sisters, Monsieur Fremin. Nevertheless, she will have an escort.” He waves his hand, and the regent and Martine step forward. As they take up position on either side of me, I head for the door. When the king turns to speak with his bishops, I feel Genevieve fall into step behind me. I wish that our first meeting had gone better so I could know whether she is simply curious or intends to guard my back.
* * *
As soon as we have cleared the fourth flight of stairs, I lift my skirts and break into a run. I throw the door to my room open and race inside. It is, indeed, empty. My hand flies to my mouth, as if to prevent a cry of alarm from escaping. I hurry toward the bed, yanking aside the canopies, tossing the bolsters to the floor, and pulling the counterpane from the mattress. Widening my eyes as if panicked, I call out, “Charlotte! Louise! Come out now, this is not funny!”
As the others watch, I drop to my knees and look under the bed, then rise and hurry to the window. I pull back the drapes and press my face against the glass, as if checking to see if they have fallen. It is easy enough to convey a mounting sense of alarm. I do not even have to pretend. What could have so emboldened Fremin that he would take this matter to the king?
I check the fireplace next, even looking up the chimney. “They’re gone,” I finally say, my voice small and hollow. “Not just them, but everything. Their clothes, their sewing, their dolls. All gone.”
It is a testament to my acting abilities that both Martine and the regent look discomfited. In the awkward silence that fills the room, Genevieve steps forward to take my elbow and help me rise from the hearth. “My lady, calm yourself. You did not know your sisters were leaving?”
I cannot tell what role she is playing, but use it for my own purposes. “No. There were no plans for them to go anywhere. Both had been ill recently and were being kept to their rooms.”
“Well,” the regent says briskly. “You’ve seen for yourself that they’re gone. The king has indulged you in this. Let us not make him wait any longer.”
* * *
I head directly toward Fremin once we reach the audience chamber. “You!” The word is so forceful he rocks back on his heels. “You did this. Where have you taken my sisters?”
“What are you blathering about? It is my men who are missing.”
“As are my sisters.” I take another step toward him. “You were most displeased with the king’s ruling. You even asked to see Charlotte and Louise afterward.” Although I long to back him up against the wall, I force myself to maintain my decorum. “When you could not get what you wanted by legitimate means, you took matters into your own hands.”
His face drains of some of its florid color as I publicly name the very thing he had been planning. “D-don’t be absurd. You only say that to cover your own actions.”
“Enough.” The king’s voice is as effective as a bucket of cold water on snarling dogs.
I am immediately contrite. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. My distress has caused me to forget myself.”
“It is understandable, Lady Sybella. The news of your sisters complicates things a great deal.” He gazes at Fremin, annoyed that the lawyer did not share this piece of the puzzle.
“Your Majesty! How was I to know the girls were not there?”
“How indeed,” a male voice muses, but I dare not look to see who it is.
There are few choices available to me on how best to play this, so I plunge ahead, using the truth to bolster my lies. “Your Majesty, I saw Monsieur’s attendants sitting in the antechamber the day he arrived. They are not mere attendants, or men-at-arms or even a simple escort. I know those men from the years I spent in my father’s household. They are the worst cutthroats among the men that serve my family. Men the d’Albrets have used to do their most unsavory deeds.
“At the time, I thought it unusual for a lawyer to have such an escort, but I assumed it was because the war was over and they had to find something for such men to do. But now, now their purpose is made clear. He would not need those sorts of men if he intended only to escort two