Poison Priestess by Lana Popovic (some good books to read TXT) 📗

allow guests to bring a companion of their choosing, someone they deem both trustworthy and worthy of the devil’s favor. And the Marquise de Montespan, taken by the glamor of our partnership and the twisted opulence of the new Messe, continues to introduce us to her closest cronies—ever widening the pool of suitable marks.

After our success with the Marquis de Cessac, we select the Comte de Gassily and the Duchesse de Vivonne as our next targets. The comte’s vicious uncle and the duchesse’s cheating and violent husband are soon sent shuffling off this mortal coil, courtesy of a bouquet infused with venom, and candied truffles imbued with deathly substances. There is no outcry at either of their deaths, no talk of skul-duggery or poison. Only the same breathless gossip that followed in the wake of Prudhomme’s death.

Perhaps, elsewhere, there might be more serious mention of wrongdoing. But it is to our advantage that court is such a dangerous place. So lousy with intrigue, and overrun with duels, fortuitous “accidents,” and even the occasional disappearance, that a few more deaths do not seem to inspire any overarching dread.

“What of Monsieur Philbert next?” Adam asks as we laze in my canopied bed two months after our first Messe together, Megaera draped over the two of us. “He who so ardently longs to murder his former mistress? We should give it a few weeks, so as to not arouse undue suspicion. But after that, he would do quite well.”

“I do not trust Monsieur Philbert any more than I would a parrot,” I reply, leaning into his touch as he combs his fingers through my curls. “The man favors his liquor a great deal more than he should, and it leaves him garrulous. Not to mention that, besides tiring of her married lover, Philbert’s young mistress has done nothing wrong. Certainly nothing that should doom her to a horrid death.”

“But Philbert is one of the king’s best loved troubadours,” Adam argues with a cocked eyebrow. “Phenomenally wealthy, well positioned … think about it. We could do worse than having him in our thrall, Catherine.”

“No, Adam,” I retort, somewhat more sharply than I intended. “I won’t have any hand in killing that girl. And please, do not ask me again. My answer will not change.”

“Very well. Consider the subject dead.” He breathes a mildly exasperated breath, drawing away from me. Sometimes I feel as if even my scant scruples irritate him. As if, left to his own devices, Adam might be much less discerning in whom he saw fit to help kill, should the end result be favorable for him.

I must not be quite so ruthless in my marrow, as sometimes my conscience nags even when it comes to the irreparable scoundrels we have agreed to kill. But each time this happens, I must remind myself that I am no quaking girl, but a Fate and Fury in my own right, an arbiter of justice. A divineress who holds her own life’s reins.

“And what of the marquise?” Adam asks, parting me from my thoughts. “It seems an age since you’ve spoken of her.”

“She attends our Messes religiously, does she not? Forever imploring Satan to keep the king well in her clawed grasp.”

“But as I recall, you used to scry for her nearly every other day. Have you had a session with her lately, besides keeping her well stocked in philters? You know how she adores your visions, Catherine. All that pandering to her growing glory, ‘queen in all but name,’ and so forth.”

“According to Mademoiselle Claude, the marquise has been plenty busy defending her territory against interlopers,” I reply, rolling my eyes at the marquise’s folly. “Both real and imagined. She mistrusts every woman who trades so much as a glance with the king, as if they are all brazen wantons scheming to catch his eye.”

My good-natured little plant has kept me well apprised on the marquise’s household, though she clearly believes that the information she relays to me is only idle gossip shared between friends. Mademoiselle de Oeillets still speaks of the glamorous marquise in starstruck tones, as if she is fortunate merely to exist in her midst.

“The king’s own Cerberus, that one,” I continue. “Prettier than a three-headed dog, perhaps. But no less ferocious when it comes to guarding his attentions.”

“And she has not sought your help in fending her challengers off?” He hitches himself higher against the headboard, furrowing his brow. “I’d think in her paranoia she would be hanging on you night and day, desperate for your counsel.”

“Oh, she has been quite insistent the past week or so.” I take up Megaera and settle her comfortably around my shoulders. “But what with our other projects, I haven’t been able to spare the time. She can wait until next week, for once.”

“You should tread very carefully with her, Cat,” Adam cautions, trepidation creeping into his tone. “She is your patroness. And a known viper, even in the tangled nest that is the court. No good will come of putting her off.”

I feel my own muscles tighten in response, at his unconscious echo of Marie’s words so many months ago. What a schemer that woman is, Marie said to me then. Be careful of her, ma belle. She may be grateful to you now, but such outsized ambition knows neither lasting loyalty nor bounds.

Though the ache of Marie’s absence never dissipates, sometimes it cuts the keenest when I am at odds with Adam. Though we have thrown our lots in together, become both lovers and partners in our dark endeavor, anything between us is built only on the promise of mutual benefit. Adam may be my confidant, but I am under no illusion that he is either my protector or a friend. Should the tide ever turn against us, he would abandon me in an instant if it meant saving his own precious skin.

I cannot hold this selfishness against him; not when I guard my own interests just the same, and understand exactly