CHAPTER II – CATHERINE
"Nostradamus, I need you to have these items readied by later tonight."
Catherine handed over a piece of paper and placed it on top of the cluttered counter, carefully trying to avoid the open flame of the candle. With the list, which displayed her articulate and prim handwriting, she pushed about a dozen of empty bottles and vials. Her seer looked up and raised a brow at it. "What are those for?"
She groaned and waved her hand, dismissing the idea as if it was irrelevant. "I need you to replicate some of these tonics and lotions for Mary." Catherine began, looking at Nostradamus expectantly, urging him to start on the task at hand. "It's for her fertility—or the lack thereof."
"Why?" he rasped out. "You've managed to convince your son to stay at court." Catherine didn't miss the edge to the message. It's also been a few days since he's last dreamed of the vision of Francis' violent death. While a part of her was relieved, there was also a nagging voice in the back of her mind telling her that the threat has not passed.
"Yes, well, the need for the heir has not." Catherine grabbed the list and pointed to the top portion. "Now, once you've finished this potion, have it sent to the kitchen. Have them prepare Mary's food mixed with at least three drops."
Nostradamus chuckled beside her, grabbing a few ingredients from a cabinet and started a small fire hear his worktable. "You're awfully set on giving yourself a grandchild." He mused, whistling low as he mixed two liquids in a beaker together.
Catherine paused for a moment, remembering the conversation she had shared with her son only a few days ago. It was only by a stroke of luck that Francis didn't know of his siblings' return to court. It seemed like fortune was smiling upon her when she's managed to convince him to postpone his plans and stay to greet them as they return to court.
But it only bought her so much time. Recently, Catherine received a message from their governess, detailing the events of their travels and how, after a short situation that prolonged their journey, they would arrive at court in two months' time once their tour of Paris concludes.
She remembered receiving the letter and how her face paled. She only had two months to make sure that Francis wouldn't leave the castle. At least in the foreseeable future.
In the beginning, Catherine was lost. She didn't know how to begin or where. She had no idea on how she could begin to convince Francis to stay within the castle. That was until Mary paid her a visit, asking for her advice regarding the English matter with Elizabeth's offer.
It was only then when Catherine realized that the key to Francis' survival was his family. But his siblings would not be enough, she decided in the moment as Mary exited her chambers, he would need children of his own.
It was not lost on her that Francis was only too glad that Mary had given up her claim for the English throne. She knew that he would support his wife's endeavors, and should the English campaign been a part of that, then France would have been plunged into a war in an effort to support its queen.
Not to mention his love for France. Catherine had seen it, long before he's realized the gravity of his birth's circumstances. Even before Francis realized that he's to lead his country, she could see the love he has for his kingdom. Francis' love for his nation, his people, his patriotism, and his nationalism—she's quite certain—will be the death of him.
But when she's seen Francis' reaction to his siblings' return, Catherine knew that the only way he would be convinced to remain at court is with his family.
Her son was dealt with the cards of fate to be a leader of the country he loves. And because of that very same love, with a heavy heart, he took on the realms of the nation he never wished upon himself. Catherine could see it on her son's shoulders, how they sagged with weariness and exhaustion—he wants to rest, with Mary and with his family.
And he could only rest when his country is safe, when his reign is secured.
In that moment, her mission was clear—the campaign that would keep Francis grounded to court lies in his and Mary's children.
"And how much do you require?" Nostradamus asked her, jarring her back to reality.
Catherine shook her head, dismissing the memory and zeroed her eyes on Nostradamus. "A few weeks' worth, my friend." She lifted turned her back against him and circled around the infirmary, taking the sight all at once. "I'll also need you to produce some pills for Francis, something to—" she paused for a moment, removing from her mind the image of her son dying from an abscess of the ear, though visibly scarred by it. "Strengthen the King of France."
She turned around, facing Nostradamus, who remained silent.
"I feel that his body is still weak and that he might benefit from—" there was a loud clatter and the next thing Catherine heard was the shattering of glass. Near the worktable's candle, it broke and almost spread to a pile of clean linen. Immediately, she swiped the apron from Nostradamus' waist and wasted no time killing the fire.
Catherine felt fatigued as she tossed aside the blackened apron. She turned to her side and glared at her seer. But he just stood there, his mouth ajar and his eyes hooded. "By God, Nostradamus, what is going on with you?"
Her seer blinked. Once, then twice before gasping, his hands lunging for his throat, as if it helped him breathe. "Catherine?!" he asked out loud.
She raised her brow curiously, but not amused. "Yes." She drawled out dryly. "In the flesh." She hissed wryly, almost mockingly, her words seething with venom.
Nostradamus' eyes glanced around the infirmary nervously. "What happened?"
She scoffed bitterly. "A fire broke out and I had to be the one to extinguish it."
But he simply shook his head, his hands shivering and quaking as if he was weaker than a newborn. "Your children," he breathed out. "Hercules, Margot, and Henry? They've arrived?"
"What are you talking about, Nostradamus? My children would arrive at court after their tour in Reims and Paris, in two months' time." There was an edge to her voice—one of worry and nerves.
"I don't understand. It's changed." He muttered, shaking his head.
Catherine's eyes widened, and she grabbed his shoulders. "The prophecy? Has it changed?" he nodded, fear in his eyes. She gulped and paled, her skin feeling damp with sweat and worry. "What did you see? Is my son in it?"
"Yes. Francis is in the vision." His voice was off, as if he was looking far ahead. "I see that the castle has been abandoned. The halls are void of people and Francis, he is not here."
"What of it?!" she spat out, glaring at the man in front of her as if her poisonous glance would compel him to speak. "Tell me of my son's fate! Has it changed, has the crisis been averted or is death hanging by a needle's thread over his head?!"
Nostradamus buried his face into his hands. "I see the Parliament de Paris and a chopping block. A room divided by cells—I think it's the Bastille." He inhaled sharply, and her stomach took a plunge. "Your son is weeping. For what reason, I do not know why. I also see a man, not one of your sons, being crowned in Reims."
Catherine shook her head, stepping back, taking in his words slowly but all at once. "Francis is going to be executed, isn't he?" her voice was small, filled with panic.
His eyes seemed lost. "I do not think that Francis is going to die, but you will lose France that is unless. . ." he trailed off, his eyebrows scrunched up together.
"Unless? Unless what? Speak up, Nostradamus."
"Unless you have the Queen of Scotland by your side." Suddenly, Nostradamus had his strength as he gripped her wrist. "Mary is the key to France's—and Francis'—survival." Catherine then felt the tightened grip on her wrist loosen as Nostradamus' eyes widened and scrambled to grab a piece of paper.
Curiously, he began sketching an image. Of what he was trying to capture in parchment, it was of little concern to Catherine as she bolted out of the infirmary doors and went straight for her chambers, drafting a letter addressed to her children's governess, instructing her to abandon the tour and make their way to court.
In her mind was one clear goal—tell Mary of the new prophecy.
Catherine stood near the fire place.
The letter had been dispatched and she had been anxious in her hours waiting for a messenger to return when, suddenly, somebody knocked on her doors. "Your Majesty, Nostradamus is asking for an audience. Should I let him in?" her pager asked.
She cleared her throat and tightened her robe. "Yes. Let him in."
The doors opened and revealed a disheveled image of Nostradamus. "Queen Catherine, I cannot remain here any longer. I've come to tell you that I will be leaving before dawn." He rasped out.
"No. I need you here at court, my old friend. Now more than ever." She pressed. "I'll reward you handsomely, you know I will."
Nostradamus chuckled sadly. "Money is no issue." He fidgeted with his fingers. "I'm afraid that Olivia has sent word for me. She's with child. I must return to her in Spain at once."
"But what of the prophecy? We have to convince Francis and Mary that their thrones are in danger of being seized." Catherine's eyes narrowed and her lips formed a scowl. "No doubt by those scheming cousins, the Bourbons." She spat out. A part of her wanted to rip those brothers apart, limb by limb. But it would do no good. Not when she knew so little.
Catherine heard him sigh, though he did try to hide it. "Sometimes, the gift of foresight is more curse than blessing."
Her brows furrowed together. "I don't understand. Speak plainly."
"Isn't it clear to you? The more we meddle with fate, in our efforts trying to avoid a mere possibility of its future, only cements it. Francis' illness? The abscess of the ear and his brain fever, it all stemmed from his and Mary's estrangement."
Catherine rolled her eyes. The image of her son, her golden boy dying, still stung. She fought hard to remove it from her mind. "Yes, what of it?"
"It wouldn't have happened—no, it shouldn't have happened if Stéphane Narcisse hadn't sent Francis on a wild hunt to find Montgomery. He would have been in the castle with Mary during the Protestants' attack. He could have stopped Mary's rape had he stayed." He breathed and waved his hand through the air between them. "But he didn't. He left, because your Lord Chancellor had evidence against Francis, information obtained due to bad blood with him and Mary during the aftermath of the plague."
Catherine felt impatient and scowled. "Get on with it!"
"Francis left the castle when the plague broke out because Lola was giving birth to their son, their child who was conceived when he was made a bastard after—"
The truth dawned on Catherine as if an anvil fell on her head. She felt dizzy and was compelled to sit on the divan. "After we told Mary her union with Francis would cost him his life."
The only sound that captured the lot was the sound of fire cackling in the pit. "We blamed so many for the deaths of so much. We have blamed Francis' illness on Mary for her infidelity when we only have ourselves to blame, Catherine. We have ruined their lives already by so much. We have changed the course of what would have been a happy marriage and almost destroyed it. It is only by luck that their love is enough, but love, Catherine, could only do so much."
Fear struck in her soul. "Then what shall I do, Nostradamus? How do I keep my family safe? How do I save my son?"
"Protect them. Remember my words but do not try to manipulate fate as we did before. History will only serve as a grave reminder." His eyes flickered away and Catherine saw as he did: the tunnels.
Her firstborn who paid the price of death. Clarissa was an unfortunate casualty of her love for her family.
Catherine gulped audibly and nodded. "Then maybe it's for the best that you leave court. Only until further notice, of course." Their eyes met, and it was understood. He would return should the vision change.
"Well then, before I take my leave, I thought that I should leave this behind." Nostradamus fished from his coat a piece of parchment folded to fit his pocket. "It's the sketch I had been compelled to draw. It's finished, though I didn't bother looking." Catherine saw his eyebrows twitch upwards and his shoulder tighten.
He was lying. He had looked at the sketch and the finished drawing is a horrible possibility of the future. "It's about the vision, I take it?" Nostradamus nodded and placed the sketch in her hands.
"Do what you must. But take caution."
Catherine held the piece of paper in her hands. A part of her wanted to open it, to see the secrets it held, but she shook her head and unfolded it, turning it around and over so that she would not see it. "To letting fate manipulate itself." She drawled out dryly as she tipped the end over near the flame before letting it drop down to the fireplace.
Nostradamus nodded and dipped his head ever so lightly. "Well, I'll be taking my leave, then." Catherine watched her seer as he exited her chambers when a gust of air entered the room. It sent chills up her spine and, when Catherine peered at the flames, the parchment had been lit up. The image had seeped through the paper from the orange fire that illuminated it.
It was the image of a woman's severed head.