Read Chapter 10: A Friend in Danger

The rumor reached Élodie at noon, carried on the breath of a chambermaid who seemed almost gleeful about it.

“They say she took it right from the jewel case,” the girl whispered to another servant in the corridor, not troubling to lower her voice as Élodie passed. “A sapphire pin, set in gold. The Queen’s own jewel case, if you can believe it.”

Élodie did not stop walking. She did not slow. But her hand tightened around the bundle of silk she carried until her knuckles went white.

By the time she reached the workroom, the story had crystallized into fact. Liselotte had been summoned before Madame de La Motte not an hour past. A pin had gone missing from the Queen’s private dressing room—a small thing, sapphire and gold, but valuable enough that its absence had been noticed within the day. And Liselotte, who had access to the Queen’s chambers through her duties as a senior lady’s maid, had been the one found wanting.

Marguerite stood at the far table, arranging a tray of pins with terrible, deliberate calm.

“Terrible business,” she said, not looking up. “One never knows who to trust in this place.”

Élodie set down her bundle. “Liselotte would never steal.”

“Wouldn’t she?” Marguerite’s mouth curved. “She’s been here long enough to know where the Queen keeps her valuables. And she’s been acting strange lately—distracted, anxious. Everyone has noticed.”

“Everyone,” Élodie repeated. “Or just you?”

The smile did not waver. “I only repeat what the household is saying. The Queen herself has been informed. Madame de La Motte is conducting the inquiry personally.”

Élodie turned and walked out before she could say something she would regret.

She found Liselotte in the servants’ stairwell, sitting on the cold stone steps with her face in her hands. When she looked up, her eyes were red but dry.

“I didn’t take it,” she said before Élodie could speak. “I’ve never taken anything from that woman. God knows she’s given me little enough to be loyal to, but I’ve never—I wouldn’t.”

“I know.” Élodie sat beside her on the step. “What happened?”

Liselotte’s laugh was hollow. “I went in to turn down the Queen’s bed sheets as I do every afternoon. The pin was there on the dressing table—I noticed it because it caught the light. I thought nothing of it. I finished my work, I left. And then an hour later, Madame de La Motte sends for me, and the pin is missing, and I am the only one who was in the room.”

“Who else had access?”

“Everyone with any excuse, which is half the palace. But they’ve decided the simplest answer suits them best. A provincial girl with debts and secrets—what better thief than me?”

The word debts landed like a stone in Élodie’s stomach. She thought of Delacroix, of his leering smile and his claim on her person. And she thought of Marguerite, who had seen Élodie take the captain’s letter, who had threatened to report her.

“Wait here,” Élodie said. “Don’t move. Don’t speak to anyone.”

Liselotte caught her wrist. “What are you going to do?”

“Find the pin.”

She did not have a plan. She had only a suspicion and a desperate hope that she was wrong.

The workroom stood empty when she returned—the other seamstresses had gone to their midday meal. All except Marguerite, who was just gathering her basket to leave.

“Back so soon?” Marguerite asked sweetly. “Did you forget something?”

“My scissors,” Élodie said, moving toward her table. Her eyes swept the room as she walked, cataloging every surface.

Marguerite’s sewing basket sat open on her own table, a chaos of thread, scraps, and tools. Élodie’s gaze caught on something glinting at the bottom—a flash of blue nestled among a tangle of gold thread.

She stopped.

“You should be careful,” Marguerite said, watching her. “Guilt by association is a dangerous business. If your friend is a thief, who’s to say you’re not one too?”

“Who’s to say you’re not?” Élodie heard herself say. Her voice sounded far away.

Marguerite laughed—a bright, practiced sound. “Everyone knows my reputation. I’ve served in this household for six years without a single mark against me. Meanwhile your Liselotte arrives from God knows where with her secrets and her strange hours, and suddenly the Queen’s jewels begin to disappear.”

Her hand drifted to the edge of her basket, almost unconsciously, and she pushed a length of ribbon over the glinting blue object.

Élodie’s heart hammered. She forced herself to breathe, forced herself to look away.

“Perhaps you’re right,” she said, and the words tasted like ash. “Perhaps I’ve been too trusting.”

Marguerite’s smile widened. “There, now. You’re learning, little mouse.”

She swept past Élodie and out the door, leaving her alone in the empty room.

Élodie stood very still for a long moment. Then she moved.

The basket was still there. Marguerite had left it behind, secure in her victory. Élodie’s fingers trembled as she lifted the ribbon, and there it was—a sapphire pin set in gold, the stone the size of her thumbnail, catching the light like an accusation.

She picked it up. It was cold against her palm.

She could return it. She could claim she had found it on the floor, that the whole affair was a misunderstanding. Liselotte would be cleared, and Marguerite would deny everything, and no one would be punished.

But Marguerite would know who had undone her. And Marguerite knew about the captain’s letter. And the captain’s letter was still hidden in Élodie’s room, unread, a danger she had not yet faced.

Or she could expose Marguerite now. Take the pin to Madame de La Motte, tell her where it had been found. Let justice fall where it may.

But she had no proof that Marguerite had placed it there. The pin was in Élodie’s hand now—in her pocket if she willed it. Marguerite would say she had been framed. And Élodie, the newcomer, the provincial, the girl who had claimed false training under Maître Roussel—why would anyone believe her?

Her fist closed around the pin. The sapphire bit into her palm.

She thought of Liselotte, who knew her grandmother, who had been keeping secrets of her own. She thought of her brother Luc, sent south toward danger. She thought of the note hidden in the gown’s lining, warning of Orléans.

Everyone around her was in peril. Everyone she loved was being pulled into a web she could not yet see.

The door behind her opened.

Élodie spun, shoving the pin into her pocket, and found herself facing the Comtesse de Vaudreuil.

The countess was immaculate as always, her gown a fashionable shade of pale green, her smile a blade. “Mademoiselle Marchand. How fortunate to find you alone.”

“Your Grace.” Élodie curtsied, her mind racing. How long had the countess been standing there? Had she seen?

“I heard the most extraordinary rumor,” the Comtesse said, gliding into the room. “About the Queen’s missing pin, and your friend Liselotte.” She paused, tilting her head. “You look troubled. As well you might be.”

Élodie said nothing.

“Such a delicate position,” the Comtesse continued, circling her slowly. “Your friend accused. Your own reputation still unsteady after that amusing business with Maître Roussel. One could almost think someone was targeting you—through her.”

“Why would anyone do that?”

“Ah, that I cannot say. But I have noticed that you seem to make enemies easily for someone so new to court.” The Comtesse stopped before her, close enough that Élodie could smell her perfume—something floral and expensive. “I wonder, Mademoiselle Marchand, whether you would like an ally.”

Élodie’s pulse pounded in her ears. The pin was heavy in her pocket, a weight that seemed to grow with every moment.

“I—I am grateful for your interest, Your Grace,” she managed. “But I don’t understand what you’re offering.”

The Comtesse smiled, slow and satisfied. “I am offering protection such as you cannot imagine. In exchange for a small service, of course. A question answered, a door left unlocked. Nothing that would trouble your conscience.”

The pin pressed against Élodie’s thigh like a brand.

“What question?” she heard herself ask.

The Comtesse’s eyes glittered. “The Queen has secrets, Mademoiselle Marchand. She always has. I merely wish to know what they are.” She stepped back, smoothing her skirts. “Think on it. I am patient—for now. But your friend in the stairwell may not have the luxury of time.”

She was gone before Élodie could form an answer, leaving her alone with the pin in her pocket and the countess’s offer hanging in the air like poison.