A/N: What can I say, I am what Magnus and Alec's neighbour might call 'a lying liar who lies.' So here's the update that was promised and not delivered on time. *slap on the wrist for me*. Oops. However we are coming to a turning point here. The next few chapters will see us (hopefully-providing Mrs potatohead/yours truly gets her proverbial together) picking up the pace a little...
NB: Just to prevent any mild confusion, the first few sections of this chapter pick up right where the last one ended, then there is a short time skip :)
Masks
Because the King's dinner was the kitchen's priority he had been the first to dine and it was not hard for Clary to corner Jace on a staircase on his way to the hall for his own meal. Striding towards him she felt her stomach clenching and her whirling thoughts whip up into a real tempest. He still looked unreasonably attractive, all in a black which contrary to making him look drab or dull brought out the gold of his hair and eyes and somehow made him seem brighter. He glanced up at her hurried approach, expression tightening into the guarded, wary and to the ignorant eye utterly impassive mask as he took stock of the girls behind her.
"Leave us" she snapped at Helen and Aline from where they scurried a few paces behind in her train, struggling to keep up with their impatient mistress. Wordlessly the duo exchanged a single look before falling back and disappearing. She knew they would not have gone far, simply a discreet distance out of sight and what she had to hope was out of earshot. Really leaving the young princess alone with the man she had 'developed a liking for' was not acceptable, but since Clary's lips remained sealed on the goings on between those two particular ladies, the other side of the bargain had to be fulfilled.
Now Clary's focus was entirely trained on the unmoving Jace before her, whose expression had yet to warm as it customarily would have. Undoubtedly he knew all that had just transpired, his suspicions only solidifying as after a brief hesitation Jace dropped his head and moved to bow. The Princess's hand shot out to halt him immediately, "You need not trouble yourself with any of that. We are somewhat past pretences of modesty and propriety, are we not?"
Jace's eyes and brows shot up as he straightened, towering over her despite their being stationed on the same step, seemingly wounded by her sharp tone.
"No need to look at me like that either! You are to be congratulated, sir, on your uncanny work. A second to none performance, truly."
"Performance? Clary I-"
The King had expressly forbidden her from announcing the glad tidings to anyone as of yet, but evidently what she was about to say would come as no surprise to the envoy before her, it was his doing as much as it was Valentine's. "I am to be Dauphine!" she all but shrieked at him, "But you knew that, did you not? Days ago, weeks ago, I'd wager!"
Comprehension splashed fully across Jace's features and he made to speak but Clary was relentless, tearing on viciously and praying her blows landed, "My father has just informed me of his plans, plans which he has not concocted overnight I can assure you. I know you have been laying plots with him and then coming to me to talk of books and music, anything at all that would keep me in the dark! Well you have done it all extraordinarily. The game is concluded and it seems the best man won! You have played your cards expertly from the very start, with the clashes and the apology- as for the rescue – well, you certainly turned that one to your advantage like a true expert."
The weighty gold crucifix at her throat thumped into the base of her throat with the gulping breath she yanked in before continuing. "You had me then and by God you knew it. Letting me make you all the powerful friends you needed, all but handing you your victory. All of which was impressive, but you are after all a gambling man, and so came the kiss: a real stroke of genius! You caught the silly, hapless maid and played me as your ace, for this past week my head has been so full of it that my interfering has ceased. And my avoiding my father handed you the reins so you might steer your venture home, off on a hunting trip where your quarry was not the deer but the King." Clary took a few staggering steps backwards, tripping over her own hem but not her words, lobbing each one at him doused in bitterness, "Ah, you have caught him too Herondale, better than you could have ever hoped for." She opened her arms, stretching them wide on either side of her shoulders, eager to convey that Jace Herondale could never again hope to fall into them, "So here is your triumph, Excellence, your seal of success as a diplomat. For you truly are the most cunning, ruthless man to head an embassy. I suggest you enjoy your victory while you can!" She cried, refraining from striking him with her hands only because she knew her words would wound him more, "For if you imagine I cannot play the game myself you are wrong. Most wrong. On the contrary I am primed for the next round and I can assure you I have had the most accomplished of tutors."
She whirled around then, set to storm away only to be stopped by Jace's hand catching her elbow, "Clary please! That is not how it was, I promise you! No, I beg of you. Listen to me!"
"Why should I?" she flung back, tugging herself free of his grasp. Jace hurried to block her ascent and grasped her shoulders this time, turning her to face him.
"I can see why you would not. But please, I have given you reason to trust me in the past, have I not? I can explain. You may well find that explanation inadequate, but so be it. I know you are wise enough to make up your own mind, and I will give you leave to think of me what you will, if only you will hear me first."
Clary paused, tempted to barge past him to the safety of her rooms and ignore the honeyed poison he would drip in her ears.
Yet he was right, he had given her reason to trust him and she knew that the King had spoken true, she and Jace Herondale would be seeing a lot of one another in the future. Besides, having already quarrelled with Isabelle she should not cast out another friend. She nodded her assent briskly, still glaring at the ambassador furiously, "Very well. Speak. I will not be listening for very long."
Jace's shoulders lifted as he dragged in a few composing breaths,"Yes, His Majesty told me on the night of the Prince's birthday that he was inclined to give you to the Dauphin, and later told me before the hunt that he would indeed have you marry Francois. But he made no move towards bringing it about and made no announcements so I began to doubt his intentions, I had only his word to go on. Knowing the King I half expected him to have told all the envoys the same thing. Then during the hunting trip I began writing to King Francois on your father's behalf and the understanding was only confirmed yesterday. So I kept what he had told me to myself, not even Alec and Isabelle knew of the agreement until today.
'On the night of Jonathan's birthday, the night I first kissed you…in truth I know not why exactly I did that." He swallowed uncertainly, looking at her with a new fervency, as though he could will her into believing and forgiving him. He shrugged vaguely, "I had just had a particularly intense discussion with His Majesty, who had just told me he wanted to betroth you to the Dauphin, and I suppose you had just told me of how your marriage would mean the loss of everything that had been a part of your previous life so I realised that I could well be a part of that. You were going to become Francois' and I wanted- just once- to have you first. To have you once, before you became his and I lost you forever." He did move to release her then, loosening his grasp and sliding his left hand down her arm until it reached hers and their fingers tangled together, his eyes falling there too and he pointedly addressed them the next time he spoke. "But now you are gone and I know I must leave you be. I understand that now. It would be wrong-worse- perilous for any of this continue. It has already gone too far."
His words fell into an astounded silence. Clary half laughed, half sighed at his admission and realised that he had spoken true. Her old playmate and friend would indeed be lost to her forever on her wedding day. After that she would be the next queen of France and he would be first and foremost her subject and servant. And so she ought to say goodbye, to accept that now the end had come and that continuing to have anything beyond a working relationship with him would bring a new layer of danger upon them both. She was the property of one more powerful man and the precious daughter of two Kings while he remained an ambassador.
Instead she stepped forward, moved further into his arms and she lifted her head to survey him properly. "And yet you are not, I see, letting me go," she pointed out quietly, her voice just above a whisper.
"No." Jace agreed and she was stunned to note he was trembling slightly. "I have failed in every other attempt to untangle myself from you."
"But you have won" Clary stated, snapping the words at him in spite of their being so close, "You may stop pretending now."
Jace still held her tight, stepping forward as she made to retreat so there remained hardly any distance between them. "You wish for me to cease the pretence?" There was a warning undertone to his low growl, yet there lingered almost a kind of plea within his question too.
"Yes" she tried to tell him firmly, aware that even as she did so he still did not loosen his hold, rather his free arm slipped down from her shoulder, slowly sliding along her length in a way that almost set her own limbs atremble.
"Good" he laughed breathlessly, with no serious mirth as he lowered his head. Lips brushed her brow and skimmed her nose as they made their downward journey and already Clary's heart was beating fast in anticipation of what was to come. If any part of her recalled they were on a staircase where anyone could come upon them at any moment it was dismissed.
She had not imagined to forgive Jace so easily, in fact she had not been inclined to forgive him at all but she found herself trusting in the way he held her now. It was only as they hastily and clumsily pulled apart at the sound of a not so distant footfall that she remembered what they had been doing here in the first place. Jace was the first to recollect his wits, steering her before him as they bolted into the first shady alcove they could find.
"This too ought to cease," he breathed in her ear once they were stowed away in relative safety. Clary nipped at her own tongue to quell a giggle and dared peek up at him. They snorted and shuddered with their laughter as the mystery footsteps faded away, through some mercy the two remained undetected despite their not altogether soundless merriment. When the danger had passed however, Clary was left with no choice but to step away again, turning reluctantly to him. "I must go, my ladies are waiting."
Jace's grin drooped and his eyes flickered away, "How am I to do this?"
"We will think of something" Clary tried to reassure him, suddenly petrified that they had only reconciled to part decisively, "There are the gardens, the boathouse…"
"You are the Princess of Idris, Clary. You cannot go creeping around the grounds with a servant."
"You are not my servant," she protested petulantly.
"Exactly" he said it softly yet dully, slowly shaking his head, "It is worse than that, I am your soon-to-be-husband's servant."
Clary made a faint attempt to lighten the mood, "For now. You shall not be anyone's servant for long. I believe a knighthood and some chateau's were promised?"
Jace did not smile, "In which case I will remain the French King's subject. Gardens will only suffice for now, as well you know. This-" he gestured between them forlornly "Cannot continue when we reach France. You will be a wife then. Francois' wife." Now he did laugh, though it was bitter as a lemon and brittle as glass, "Because I gave you to him."
The irony was far from lost on Clary, "My father is the one who gave me to Francois."
"But neither you nor I will ever be able to forget that he does so at my behest."
Roundstone Hall, South-eastern Lakelands, Idris, Early August 1536
Once again, the early afternoon found Isabelle Lightwood unspeakably bored. She sat on the window sill, shoes discarded long ago and white stocking-clad feet planted on the sill before her, one of Jace's detestable books open in her lap. She had also discarded the possibility of reading long ago, with her Latin being nothing remarkable and what contents she could understand failing to evoke anything beyond a bemused apathy.
She had only thought she had been bored before.
Although the book remained balanced on her knees her eyes were fixed on the pearl and emerald ring that she currently twisted around her finger, watching the stones catch the light and fade again as she continued her rotation. It had been a gift from her father on her recent seventeenth birthday earlier in the spring, a shameless bid to win her silence in the wake of her discovering his whore and perhaps reclaim her affection. Robert had not succeeded on either count, though Isabelle had kept the ring and continued to wear it, simply because it was one of the few pieces of jewellery in her possession she truly liked and because she considered it no less than she deserved, putting up with her father in the ways she did.
As for the book itself, Jace had behaved as though his lending it had been some sort of great favour or exhibition of trust, which in itself was laughable. Her parents had seen to it she was educated, but her father had seen no reason for that education to be on the same plane as her brothers. She was ultimately a woman, and it would be unseemly (and unnecessarily costly) for her to be as learned as a boy. Isabelle had been more carefully drilled in the arts of needlework, dancing and governing a household: the finely honed skills that would be of benefit to a husband. She resented it sometimes, not being able to keep up with the conversations Jace and Alec had about this philosopher or that theologian. She was particularly envious of Clary who, despite being a girl as she was, could lose herself in a book at the drop of a hat, chatter away in a litany of tongues and hold her own in any debate, even against Jace.
She was far from stupid, Isabelle knew that there were many types of intelligence and that she was clever in ways beyond books. She could navigate a cut-throat court with ease- in France she had been an almost unparalleled schemer and with a few carefully chosen words and her prettiest smile she could have some of the most powerful men in the land eating out of her palm in seconds.
Her mother had demanded with exasperation on more than one occasion after Isabelle had sent yet another 'perfectly good' suitor on his merry way "have you no ambition?" On the contrary, the young Lady Lightwood had plenty of ambition, which was one of the chief reasons she had no intention of marrying. She enjoyed her pastimes of plotting and flirting, she liked being at liberty to dance with whoever she chose and tease legions of nobles with the notion of her hand, it was what gave her what little power she had. All of which would have to end the moment she uttered the marriage vows.
There were other, deeper reasons for her dragging out her own journey to the alter, of course. Not the least of which was making her own journey to matrimony as long and difficult as possible to prevent her father finding a bride for Alec.
Just as she thought of him her elder brother announced himself with as swift knock on the door and entered the room, pausing on the threshold to fix a disapproving look on his younger sibling, "Really Isabelle?"
"Come now" Izzy tutted dryly, rubbing her fingertip against the glass of the windowpane idly, "This cannot be the most compromising position you have found me in." Alec chose tactfully to ignore the last comment, "But in a window? Where anyone can see you?"
"No one is looking for me."
Her brother crossed the room and held out his arms to her, "I am. Please come down Izzy. I need to speak with you."
With exaggerated reluctance Isabelle swung her legs down and leapt nimbly to the floor, steadying herself with Alec's proffered arm. "Of what?"
"Jace. I am worried about him."
Isabelle rolled her eyes at the admission,"You say that as though it is not perpetually the case."
"More so than usual" Alec qualified gruffly, "Even more than I worry about you at present, though that should not be possible."
Isabelle smiled, lifting herself onto her bare tip-toes to press a kiss to Alec's forehead. She was tall for a girl and the manoeuvre did not require much stretching as her brother stood just a head above her.
Alec flushed at her expression of affection and drew away, "I am serious Isabelle"
"I know. But it is my intention to have you grey haired by the time you are thirty. I merely wanted to check my progress" she made a show of straining upward again to inspect the top of his head.
"By God, you are succeeding. Though you cannot claim all the credit; we were talking of Jace."
"Yes," Isabelle flopped down into the nearest chair, "Dare I ask what has spawned this latest bout of fretting?"
"This kingdom, this court," Alec muttered, folding his arms and turning away from her as he began to pace, "I like not what it does to him."
"And what does it do to him?" Izzy enquired, plucking his book off the floor from where it must have fallen when she had moved, before the man in question could burst into the room and murder her for its mistreatment.
"It is changing him. I fear not for the better."
Isabelle refrained from pointing out that Idris had changed all of them. "Well of course this embassy was going to be different from the others," she tried to soothe with reason, "We are dealing with the man who had his father's head chopped off to begin with. Then consider he also had Jace beaten black and blue as a child as you and I both well know, for we each saw the bruises when he arrived at Adamant."
Alec glanced at the tightly shut door before drawing closer and lowering his voice to spit out, "Yes but it is not just Valentine. It's her."
There was only one 'her' in these rooms. Isabelle blinked, trying to collect her thoughts before continuing, "Alec-"
"Do not try and tell me this is nothing, that I am worrying about nothing. You saw them dance as plainly as I did, you have seen them together in the same ways I have. And as for what happened between the two of you, if she really lost her temper over the mere suggestion…This is anything but nothing."
"Jace is no fool," Isabelle told her brother dryly, "And neither is she."
"He's a fool for her."
Isabelle tugged idly at the lace of her undersleeves, careful not to look Alec directly in the eye. Being shut up in her chambers did not mean that she was not abreast of all that was happening in the Princess' rooms. Since Simon was still strumming and contrary to her threats Clary had made Helen and Aline her bosom companions rather than court pariahs, Isabelle found that she wanted to do some protecting of her own. Clearly she owed it to the Morgenstern girl. More than that, unless she could get herself reinstated in Clary's train she would be served a dismissal and would have no other option but to return to Adamant. For all her bluster, Isabelle took her father at his word when he claimed that this position was her last chance. After this, if she refused to budge on her defiance of wedlock there was only one other honourable option for a girl: the nunnery.
"What if you have it wrong? What if she's a fool for him, and that is his game? Because it is working, she's going to be Dauphine."
"Indeed and how long has that been in the works? And not a word did he breathe to either of us!" Alec strode away again, and Isabelle anxiously watched him move back and forth like an irritated pendulum. "He has started keeping secrets, which he never did before."
"And you are open in all matters with him?"
Alec shot her a withering look before pressing on, "I do not believe that this is a strategy, this is not how he plays the game."
"This embassy is not like the others" Isabelle repeated firmly. She could tell she was starting to wear his doubts away, even as his frantic blue eyes skidded back to hers. For fear he would see through her Isabelle fixed her gaze back on the book she held, pointedly beginning to flip nonchalantly through the pages. "And I know Jace can be that ruthless. I suppose Valentine Morgenstern taught him that. He has always had the capacity, just never the inclination." Which is no longer applicable to Valentine Morgenstern's daughter now is it?" She deliberately left her implication unsaid, as her pointed silences were already doing wonders.
Alec rubbed his wrists, which must have ached from his frantic wringing. She watched his throat bob as he swallowed, clearly trying to make sense of what she had told him and align it with what he had presupposed.
"She will fall in love with him, if she already hasn't. They always do." He snapped out of his musings as quickly as he had fallen to them, whirling round to face his sister once again, "Where the devil is he anyway? I hoped to find him here with you."
Isabelle shrugged and tried to continue appearing unconcerned. "Jace will be a busy man for the foreseeable future. He will have to hammer out the finer points of the betrothal contract to make it as agreeable as possible for both monarchs."
Alec nodded eventually. "True, but if that were the case surely he would at least have consulted me! Even if my opinion was not wanted I would have expected him to at the very least keep me abreast of matters! Sat here ignorant I am about as useful as.. as-"
"A girl?" Isabelle offered tartly.
Alec clicked his tongue, dropping his hands to the armrests of her chair and leaning over her heard, which Isabelle obstinately refused to lift, "More like about as useful as a girl who is spending her days in useless and needless idleness out of sheer stubbornness. If you really wanted to put your dear brother's mind at ease you could swallow your pride, apologize to the Princess and start pulling your weight on this embassy. You are supposed to be our eyes and ears in those rooms, remember?"
Isabelle scowled up at him, "Do not try to divert me. I was wronged, not the wrongdoer and I am not going to get down on my knees and grovel when I bear no fault."
In response Alec threw his head back and sighed loudly, raising his hands to tug at his as-of-yet black hair. "Sister, it matters not who was wronged, not when it is with royalty you dispute. She is a royal, and therefore you would do well not to gainsay her. If she feels slighted then go and make amends."
"Well if you must know, I have procured the help of an intermediary I do not want."
Alec narrowed his eyes at her, "The Prince?"
"No! Do not be ridiculous!"
"It is not so ridiculous to my eyes. He has a liking for you." Her brother did not sound as judgmental as she would have presumed, more puzzled and (as could always be expected) troubled, "One you make no real effort to discourage."
"I have returned the gifts!" She was not lying, each and every one the regular jewel bearing pages that had marched through her door had been promptly marched back out again. "And I pull disapproving faces when I feel him looking at me, I even take pains to avoid him and any notes that slip into my lap go hastily on a one way journey to the nearest fire. Seal unbroken. What is that if not discouragement?"
"He is a Prince, Izzy. I daresay he has never been told no in his life before and he will not hear it now. As far as he is concerned a lady's refusal means 'persuade me.'"
Izzy shook her head decisively, "I am not discussing any of this with you. We were finally making headway on Jace." Still, Isabelle could not say what it was precisely that had her holding the tongue and defending Clary's secret. She had practice hiding things and warping truths, but she had never tried to exercise her expertise on Alec, for fear that he knew her too well. Beyond that, she as not sure why she was felt such a powerful need to keep him in the dark now, but somehow she got the distinct feeling that the best way to keep everyone here safe was to conceal her suspicions about Clary and Jace for now. Even if he was aware and tried to put an end to it, there was little chance of success. Jace would defy his orders to forget about her and there was no way Alec would ever go any further to try and stop it. He would never sell his best friend out to the King.
Since she was personally so well acquainted with the sensation of smothering helplessness, Isabelle would not wish it on anyone, certainly not the brother she adored. "If he is not involving you and I then he must have his reasons. The real question here Alec how much you trust him."
"I trust him with my life" her brother insisted staunchly, moving over to the window and dropping his elbows against the sill as he leaned forward and stared out. With his face tilted away from her Isabelle just about heard his muttered conclusion, "Just not with his."
Before she got the chance to comment Simon Lewis was bursting into her chambers with his usual subtly, or utter lack thereof.
"Iz!" he caught sight of Alec and stopped himself just in the nick of time "I mean- my lady."
Yet even with the young lord glowering at him from the corner Simon could not contain his smile, "The Princess desires your presence this evening."
She hated it when Simon was right. But he had badgered her, even ambushing her on her afternoon walk yesterday. It really had been a masterful tactic, though he had no idea of that, but she had just been on her way to meet Jace again and his appearance just a few moments from a disaster had her shocked to a vulnerable state.
"It is about Isabelle."
"Dear God, declaring your intentions already?"
Simon was not amused, "Of course not."
"Oh good, because I do not want the task of letting you down gently when she sends me back to you with a refusal. She's not inclined to marry anybody. Besides, she has no idea that I even know of your courtship."
"Stop calling it that," Simon insisted, growing rather touchingly flustered, "She is not my sweetheart."
"Ah you kiss all your friends do you?"
"Well, if we are to be completely honest, since you are my only friend and we have kissed I suppose that is true. And that is partly the issue, not that no one knows of it per se…"
"Someone does know of it," Clary interrupted, her frayed nerves irritated, "I know of it. And far too much of it for a supposedly secret relationship. For instance, I now know that you have kissed her."
Simon swore, "Why did I ever tell you a damn thing in the first place?!"
"Well, to be fair to you I was not told so much as I discovered it. You never could hide anything from me." She concluded with fondness despite herself and her impatience to disengage with this conversation and hurry to where a certain golden haired ambassador was waiting for her.
"And you never could hide anything from me," her friend had declared solemnly. Filled as her thoughts were of Jace it was inevitable that the words would flood her with panic. Despite the fact she was still unsure precisely where she stood with Jace, she was already treading on eggshells as it was with an official announcement of her betrothal not far off and it was simply far too dangerous for anyone else to know. The few kisses and embraces they had shared were too many.
"I know that you miss her. I know that you feel vulnerable without her."
"Wait, what?"
"Isabelle?" Simon spread his arms before him in confusion, "She has been the only topic in this conversation Clary, it is concerning that you are struggling to keep up."
"No, yes- of course," Clary forced herself to take in a breath and not glance towards the water gate. "Pray continue."
"I understand. I do, it is difficult to live in such close conditions and see the same faces each day, many of whom you do not even like, but Isabelle you do like. You feel better when she is around, as nothing the day may throw at you cannot be tackled with her at your side. Her bravery, that fierce confidence of hers, it makes you want to be brave too.
'I also know that she has been missing you. The two of you sparked off one another, found humour in the same things. She is going out of her mind being confined to her chambers with nothing to do, especially with me at work and her brother busier than ever on his embassy these days." He offered a conciliatory, hopeful smile, "Besides surely now that you have a party to plan you are sure to find you need her. She dreads to think what you might don without her guidance."
That was true, with her birthday celebrations looming at the end of the week His Majesty was insistent she celebrate her entrance into her sixteenth year appropriately. It seemed that with matters proceeding nicely as regards her marriage Valentine was indeed feeling celebratory. And Simon also spoke true about Isabelle, Clary did miss having her around and felt guilty about planning the gowns and revels without her. At that particular moment however, her thoughts were primarily on Jace. "Yes Simon, you are right."
Her friend blinked several times, "That was-easy?"
"Indeed." Clary had agreed hastily, fearing that if she tarried much longer Jace would give up on her and leave. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have somewhere important to be."
"Somewhere important? Clary you are wandering aimlessly around the summer gardens."
The Princess mentally cursed and set about beating herself in her own mind, "Yes." She ground out past gritted teeth, "That is precisely what I am doing."
Thankfully, Simon grew cross rather than suspicious, "Don't think that because you are a royal now you can brush this off. You are not above me, those are your own words, remember? None of this is going to disappear of you ignore it."
"No, of course not!" Clary had cried, growing panicked again and narrowly resisting the urge to throttle the well-meaning, devoted boy before her, "So.." her mind began working furiously as she protracted the word, "You should go from here, at once, to find Isabelle and tell her that I will receive her in my privy chamber after supper, just the two of us; so that we can end this disagreement once and for all."
So here they were, in the second week of their restored relative harmony, choosing costumes. Even with all that had happened and all that seemed likely to happen, Clary was relishing the opportunity to let go of it all and live in the moment. She could even acknowledge that she was looking forward to her birthday celebrations, which she had decided to plan as a masked ball centred around the theme of Greek gods and heroes. Best of all, she doubted the reference would be lost on Jace.
Her good mood was lifted further by her brother's departure from court. Since he was to stay in the north indefinitely and Clary would be journeying to France in the not so distant future, their paths could very well never cross again. The Princess drew significant comfort from that, though she was momentarily distracted by the golden mask Isabelle was passing to her.
"Aphrodite?" she enquired tracing the silken tie on the mask with her forefinger, "You really ought to. It would suit you."
To her surprise her friend shook her head. "Oh no! I meant for you."
"Me?" Clary echoed before dissolving into laughter, "Ridiculous!"
"Oh but it would suit you so well," Izzy grinned at her friend mischievously, "Besides you speak so eloquently on the beauty of red hair! You were telling me not so long ago of some painting in which Aphrodite had a head full of flaming locks."
"The Botticelli." Clary conceded grimly, before edging into affront, "Which is not some painting! In any event, I had thought to go as Hera, since I am so soon to be wed, and after that a queen."
Isabelle rolled her eyes, flopping down on the corner of Clary's bed and holding up another mask to inspect it in the light. "Do not be dull. You shall be married until the end of your days and that will provide you with plenty of opportunities to play Hera. But this is one of the last occasions on which you will just be Clarissa Morgenstern, the sweetheart of her father's court and the most precious centrepiece in a court of beautiful girls."
"None more beautiful than you." Clary attempted to insist and pass the gilded facemask back.
Isabelle stared up at her lazily, "Do not doubt my ability to make you beautiful Clary."
"I would not dare" Clary giggled, leaning against the bedpost, blowing the edge of the fringed velvet curtain out of her face, "Though I do dare claim that most of the girls currently sewing shirts for the poor in my outer chamber would kill to be Aphrodite."
"All the more reason for you to claim it. Whoever else gets the coveted prize is likely to be maimed in retaliation by her jealous rivals," she dropped her voice to a dramatic whisper, "Perhaps only you can do it and live."
"You really do have a touch for the melodramatic."
"It is sweet that you think I exaggerate." She rolled onto her side languidly and propped herself up on her elbow, "Nonetheless, you should be our Aphrodite, if not for beauty then for love." Her antics melted away and she stared up at Clary with a probing dark scrutiny, "You are in love, are you not?"
Just when she thought she had the measure of Isabelle Lightwood the other girl managed to surprise her without fail. "Wh-What?" It was nothing short of a natural phenomenon, that Clary could actually make her lips move and squeeze words from her throat.
"Oh you heard me. I've noticed, even Alec has noticed-"
Clary cut her off in one last attempt to salvage the situation, "Of course, you think me a fool for being the besotted bride but despite myself I do hope for love in a marriage of convenience and after all you and others have told me of Francois.." she was prattling on unforgivably, each word airier than the last and even through her breathless babbling it was evident that not a single word she spoke had any substance.
"I am not even slightly convinced Clarissa."
"Not even a little bit?"
Isabelle shook her head slowly though he expression was not one of distaste or disappointment. "I really ought to warn you to guard your heart, or give you a lecture on how irresponsible you've been or even perhaps forbid you from seeing him again. But I am not your mother Clary and I doubt there is anything I could say that would dissuade you. Even if I did try you'd be the first to point out how hypocritical I am since I am the one meeting a musician in darkened corners, for God's sake."
"True."
"And those are just the practicalities. I am not inclined to intervene on a personal level either. We're women" she poured a general helping of empathy into the words, "We don't get anything to call our own, not particularly. Technically speaking we don't even own the clothes on our own backs, as whatever it is we believe we possess legally belongs to our husbands or fathers. Worse than that you are a royal woman, and in the little time I've known you Clary I get the distinct sense that there has scarce been a moment in your life that hasn't been dictated for you. Even with your mother it seems there has always been a strict routine. So I have no intention of taking this away from you."
"I have one thing, my reputation. And I should have a care with it since I am to be married."
What should have soothed her fears stoked them even further. Though she had not properly realised until this moment she had rather been hoping someone (anyone other than her father) would learn of what was going on and put an end to it, in her mind only the kindly intervention of someone like Simon or Izzy or even Luke would see a favourable outcome. She knew it had to end, she knew the consequences of discovery, or worse, infidelity and she knew she did not have the nerve to court such disaster. But she could not bring herself to let Jace go.
And Isabelle understood, "That above all things should make me want to put an end to this folly. Yet it does not. Instead that is what persuades me to let it continue. God knows you will never have your freedom again, and should you find that you don't love your husband then this will be the one and only chance you have to act on love. So long as you do not get caught doing so." Isabelle gave her a rueful half smile and even though her life seemed full of flux of late Clary was all at once indescribably grateful that she had Isabelle in it.
She was even glad of what had caused their fight in the first place, she was so glad that someone else knew what was in her heart. Though she was sure the other girl would not thank her for it, Clary was suddenly filled with the longing to fling her arms around her. Beating down the urge she instead threw herself down on the bed beside Izzy and stared up at the now familiar tester and did her best to voice all she was feeling.
Isabelle laughed softly dropping her hand to the young Princess' and squeezed her fingers gently. "Well I am happy to help. Truly. Try not to think too highly of yourself however, I am doing this for Jace too. I think this country has always had a hold on him, even though he does not realise it. I think we were always meant to come here, to meet you."
"Don't tell me you believe in fate Isabelle Lightwood!"
The other girl only snorted in response, "Well he is growing up, I suppose. Jace that is. I think he may have had to come home in order to do that, and you are a part of all this. You bring out the best in him Clary. Which is what worries Alec so much. For the day that Jace properly grows up, the day he stops being the impetuous and irresponsible boy that needs Alec to watch over him is the day he does not need Alec. And Alec so needs Jace to need him." She concluded with a mild sigh, before letting her focus dart back to the previous line of conversation, "Well, since you are aware that we Lightwoods all need each other, and now that you have turned Jace's head Clarissa Morgenstern do not be the cause of his losing it." A light, teasing laugh sprang from her friend then, "Is it any wonder I am determined not to wed and fill a nursery, when these brothers of mine take more looking after than any infants. If for no other reason than to ensure the two of you don't get caught I will assist."
Clary could hardly believe what she was hearing, for the second time in the space of a half hour Isabelle rendered her speechless. She tipped her head to the side, "Do you mean that Iz?"
Isabelle turned to face her and nodded slowly, then the playful sparkle sprang back into her eyes, "On two conditions."
"Oh?"
"The first: I want you to promise something in turn. Promise me that when we do go to France you will keep me with you. Please do not make me go back to Adamant Clary." In all the months she had known her, Clary had never heard the other girl beg for anything, and hearing her do so now was a humbling experience. It was like watching the Sphinx bow.
"That was a forgone conclusion. I need you Isabelle, now and always." A little smile glimmered on her face once more, "You are the only girl I know that I can call friend. Even if we bicker like France and Spain occasionally, I will always want you as the first of my ladies." Then with more wariness, "But what is your second request?"
Instead of replying Isabelle pushed herself upwards to a sitting position, her vermillion velvet skirts rustling at the movement. Before Clary could adjust her position to join her the flimsy golden mask was falling back onto her chest. "Let me make you beautiful" Isabelle murmured, sarcastically seductive. Clary chuckled by way of response, "But if I am to be Aphrodite, then who will you be?"
Isabelle dropped back down on the mattress by her side, "Since I am the fair maiden that all the gentlemen pursue…" With a deft flourish she raised a fine silver mask to cover her upper face, "Artemis, virgin goddess of the hunt." The two girls exchanged a single glance before falling to frantic laughter.
Though in a matter of days she would be sixteen, this very moment as she lay on her own oversized bed and laughing with her best friend beside her would be one of the very few times in her life Clary Morgenstern would be able to act her age.
These days a swift rap on his door was a sure way to put Jace Herondale's heart rate up a notch.
Best case scenario, it was a scribbled note from Clary to arrange a rendezvous and the imminent future held a kiss, and worst case scenario it was an armed guard and the imminent future held a brief recess in the Gard and the next kiss he'd get would be from a freshly sharpened axe. Tonight he had no expectation of being able to meet Clary, all the court nobles would be assembling in the great hall for the second royal birthday of the summer and because this particular event was taking place in Clary's honour there would be no chance for her to slip away to see him.
Jace, the lowly ambassador, had not been invited. Apparently it was because for just one night the Princess was to be freed of the constant reminder of her impending marriage that Jace was sure to be. Moreover, if Clary was anything like her brother she could well be a touch too free with her given liberty; celebrating Morgensterns were known to drink over their might on such occasions, and Valentine had attempted to ensure no reports of anything less than irreproachable behaviour reached the French King's ear. Not that one bout of drunkenness would have the betrothal called off, since Valentine was providing a generous enough dowry to ensure it would take one hell of a scandal to break the deal, but Clary would not be arriving in in France with anything less than an impeccable record if her father could help it.
Even with a charge of treason the more likely possibility Jace doubted a refusal to open the door would keep a soldier with an arrest warrant out for very long, so he steeled himself, hurried across to the door and threw it open.
Fortunately for Jace, but unfortunately for the common populace of Alicante who were particularly devoid of entertainment and for whom an execution proved an exciting outing for all the family, waiting for him on the other side of the threshold were the two eldest Blackthorns.
Helen's presence was nothing remarkable as she was frequently the courier of correspondence between the illicit couple, but up until now Jace had spoken a grand total of around five words to her brother and was by no means a trusted friend. So what brought him to Jace's door, less than an hour before the Princess's birthday celebrations were due to commence Jace failed to comprehend. In fact his incomprehension left them in a state of stilted silence, peering at each other with nervous suspicion until Helen finally intervened.
"Good evening," she chirped, "Might we come in?"
Jace quickly mumbled his assent, stepping back in order to allow the duo into his humble quarters, closing the door with a marked click behind him. The two Blackthorns stood awkwardly in the centre of his room, Helen tugging distractedly at the bronze fringing on her flowing gown. Jace realised for the first time she was dressed for the party, in the pale green and loose sleeved, high belted chemise-like dress with a bronze mask currently awaiting adjustment on her brow. She was Demeter, her realised at last, goddess of the harvest whose daughter's return saw the arrival of summer. It was a good match, she was after all the daughter of the Duke who ruled the mild weathered, fertile southern lands and it was her reunion with her family on these estates during the progress that brought the court summer. All this considered, the copper scythe nestled in her wheat coloured ringlets seemed far from out of place. It was then Jace noticed that her brother was not similarly attired, though there was a flash of gold in his hands which drew Jace's attention to the mask he had clasped in his fingers.
"Should you not be attending the Princess's birthday celebrations?" he enquired at length.
Two sets of honey curls trembled as the siblings shook their heads in unison. "No, Your Excellence." Helen corrected through a sweet smile, "They have yet to begin. And I am ready."
"I can see that" Jace tried to return a smile of pretended ease though he remained oblivious as to why he was in their company. "But you, Lord…" He realised too late that Andrew Blackthorn had too many damn sons for him to attach the correct name to this one.
"Mark" The younger man supplied for him blandly, fixing those odd eyes on the diplomat. One was the same clear blue as his older sister's but the single burning gold eye boring into Jace currently served as a jolting reminder that there were blood ties between the three of them. They were his distant cousins. In fact, by blood their family were more closely related to the Herondales than the Morgensterns, but of course no one pointed that out as doing so was dangerously close to highlighting just how weak the Morgenstern claim on the throne they occupied was.
"Mark" Jace echoed belatedly and apologetically, wondering briefly if, in other circumstances he might have grown up calling these two "Cousin" and their father's estates 'home'. Had Stephen Herondale lived he may as well have granted the wardship of his son and heir to their closest relatives. In another life he could have had Mark and Helen in the place of his Alec and Isabelle. "You are not dressed for the revels."
Mark's mouth twisted into an ironic grin, "Nor will I be for I am not attending. Not in person anyway." He stated matter-of-factly, passing the gold mask he had been clutching in his hand to Jace found who himself even more confused, which he had not thought possible. The ambassador looked down at his new possession, wordlessly perplexed.
Thankfully Helen interceded with an explanation, "All you need understand, sir, is that I have many reasons of my own to curry favour with the Princess. And that Mark hates dancing and has, I am assured, a book he desires the company of more than anyone in the hall. However it would be very remiss of us not to attend the Princess's celebrations and so he needs to be there. "
Jace could not help but smile at Mark in return, surprisingly pleased by the realisation that they may share more than a set of ancestors. "I am not averse to dancing, but I can empathise with preferring a book to people. That being said Lady Helen, I cannot see what makes you so anxious to make a good impression on the Princess. She already trusts you implicitly," he reminded her with a meaningful look.
"Yes well I would like to keep it that way." Jace wanted to protest that Clary was not as changeable as her father in playing court favourites and that her trust need not be won over and over again, but he felt he was at last beginning to see what had brought the two siblings here this evening and he was not about to damage his rare good luck.
"Which is why Mark will not be attending the ball and yet will. Because you will be there, in his stead. You are a good enough match for each other," she insisted, gesturing at his blond hair and stature with a devilish smile growing across her slight, elvish features , "The only thing that may give you away is your height. You are taller than Mark but I doubt anyone will be looking too closely and with the mask… I do believe this venture might succeed."
"But surely the King…"
"The King is not attending" she insisted, her voice growing evermore silkily persuasive with each syllable, "None of the Lords are, an emergency council meeting has been called. The Prince will be absent too, he has already departed. Tonight is a night for us youngsters. I am leading you into the most minimal danger, I swear by all the saints. Come, Jace! You know you want to!"
He could not argue with that, it was the purest truth. Jace couldn't help himself, though he knew he had more than overindulged in idiocy of late this was too good an opportunity to pass up. Clary would appreciate the daringly romantic gesture, it was just like something out of those old romances she adored.
"Who am I supposed to be?" he enquired, summoning an equally mischievous smile.
"Apollo" Helen stated, grabbing at his wrist and pulling him towards the door.
Privas, Ardèche, Southern France, Early August 1536
The beauty of taverns beyond the primary good they sold lay in the advantages of the goods they sold. For instance, despite the fact that strangers were rare in this establishment (the only real clientele being the unfortunate few who had neither the wit nor the funds to frequent anywhere other than this dank and dirty spot) those who were on the premises were, by and large, far too drunk to look twice at the two strange young men occupying the corner seat.
How exactly one managed to get drunk on wines so appallingly watered down as these was a phenomena in itself. Perhaps inexplicable miracles of plenty did exist, Jonathan thought to himself as he hacked at the hardened wax encrusted on the table before him. The dejectedly drooping lump of what remained of the candle itself hunched in the middle of the table, the misshapen skeletal fingers of what had once been melted wax sprawled over the table towards the glowering prince and his companion, curling in sickly yellow, bony tendrils between the cracks in the wood. Alternating between his own fingernails and- for the thicker and thus more challenging hunks-his knife, Jonathan continued his labours without investing any real attention in his task. His mind was free to fully take in his surroundings, almost as though he were drawing up a battle plan. On the table to their immediate left a heated game of cards was taking place, the grimy wall lay to their backs, to their right the players in the previous gamble were concluding the transaction of winnings, or lack thereof by bellowing at each other and attempting to smash one another's heads in. Most importantly, from here they had the best view possible of the door.
"Of all the questionable establishments we've been in, this one really is a new level of degenerate."
Jonathan scowled at his companion, with a moment of undisguised distaste, "Keep your damn voice down. I know it is a shithole, that is why I chose it. No one would think to look for a prince here. God help us I think none of these wretches would recognise a royal if he charged up behind them, landed a blow of his own in the card debacle and dumped a barrel of the cellar's finest wine over their heads." He broke off from his sour sarcasm to fix a warning glare on Verlac, "Unless of course some idiot were to announce their presence with more inane commentary in a very loud and notably Idrisian accent."
Verlac shifted his weight indignantly at the chastising, causing the stool beneath him to shriek with equal offence. The duo remained in a gloomy silence for a time, which enabled a full appreciation of the very drunken and very bawdy singsong taking place in the far corner. That too would serve its purpose, Jonathan reminded himself as his irritable temper piqued once more, even if there was anyone on this site that cared enough what he might have to say here they would not be able to hear him say it.
Sebastian's head lifted suddenly, and apparently his mood with it, as he took another swig from his tankard and allowed a damp-lipped smile to spread across his face. Jonathan followed his gaze, chortling softly to himself as it led him to a young woman perched on a nearby table, whose scarlet mouth, saucily rouged cheeks and the glimpse of thigh she displayed with tactful and inviting promiscuity made no mystery of her trade.
The perfect spot for any covertly dissolute and lucrative business dealings indeed.
"Restrain yourself Sebastian" the Prince drawled, allowing his free finger to glide along the rim of his own cup. The drink was an accessory, nothing more. Jonathan had no intention of drinking his way into dulled senses tonight and anyway, a few sips of the stale diluted drink left an acrid enough taste on his tongue to dissuade him from enjoying another mouthful.
"Why?" Verlac demanded, with poorly affected boredom that failed to cover much of his petulance. "It seems your contact is typically French. Utterly bloody faithless. I doubt they'll come at all."
"First of all-" Jonathan began, clinging to what remained of his limited patience and trying to remember why exactly he had been so keen to bring the Earl with him in the first place, "One would think that you would take better care of your favourite toy, Verlac. God only knows what she is carrying. You can do better than that cheap slut as well you know it. Pretend you have a semblance of self-control. I'll get you a decent night's entertainment when we get back to Alicante. Besides, there will be a lady here soon enough for you to entertain. A lady who is not French as a matter of fact."
Sebastian snorted, "Aye she's not French. It's worse than that, the bitch is Italian. They are even more untrustworthy, sir."
"Precisely," Jonathan growled in return, not letting his eye stray too far from the crack of cool, darkened street visible through the door.
"She is very young," Sebastian continued doubtfully
Jonathan could not supress an eye roll, "You said it yourself; she's Italian. Better than that she is from banker's stock. I daresay she left the womb ruthless."
Sebastian took another swig of his beverage, at this point so desperate to get some kind of affect from it that he downed several gulps with such gusto that a trickle of beer seeped out of the corner of his mouth and dripped in a rivulet down his chin. Having drained it, the cup was returned to the table with a decisive clink and a sleeve was raised to wipe the remainder of the liquid from his lower face before Verlac proceeded. "Exactly. At least the French have certain lines they are unlikely to cross. The Italians have no scruples. Especially not Florentines, they are from Machiavelli's natural damn habitat for God's sake."
Jonathan's lips threatened to twitch to a smirk. "You know Verlac, you are delightfully less stupid than you look. I have always found that endearing. It is one of the few things I like about you."
A brief sizzling resentment flashed in his companion's eyes for half a heartbeat before he allowed a small, cynical smile of his own to surface, "That and the fact I am not only willing to ride to France with you on short notice, but upon arrival am content to drink cheap beer and abstain from any kind of good sport in favour of watching you treat with Florentines. Surely that buys me some favour, Sire?"
"But of course. Your devotion is always rewarded" Jonathan reassured, the silky promise sliding from his lips as easily as his fingertip slid along the top of his own untouched drink once more.
"And you, who trust no one, are willing to trust her to help you?"
"I am trusting her to help herself."
He could tell by the tension lingering in Sebastian's shoulder and the sullen looks he kept tossing at their unsavoury surroundings that he was far from convinced. No matter, he did not need Sebastian's faith, just his compliance. That did not settle the impatient anxiety snarling in his gut. Though that could well be because his stomach was empty, he had ridden long and hard to get here and it had been hours since he had last stopped to eat. There was certainly no way in hell he was prepared to chance any of the food this tavern was prepared to offer, having glimpsed hunks of angry looking red meats practically still weeping blood being served on trenchers over the grimy tables. Further evidence the clientele were far from particular in what they consumed. It was no surprise few of them passed thirty.
At any rate, the hollowing hunger within gave his mind the keen edge he needed now more than ever. Jonathan could have gone elsewhere for his supper but he was certainly not about to give up his seat now, nor was he in any way eager to wander the town in search of better fare. The more places he went the more people who saw him and the greater danger. Not that he was expecting a great exposé, but he knew his colouring to be remarkable and he did not want to be catching any eyes. Besides, as Verlac had pointed out, he was not about to blindly trust in his new friends completely. "It will not be long now. Go to the door" he barked at his accomplice, letting his hands fall back to his lap so that they might be closer to his weapon should be need to draw it.
Once he was alone he readjusted the cap on his head, so that the brim cast a deeper shadow over his features and pressed his spine closer to the wall. With the stone tucked firmly against his back he could be sure no one was going to stick a knife in it. A position he was instantly all the more glad to be in at the sight of Verlac approaching him not half an hour later at haste, shoving a giddily tottering old man out of his way in his irritable excitement.
"Here?"
"Here." The urgency was all too much for Verlac and he mistakenly allowed Jonathan's title to slip through his lips, "Highness-" Jonathan's instinctive rebuke never made it into words as Sebastian continued to speak and rendered him momentarily speechless, "She is here. In person!"
As the surprise wore off Jonathan found it was replaced with sheer glee, "Ah, I should have known."
Sebastian did not share his rejoicing, frowning at his prince and hopping his weight from foot to foot as though he were prepared to flee at the first given moment, "Lord, are we to proceed?"
"Of course, why not?"
"A woman! A well-dressed woman! Do your really expect a noblewoman to visit here without raising eyebrows? She was supposed to send a representative, not put us all at risk by coming in person."
"I came in person" Jonathan pointed out, not investing any proper concentration in Sebastian's fretting.
"Yes but they do not know that. And you are not a woman! She will give us away. We should move out. Now."
Jonathan lifted a hand to silence him. "We will do no such thing. This is too good an opportunity to waste. Mayhap our only opportunity. I do not like the alternative, nor will you. So take a seat and shut your mouth."
In reluctant discomfort Sebastian dropped back into place beside his prince. "I really should have foreseen this." Jonathan muttered, the kind of delight that only finding common ground with someone could generate in his breast. "Of course we would both come in person. She trusts no one at her court either."
The newest group to enter the tavern did unfortunately stand out, a veritable tower of peculiarity. A bulky man lead, shuffling with the kind of practised yet weighted movements that signified he was likely armed to the teeth, followed by a cloaked feminine figure who had one hand holding the hood that concealed her face in place and another pulling her skirts away from the filthy straw scattered floor as she moved with brisk and somehow dainty march, the rear being brought up by a shorter male figure in long dark robes. The woman's head lifted briefly, without baring any of her face and her gaze must have snagged on the duo in the corner for the dark hooded head turned to the side and a single gloved hand made a commanding gesture to her guard who stepped aside and allowed her to approach accompanied only by the other man.
Jonathan tipped his head closer to Sebastian and rapidly muttered, "You see, Verlac? They are matching our numbers out of courtesy, despite the fact that she is a woman and therefore counts not at all. It would appear Italians do have manners. Who would have imagined it?"
The newest arrivals installed themselves on the other side of the table, "Sebastian Verlac?" the man asked tentatively.
"Greetings" Jonathan acknowledged his supposed name with a nod, before flicking his eyes to the side, "This is my companion Ferdinand. You will have to excuse his silence, the Spaniard's French is exceedingly poor."
To his surprise their introductions were met with a rasping laugh, as the hood was finally tipped back.
The girl before him was young, just seventeen he believed, but she seemed somehow older. Catherine de Medici was by no means a breath-taking beauty, with a rounded face and light brown drawn back from a rather large forehead and tucked under a simple cap. But it was her eyes that held Jonathan's attention, not solely because they were a touch protruding, but because the frank dark gaze currently pierced through even her affected good humour and subsequently him. Jonathan could all but hear the clink of the chains as the scales measured him.
"A pleasure to meet your acquaintance, my lord earl." Her voice was deep for a woman's, though not unpleasantly so, and there was something about the ever present sharpness in her expression and voice that Jonathan found himself warming to. There was little doubt in the keen look she fixed upon him that she knew she was not addressing 'Sebastian Verlac.'
"I am Count Montecuccoli," Her own companion stated before fixing an expectant look on Jonathan. Evidently the young Duchesse d'Orléans required no introduction. That in itself was a pity, Jonathan would have liked her to use her titles, since she would not be a Duchess much longer if all went to plan. "I am so glad we have the opportunity to meet at last to discuss our- mutual interest," he purred instead.
The Count narrowed his eyes at the disguised prince before him, "Now that you speak of them my lord, I must assume you have the package we agreed upon?"
Jonathan let his question hang in the air a moment before wordlessly dipping a hand inside his plain black cloak and letting it fall to the leather pouch at his waist. It contained just one thing, the small clear vial wrapped in rags to prevent shattering. He presented it alongside his most charming smile, "For the Bella Donna." A slight tinge of colour sprouted across Catherine's cheekbones at the complimentary pun, while her eyes lit up with flaring fascination as she beheld the small bottle being slid across the table. Thanks to the arm the Count had already laid along the surface it was only a matter of one easy whisk from his free hand for that bottle to disappear up his sleeve.
"Nightshade" the Medici girl breathed, having abandoned any attempts at pretended disinterest or careful composure. The appearance of the poison had pleased her more than Jonathan's perfunctory flirtation ever could. "I have read of it."
Of course you have you silly little mare, for I saw to it you both got the necessary books . Blessedly, one of his old paramours had married a lord at the French court in recent years and so it had been wonderfully easy to see the necessary documents make their way into the necessary rooms. The book that had soon made its way into the hands of one of her only friends, the Count at her side now. "I have read more of arsenic though" she shot a dubiously questioning glance in Jonathan's direction.
He responded with a grin displaying his hungry excitement, "I toyed with the idea. But the Borgias overused it which has cost arsenic much of its appeal to my eyes. I would rather be a little original."
With a momentary burst of quiet laughter the Duchess was placated.
It was common knowledge that the wife of the Dauphin's younger brother was almost as unpopular to her subjects than Jonathan was to his. There were many wagging tongues who claimed young Prince Henry had been wasted in marriage, the girl with his ring on her finger was no princess but an Italian who hailed from no greater line than that of glorified bankers. Jonathan, whose forefathers had been soldiers and mercenaries, could empathise.
Though at the time of her wedding King Francois had not needed a princess for his son but a loan that could feed an army and a possible foothold in Italy to help that army on its way to conquest. The greatest thing Catherine de Medici could boast of was a blood relation to the pope who had arranged her nuptials. The fact that a family member had sat in St Peter' chair was the ultimate and only proof of her inherent corruption required. Indeed, Jonathan Morgenstern had found it most easy to buy her. Worst of all, in the four years she had been married the Duchesse had failed to fall pregnant even once. The barren Italian. It had a wickedly fine ring to it. He knew what it was to be spat on too. All of which had inspired Jonathan to first put pen to paper and make an effort to meet the lady's acquaintance. An acquaintance that would prove to be beyond beneficial.
And here they were, the two royal failures, finally beginning their workings of revenge.
The only other thing that rankled Catherine de Medici almost as much as it did Jonathan was the thought of Clary marrying the Dauphin, a pretty young princess by blood coming to the French court who would be preferred to this girl regardless of what she said or did, or how odd and interfering the foreign lady may be.
Though the real connection may be with the girl, he also knew it was the Count he had to address. "I understand, though you came to France with the Duchesse d'Orleans you are now in the service of the Dauphin?" Jonathan tore on in an urgent undertone. Montecuccoli nodded once, jaw set with grim determination. Sensing that things were finally on the final victory lap he motioned to Sebastian to bring in some drinks. "I feel I ought to advise you sir that after a certain potion is administered one of its first symptoms is great thirst. So I suggest that in order to prevent any, let us say…unhappy glances in your direction, you should provide water when requested. Preferably where many will see you do so and note your devoted service and evident loyalty."
Another nod, this one more purposeful.
I want you where enough people will see your loyalty in publicly giving a man a drink just before he dies that they quickly call it disloyalty. For young, healthy men about to have a betrothal announced publicly do not just drop dead. Foul play is cried and when it is I want you to be caught. You who believe me to be an agent of the Emperor at the Idrisian court. Mercifully your master, immersed in war as he is, will be only too glad to lap up that explanation.
The girl was another matter, for she knew precisely who she was speaking to it would appear. That likely should have worried him or put him on edge, but it failed to do so. Jonathan found that he liked the idea that she knew who he was and not just in name strangely but personally, more so that anyone in his immediate circle of family or friends. She understood him in their brief correspondence more than most other people, and Jonathan had wanted to be understood for so long. This desperate striving for a similarity with another person was his one real weakness and in truth he could not allow it to colour his interactions, especially not in a matter so important and precarious as this. But he reminded himself that there was no serious danger in Catherine's correct guessing at his identity; even if anyone did point the finger in her direction at the Dauphin's untimely death she, as a noblewoman would be in the privileged position of being able to keep her mouth shut. There would be no experience of torture that may loosen her lips.
Really his father should thank him for all of this. Fanning the flames of war and ensuring that the King of France and the Emperor were kept most firmly at one another's throats gave Idris a kind of liberty that could be useful. With her powerful neighbour's focus and arms directed elsewhere it would be significantly easier for an Idrisian force to seep into Adamant and take hold of it. Not a hold that Idris would keep for very long, but it would serve to give Valentine a modicum of happiness for the time being.
The real Sebastian returned with their drinks at last. "Now that we have reached our accord I feel a celebratory toast is in order!" Jonathan allowed his genuine satisfaction to leak into his bravado and give it a ring of sincerity. He lifted the cup laid before him in unison with his companions, letting a rare undiluted smile of triumph warm his face. This time he did feel his labours would bear fruit. "To the Dauphine. "
Catherine de Medici's eyes lit up again, giving her features a semblance of beauty all of a sudden, a fierce delight and fortitude that made Jonathan realise that one day, when she could wield the power he was about to give her, this young woman would be fearsome.
"To the Dauphine" she echoed, and the title rested as nicely on her lips as it soon would the rest of her.
A/N: And that is where we conclude for now. I must say I enjoyed writing that scene in which Clary and Isabelle got to be typical teenage girls, gossiping and playing dress up albeit in the context of another era. I for one believe that the concept of a bff transcends the centuries :) I have also played around a it with the idea of a masked ball. The one Clary throws I have modernised a little making it less of a masque and more of a Romeo and Juliet-esque party (deliberate similarity there) and just to make the story fit that bit better, but there is more of that to come, so you'll see for yourselves.
Finally as for Jonathan and his escapades; up to no good as usual. I saw the opportunity to write a young Catherine de Medici and I took it, for the Reign fans :) Again, historically the idea that the young Dauphin Francis was poisoned has been dismissed and tuberculosis blamed instead. Yet the writer in me could not let the more likely truth get in the way of a good story. I could hardly pass up on a good old murder conspiracy now could I? Besides, I feel that had Jonathan been alive at the time he definitely would have found a common connection with Catherine, who is a personal favourite historical figure of mine. Up there with Anne Boleyn in case you hadn't noticed. Despite being unpopular and falling into moral ambiguity at times she would go on to be one of the most powerful women of her age when she ruled France as regent. Given the context of that rule and the extreme religious upheaval I think that has to be admired. But, preaching over. I think now that I've nerded out I can sign off for another while. Lastly, thank you guys so much for reading and for your positive reviews! They really do keep me smiling. Until next time :)