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

“Yes, but be careful of her nails. This one has the claws and feral nature of a rabid alley cat.” He eyes Marie askance, his sharply flared nostrils widening even farther. “And take heed, Bosse. Should you be tempted to harm a hair on Madame La Voisin’s head, not even a testament of your innocence from our Lord God himself will save you.”

Marie shifts her eyes balefully to me.

“I promise not to bite, my lady,” she says witheringly. Though I am nearly certain the loathing in her eyes is intended not for me but La Reynie, it makes me quail all the same. I deserve her hatred twice over, for leaving her behind and then landing her in this predicament. “Upon my honor.”

Before La Reynie can change his mind, I draw closer to the bars and slide my hands around her icy fingers, trying to instill her clammy flesh with my own heat. I peer intently into the brown depths of her eyes, partially in an act of concentration for La Reynie’s sake, but mostly to impress upon her my commitment to freeing her.

Though I do not dare mouth anything, I make a silent vow. I will do anything it takes to set you free, I promise silently. I will not let you die in here, even if it means that I must face death for my crimes myself.

From the incremental softening in her face, I gather that she understands.

“This young woman is innocent,” I declare, releasing Marie’s hands and stepping back, massaging my temples to indicate the effort I have expended. “There is no taint of guilt whatsoever on her soul. She has nothing to do with any of your murders.”

I turn to La Reynie, leveling him with an austere look. “In fact, if there is any crime here at all, it is the travesty of the violence that you have visited upon her. And if I do not soon hear news of her release, I will be sure to divulge your methods to the king, the next time he summons me for my counsel.”

I know that goading him this way is dreadfully unwise; it does not take the sight to bespy the violence churning in this man’s depths. But furious as I am, I cannot help myself.

“She will not be released until the chambre has declared her innocent,” he grinds out, blood leaching from his lips. His mouth trembles from the force with which he clenches his teeth. “Especially as she is a criminal nonetheless, a hardened swindler whose very trade is bilking her betters out of their coin. But I, in turn, will be certain to pass on your very great concern for her well-being to the king.”

The heavy-handed subtext—that Marie and I are cut from the same deceptive cloth—hangs in the air between us like some acrid smoke. I stare at him defiantly, bitterly amused at how close to the truth he treads. Turning on his heel and storming ahead, La Reynie barely bothers to wait as he leads me out through the reeking maze of the halls.

And as I follow him out of this abhorrent underworld unfit for Hades himself, I am certain only of two things.

One is that I must ensure Marie’s freedom at any cost.

The other is that I have made an enemy of Gabriel-Nicolas de la Reynie.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

The Threat and the Divination

I can barely live with myself, knowing that Marie molders in the dungeon in my place, at the mercy of that detestable man.

While Adam is terrified that Marie will cede our names under pain of further torture, I know better than to doubt my friend’s steely resolve. And without Blessis to interrogate, or any other concrete proof at hand, surely the Chambre Ardente’s investigation will die out soon enough, burn itself to ash and cinders like a fiery serpent eating its own tail.

In the meantime, we cannot afford to have our names and “poison” spoken in the same breath. Though Adam had previously drawn up schematics to construct more devil-makers and expand our offerings, we decide to suspend all our upcoming Messes at least until the smoke has cleared, confining ourselves only to private sessions with existing clients.

The rest of my time I spend devising wild stratagems to break Marie out of the gaol.

“But what about your devilmaker?” I harangue Adam one evening, chewing on my knuckles. “We could cast some sort of illusion, convince the guards that the fortress has been breached by demons. And then take advantage of the ensuing chaos to somehow spring her loose!”

“And how do you propose we get inside at all, much less smuggle in the devilmaker and my other tools?” he asks reasonably, by now well accustomed to defusing my hysterical plots. “Even if such a gambit were to succeed, what then? Perhaps one of the guards might oblige us by handing over the key we need to open her cell? Or do you intend to stay hidden there yourself, and saw your friend out with a nail file over the course of several months?”

“Then what do you suggest?” I fling back at him. “Besides more excuses to sit idle and do nothing? Do not pretend that you even care if Marie sees the light of day again!”

Adam comes to his feet and rakes both hands through his hair, darting me an exasperated glance.

“I do not pretend to care about her at all,” he retorts coolly. “But I do care for you—enough, at least, that I would lend my help if I could safely do so, and if I thought it might do any good. But all of your schemes wind up with us imprisoned, or worse. And I will not agree to sentence myself to death to assuage your own guilt.”

“Because you are a coward,” I spit at him.

He heaves a long-suffering sigh, impatience sweeping across his face. “No, Catherine. Because I am not a fool, certainly not enough to meddle in whatever it is that lies between the