3
Gideon could not look awayfrom the young woman seated on a bench in the gardens. It was an unseasonably warm winter day, and it seemed she wished to enjoy the sunlight despite the chill in the air. She was perched there with a book in her lap, although from the looks of things, she was not reading it. Instead, she had a piece of charcoal in her hand, and she kept glancing studiously between the blank piece of paper she had placed in her small tome and the fountain before her.
By the gods, she was beautiful.
He stayed in the shadow of a column, his dark clothing aiding in hiding his presence. It felt as though the air had been robbed from his lungs. She had stolen his ability to breathe, unwittingly as it may be on her part. Indeed, she was entirely ignorant of him. And for the moment, he preferred it that way. It allowed him to watch her in this private moment of focus.
It was by far not the first time he had seen her. In the many months he had been traveling to the palace to meet with the queen, she had gone from a passing fancy to something that bordered obsession. Now, he found himself searching her out, walking the corridors of the palace for a chance to see her.
Yes, perhaps he was obsessed.
Each time he found her, she had arrested his attention as though nothing else in the world existed but her. Despite his deep desire to do so, he had not introduced himself. While he had ingratiated himself to the queen well enough, the king was far harder to convince. King Henri the Second was a shrewd and intelligent man, and while he was matched by his queen in wits, he was sorely lacking in the deviousness that Catherine de Medici possessed in such abundance.
In short, Henri had honor. And that meant worming his way into the king’s graces would take more time and careful planning. But perhaps the beautiful young woman who sketched away, oblivious to his presence, could be both the solution to, and the prize of, his current political scheme.
Slipping away like the shadow he resembled in his long black cloak, he smirked as the wheels began to turn away in his head. It was fortuitous he already had an appointment with the queen. Now, he merely had another item to add to the agenda. As he headed in the direction of her audience chambers, he watched as the servants of the palace moved quickly to step out of his way.
He was a frightening thing to behold. Tall, broad shouldered, and garbed entirely in black, he sculpted his appearance on purpose. His long white hair was juxtaposed by his youthful face. Coupled with the “exotic” color of his skin, and he knew he was quite something to behold. He enjoyed the nervousness others experienced upon seeing him. It was the same as a dangerous snake in the wood, warning the unwary traveler to carefully watch their step.
The guards by the audience chamber opened the door for him as he approached. He entered as one announced him. “Dr. Johann Faust.”
Another false name. Another false persona. But it was no matter. He enjoyed spinning a good tale when it was needed. The claim that he was a brilliant Spaniard orphan raised by a German alchemist struck the perfect balance between too farcical to be believed and yet fantastical enough that they wished to believe him.
And no one questioned it.
He dropped to a knee before the queen and bowed his head low. “Your majesty.”
“Ah, Faust. Good. I had wanted to speak to you.” Catherine tapped her fingers on the arm of her chair.
“How may I be of service, my queen?”
Catherine gestured her other hand. The servants left the room, shutting the doors behind them, leaving all but one trusted maid standing nearby. “I believe we may have a Protestant spy within our walls, and I wish you to use your…methods…to root them out. This is a matter of secrecy and urgency, as I hope you can imagine.”
He smiled. That would be easy enough. “Of course. I will begin immediately.” He stood from the ground and paused. “I would ask a question of you, if I may.”
The queen gestured idly for him to continue.
“The young woman who sits out in the garden each morning and draws…who is she?”
“Hm?” The queen grimaced as she realized precisely of whom he was speaking. “Ah. Yes. Marguerite. One of the results of the king’s many…dalliances.”
He arched an eyebrow. “If I might pry, with whom?”
“He will not tell me.” She laughed incredulously. “All the others I know, and yet with her, her parentage remains a mystery. Why do you ask, alchemist?” A wry smirk crossed her full features. “Has she caught your eye?”
Always give up enough to be trusted. Never give up anything that matters. Feigning embarrassment, he smiled shyly. “Yes, she has.”
“You are full of surprises, magician.” Catherine looked off thoughtfully, gazing out the window. “The girl is approaching the age where she should be wed. I would prefer her no longer underfoot. She is pliable and respectful enough, but I dislike the reminder of my husband’s indiscretions lingering about.”
“Naturally.”
“There is one flaw in this arrangement. Henri has pledged to the girl that she will be allowed to marry for love. I will do what I can to convince him that his fantasy has run its course and it is time to see her properly and profitably wed.” The shrewd woman tapped her fingers on her chair again. “But perhaps I can arrange a meeting between you two. Perhaps there is a potion you could brew or some spell you could work to make her dote upon you.”
“Such things are possible, and not outside my skills, but…they are fragile, temporary, and do not generally end well for any of the participants.” He shook his head. “Careful what you wish for, and all.”
“I suppose. Well, then you will have to do it the old-fashioned way.” She laughed. “Very well. I will see what I can do to arrange this. It rids me of a nuisance and serves to pay you for the deed in the same breath.” She gestured dismissively. “Simply do not forget your other task.”
He bowed low. “It shall be done, my queen.”