoken.

  “If it pleases you, Your Grace, we need your help.” The woman spoke first, bent in such a deep bow that her forehead practically touched the stone floor. “We don’t know who else to turn to.”

  Francis, feeling the same uneasiness that had unsettled his wife, felt his spine lengthen and grew taller on his throne. “Tell us what has happened and we will help if we can,” he replied.

  “It’s my Alys, my daughter Alys,” the father said, almost shouting. “They’ve taken my little girl.”

  His wife rose to her knees and rested a hand on the man’s arm to calm him. Now that they faced her more fully, Mary could see the evidence of tears and a sleepless night etched into their expressions. Even the child, a girl no more than six or seven, looked exhausted, and it hurt Mary’s heart to see someone so young bear such weight on her shoulders.

  “Who has taken your daughter?” Mary asked. “Do you know where she is?”

  “We do, Your Grace,” the wife replied. “Our village elders have her. They believe her to be a witch and intend to execute her tomorrow at dawn.”

  “Surely there is a longer story here,” Mary said, pulling forward in her throne, and ignoring the anxious look on Francis’s face. “Please tell it to me.”

  “My name is Mélanie Février, this is my husband, Jehane, and our younger daughter, Ada. We have traveled from the village of Auxerre, four hours south of your castle, Your Grace,” the woman began. “Some weeks ago, there began strange occurrences in the village that no one could explain; several people died of no cause the doctors could find. At first it was older people and no one was too suspicious—we have been short on food for a while and the weather has not been kind this year—but then it was the babies.”

  “The babies?” Mary raised a hand to her throat, afraid to hear the next sentence.

  “Yes, Your Grace,” Mélanie said. “They were born… wrong. Or they weren’t born at all.”

  “My God,” Mary breathed, her thoughts turning to her own miscarriage. Refusing to cry in front of her people, she steeled herself for the rest of the story. “Continue, please.”

  “At first, someone said he had seen a dark figure riding around the edge of the forest at night, and we thought perhaps this man, whatever he may be, was visiting these nightmares on our village, but the men of the village waited out all night with torches and saw nothing. And still the old people and the babies were dying.

  “Eventually, after many discussions with our priest, the elders decided it must be a curse. There was no natural reason for the things that were happening to us and so it was agreed that someone had placed a curse on the village. The only person who had tended to all of the dead was our village healer. Many years ago there were rumors that he was no ordinary healer, that he possessed a supernatural gift and practiced witchcraft, but he had been so kind to our village and saved the lives of so many people, no one had ever suspected him of ill intent.”

  “Until now?” Francis asked.

  “Yes, Your Grace,” she said, hanging her head low. “Only, the healer had passed away just before the curse was visited upon us, leaving his apprentice to take on his work.”

  Francis’s mouth set in a hard line.

  “Your daughter Alys is the apprentice?” Mary guessed.

  “She is, Your Grace.” Mélanie pushed her hair behind her ears and pressed her hands to her heart, rising to her feet. “But she is good. She is young and eager to learn. Ever since she was a baby herself, she wanted to take care of others. We would never have allowed her to study with the healer if we thought he was teaching her ill. He came to us, said he had seen how good she was with the old and the sick in the village, and she wanted to do it, she wanted to help people. She would never hurt anyone.”

  “The villagers suspect the healer was teaching your daughter witchcraft?” Francis asked.

  “No, Your Grace,” she replied, wiping a stray tear from her strong face. “Guillaume Maillard was a great man. The women of the village would have it that Alys took his learnings and used them to harm instead of heal.”

  Mary held out her hands to calm the woman as the guards began to draw their swords. “But why were the elders so quickly convinced of her guilt?” she said while Jehane choked back a sob. “This must be very difficult for you, I know, but I beg you understand why we must ask these questions.”

  “As soon as they accused her, the deaths stopped,” Mélanie said simply. “But it just isn’t possible. My daughter is no witch and she hasn’t the heart to harm a fly. She could not have done this.”

  “If Your Grace does not intervene, they will burn her at dawn tomorrow.” Jehane found his voice, shaking as he spoke. “They will kill my daughter for crimes she could not possibly have committed.”

  Mary and Francis glanced at each other, a thousand silent exchanges passing through the ether. Francis was uncomfortable, that was plain to see, but the reasons for his disquiet were not. His recent brushes with the supernatural—visits from the ghost of his father, the dreams he had suffered—all made him want to wash his hands of this case. But he could not. He was the King of France, the defender of the Catholic Church, and any reports of witchcraft had to be dealt with before paranoia ran rife throughout the country. Something as serious as a proven witch could be more devastating to France than the plague, and yet, this family seemed earnest. The thought of an innocent young girl going to her death to appease the superstitions of old men made him angry.

  “We will send someone to your village.” Mary spoke before Francis had even finished thinking. “Please trust that your daughter will not be executed tomorrow; no harm shall come to her until we have spoken to the village elders. Until we are satisfied that we know the whole truth in this matter, no action will be taken.”

  “Oh, Your Grace.”

  Jehane rushed toward the throne, throwing himself prostrate at Mary’s feet. The guards were upon him in a second, pulling him away even as he wept.

  “Guards, let him go,” Mary ordered. “And send for the king’s brother, immediately. We will take no more audiences today.”

  “You would send Bash to investigate this threat?” Francis asked in a low voice as the family gathered themselves and prepared to leave the throne room.

  “Yes,” Mary said, determined. “He can travel quickly, he knows about these things, and he is your second. The elders will have to obey him.”

  Francis shook his head slowly. “How many more decisions will you make for me, Mary? How many more times will you speak before we discuss?”

  Mary turned, shocked. “What’s to discuss? A life is on the line.” She spoke quietly but fiercely. “I didn’t realize I needed to ask your permission to stop an innocent French girl from being slaughtered.”

  “But what if she isn’t innocent?” he replied in a harried whisper. “What if she is a witch?”

  “She isn’t.”

  A small, clear voice rang out from the doorway of the throne room. Mary and Francis turned to see the younger daughter of the Févriers staring straight at them.

  “She heard us?” Francis breathed.

  “Yes,” Ada said. “But it’s all right, I understand. You don’t know Alys. But she isn’t a witch. Don’t be mad at Mary, she’s a nice lady. Her crown is too heavy and it hurts.”

  The queen looked at the little girl. It was a long time since someone had been so informal with her. Even the youngest children of court referred to her as “Your Grace” and were often too intimidated to come close.

  “Apologies for my Ada, Your Grace.” Mélanie scooped her daughter up in her arms. “She is full of worry for her sister; she does not know the protocol.”

 
; “It’s quite all right,” Mary said, her eye still trained on the young girl, who only smiled and waved.

  With one desperate glance back at the royal couple, Mélanie buried her face in Ada’s blond hair and left the room. As the door closed behind the Février family, Mary and Francis sat there alone, in uncomfortable silence. Again.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Explain to me again why we’re riding out into the middle of nowhere instead of making love in our warm, comfortable bed?” Kenna asked Bash as their horses paused by a stream. Bash couldn’t help but smile at his beautiful wife. His beautiful, complicated, brash, bold wife.

  “I am riding to the village of Auxerre at the request of our queen to try to save a young girl’s life,” he replied. “You are riding out into ‘the middle of nowhere’ because you can’t bear the thought of missing out on drama, no matter what it may be.”

  Kenna made a face and frowned at Bash, her brown eyes still smiling even as she pouted.

  “We shouldn’t be too long,” he promised. “The stable master reckons Auxerre to be a four-hour ride, less if we ride hard. Francis seemed to think it was nothing but a bit of local superstition, but Mary seemed more perturbed. I’m sure it’ll fall somewhere in the middle and we’ll be home before nightfall.”

  “You can’t blame me for not wanting to let you out of my sight,” Kenna said. “Every time you leave the castle on one of Mary’s missions you come back with an arrow in you, or worse.”

  Bash laughed. “So you’re here solely out of concern for my well-being?”

  “Someone has to keep an eye on you,” Kenna said tartly as her horse shook its head and whinnied in agreement. “Clearly you can’t be relied upon to take care of yourself. If Mary asked you to jump off a cliff, you would ask which one.”

  “Really, Kenna?” Bash pulled his horse from the water and followed his wife as she began to trot away. “Jealous of Mary?”

  Staring straight ahead, her jaw set tightly, Kenna refused to answer.

  “Are you not talking to me now?” Bash asked, pulling up beside her. “Have I finally found a way to silence you?”

  “You of all people should know I only speak when I have something to say,” Kenna replied, flicking her horse’s reigns and galloping ahead. “And right now, I have nothing to say to you.”

  Even as Bash laughed and kicked his horse into a canter, he knew his wife’s feelings ran deep. Yes, they had been thrown together in the strangest of circumstances, a forced marriage arranged by his late father, Kenna’s former lover, King Henry, but since then, they had found understanding and passion in each other. Both Kenna and Bash had been lost and alone, looking for comfort in places it could never really be found.

  Kenna had been surprised at how quickly she fell in love with Bash. Even though he was young and handsome and brave and so many other wonderful things, her heart had been so broken by Henry, she thought she would never be able to let another man in. But Bash was kind and patient, and before she even realized it, their friendship turned to passion, which had bloomed into a love so overwhelming that sometimes it scared her.

  For the most part, she wore Bash’s flirtation with her best friend lightly. After all, it was in the past and Mary sat on the throne, married to Francis. And Bash was all hers. But the thought of the two of them together, separated only by politics in the end, still hurt. Even if her husband hadn’t come into her life in the way she might have liked, Kenna loved him fiercely and couldn’t imagine waking a single day without him by her side.

  As her temper cooled, she slowed down her pace, allowing Bash to catch up.

  “I’m sorry,” he shouted over the sound of beating hooves. “I was only teasing. You know I would never want to silence you.”

  “And you know you never could,” Kenna said as the pair came to a standstill. “Besides, I am jealous. And I have every right to be.”

  “And yet no reason,” Bash promised. He pointed at the horizon and took a deep breath. “We’re almost there. Do you see the cottages just beyond the next field? That’s Auxerre.”

  “It doesn’t look cursed.” She squinted to better see in the early-evening light. Nothing more than a cluster of cottages, surrounded by woods. “Looks perfectly normal to me.”

  “Appearances are often deceiving,” Bash said. “And murderers are usually liars. Let’s find out what’s going on here.”

  It had been some time since Kenna had left the luxurious surroundings of court life. Yes, it was true that she had seen some terrible things in her time there, but she had never felt so at risk as she did when she and Bash approached the village of Auxerre. There was a chill in the air that had nothing to do with the moody weather. A sense of foreboding hung over the entire village and, above all else, Kenna could sense that they were about to meet a people suffering from the complete absence of hope.

  “Stay close to me,” Bash ordered, one hand on his sword. Unlike his wife, he had seen these things before. Villages that had been wracked by the plague, those who suffered The Darkness—they felt this way. And they were the most dangerous places on earth.

  The two of them had dressed carefully for the visit. No jewels, no fine clothing, and yet still they stood out so sharply and Kenna could feel every pair of eyes following them. Her experience of visiting a local village was usually a happy affair. Whenever the ladies accompanied Mary on trips out of the castle to mark celebrations and holidays, the people of France were glad to see them; they were almost always received with warmth and joy. But the village of Auxerre had no warmth to give. Crosses hung outside every house and the wooden doors were smeared with blood. Kenna wrapped her cloak around herself and stayed close to Bash, wishing she had never left the castle, wishing she hadn’t insisted on joining him. Even though the streets were practically deserted, the sense of unease in the air grew as they walked, and somewhere in the distance she could hear a loud, angry gathering.

  “What is all this?” she whispered to her husband as they proceeded through the village, toward the noise. They had tied their horses in the woods, a habit formed as a getaway precaution that Bash couldn’t seem to break. “All this blood?”

  “It’s goat’s blood, at a guess,” Bash said. “They believe it will protect them from a curse.”

  Kenna shuddered at a small pile of bones outside one of the cottages. “So they killed a goat to protect themselves from something that might not even exist?”

  “More than one, from the look of things.” Bash’s expression was grim. He had seen superstition like this before and it had not ended well. He had lost count of how many innocents had died in France over one man’s religious fervor and a community’s desire to be saved. “These people are desperate. No wonder they’re so ready to accept this execution.”

  “We can stop it, though, can’t we?” Kenna asked, twisting the wedding ring on her left hand. Everything inside her said they should be running away from the shouting and hollering instead of walking toward it. “We can help this girl?”

  “We can try.”

  He didn’t want to lie to his wife but even with the royal decree he carried, Bash wasn’t certain he could stop the execution. Things were even worse than he had feared—the empty streets, the sacrifices. He wished Kenna hadn’t insisted on joining him and could only pray that she was strong enough to cope with whatever they were about to encounter.

  “Well, now at least we know where everyone is,” Kenna breathed as they found the village square.

  There must have been five hundred people squeezed into the tiny square, and every single one of them was in an uproar. Some brandished weapons, crude and rusted swords, while others bore brooms and pitchforks, but everyone looked ready to kill. She had never seen anything like it. Even when the plague came to the castle, Kenna had never seen such a large mass of panicked, angry people. It felt as though anything could happen, and she was glad for the dagger she had slipped inside her belt before she left home.

  “Oh God,” she whispered. “Is that what
I think it is?”

  In the midst of the mob was an ever-growing pile of wood with a tall, dark stake rising from the center.

  “Bash, how are we going to stop this?” Kenna asked. “They’re ready to kill her right now.”

  “We do it like this.” He turned and kissed her hard on the mouth. “Stay beside me.”

  Before Kenna could react, Bash drew his sword, brilliant and shining, and held it high in the air.

  “By order of Francis Valois, King of France and defender of the Catholic faith, I order the leader of this village to show himself immediately.”

  The frenzy of the crowd broke and the people turned to Bash. The only thing the French people feared as much as their faith was their king. Slowly, the people parted and made way as Bash and Kenna moved through the crowd. Even though she was afraid, she held her head high and remembered why they were there. Even if she couldn’t quite recall why she had insisted on putting herself in such danger in the first place.

  In the middle of the people stood an old man wearing deep-blue robes. Immediately Kenna knew he was the one they were looking for. He looked clean and composed among the angry mob, his robes newer and more resplendent.

  “My name is Antoine Duquesne.” He spoke loudly and clearly, in no rush to present himself to the newcomers. He was tall, taller than Bash, and his hair was thick and gray. Kenna knew at once from his clothing and deportment that he was from a moneyed family, although clearly not titled in any way. She had never seen him at court. His eyes were hooded and dark and his expression remained passive, even in the face of all the frenzy that surrounded him, making it difficult to make out his intentions. “And I lead the village council. What business might the king have with my people?”

  “I am Sebastian, the king’s second—”

  “I know who you are.” Duquesne cut Bash off before he could complete his introduction. “What I don’t know is why you are in my village.”

  “We have been made aware of an execution you intend to carry out.” Bash sheathed his sword but carried his threats in his voice. “I have been sent, by order of the King and Queen of France, to investigate allegations of witchcraft.”