Chapitre Quarante-Trois

Le Chambre Secréte

Beatrice

Beatrice hadn't spoken to Lucien or Leon since that night. The last words she'd said to either of them were those she shouted at Lucien as she pulled him away from Leon and smacked him.

"Stop it! Leave him alone, damn it! You violent child! You can't do this to us!"

It had gotten Lucien to leave Leon alone, but none of them had spoken a word to each other since then. Whenever they came across each other in the Renart home, Lucien would refuse to look at her. Leon would look at her with shame in his eyes, then walk away.

Truly, it was just as well that Lucien refused to look at her; Beatrice didn't want to hear anything he had to say anyway. She understood why he was angry, but she'd had more than enough of his violent temper. She'd never been the victim of his outbursts, but in her time in the Renart household she'd seen him strike Amadeus Fitzroy, Andre, and now Leon. Enough was enough, and she would not speak to him until he made some sort of apology.

While she was sure he missed the conversation, it seemed, though, that he was not taking any steps to engage her anyway.

Dinner each day was a silent affair. The whole Renart family sat around the table together, not a word breathed, except for the bickering of Lucien's youngest children. Lucien didn't even speak to his servants. Each time he needed something from elsewhere on the table, rather than requesting that one of the servants bring it to him, he got up and fetched it himself.

Leon was equally quiet. Every time Beatrice saw him his eyes were cast down, either at his plate or at his shoes.

What manner of hell was this that Beatrice's family, husband, and love were all as still as the grave?

"Fitzroy, I don't know how much longer I can stand this," she confessed to the spymaster when she met him in the study. She couldn't deny, it was disconcerting to think that the only person with whom she could relate these days was a cold-blooded killer, but he seemed to be the only one who didn't look at her with either shame or contempt these days.

"You called the master out on his flaws," said Fitzroy, patting her on the shoulder. "It's been many years since anyone he respected did that."

"So, that's the real issue?" Beatrice asked. "Not that I fell in love with his son and threatened the family with scandal, but that I'm someone he respects and I told him he was wrong?"

Fitzroy nodded. "He puts up a brave front, and tries to seem as perfect as he can, but deep down inside he's self-critical, even somewhat self-loathing. His flawless facade is the result of constant wariness."

Beatrice looked up at Fitzroy's face, just now realizing that the pale, white makeup he wore was meant to cover up the scars on his cheeks and jaw. Those same cheeks which had suffered blades and lacerations in his previous life were now the target of Lucien's violent outbursts time and again.

"Fitzroy, why are you so loyal to him?" Beatrice asked. "Honestly, it seems that someone with your skill could make a living working for nigh any family in Salia."

"He bought my soul," said Fitzroy with a grin. When Beatrice gave him a questioning look he raised his hands and chuckled. "I mean that metaphorically, of course. He's not some manner of warlock. See, as you probably guessed already by my name I'm the bastard son of the previous emperor. Empress Mariette is my half-sister. When my Father was still alive he ensured that I was taken care of. I had a modest estate, money in a bank account, and personal attendants. I was even occasionally invited to parties at the palace.

"Of course, all of that changed when Mariette assumed the throne." Fitzroy sighed and slumped down into one of the chairs. "She had me stripped of my estate and money. She claimed that I'd stolen it all from the crown, and had me thrown in prison."

"By Lyr..." Beatrice gasped.

Fitzroy nodded. "I still don't know if this ire was because she saw me as a threat, or if it was because she hated the constant reminder that her father hadn't been loyal to her mother. In any event, after I got out of prison I was a marked man."

Fitzroy rolled up his sleeve to reveal a tattoo on the inside of his wrist. "Condamné."

"Only a fool would hire a convict," said Fitzroy. "So, I soon got into a life of crime; something I proved to be quite good at. I... Well, I did a lot of things I'm not proud of now. Killed more people than I can count."

Beatrice shivered at his choice of words. He could have said "More men than I can count," but the verbage he used gave away the nature of his victims. Beatrice ran a hand along her own throat.

"But even that was part of Mariette's game from the beginning," said Fitzroy. "One of the members of my gang was an Imperial agent, and when I'd made a big enough name for myself as a lowlife he helped the police capture me. A quick trial, and I was sentenced to the gallows. Only two people in all of Salia could have saved me then; the Empress and the Cardinal. Knowing that the Empress was the one who wanted me killed in the first place, and that I had certainly made it clear to everyone I met that I didn't believe in Lyr, I knew I was a dead man."

"Until Lucien had the Cardinal pardon you?" asked Beatrice.

"Yes," said Fitzroy. "Until Lucien had the Cardinal pardon me. I'm still not sure how he managed to do it. I can only imagine he held some great secret over the Cardinal's head. Some scandal so terrible it would tear the Church apart. But Lucien had me pardoned and then hired me as his new spymaster." Fitzroy pointed a finger at Beatrice. "One thing I want to make clear; I know he didn't do it out of compassion. I was no one to him, a stranger. All he saw in me was a young man full of great promise. I know this because he told me himself. Nonetheless... since then I have found my faith again, and have managed to contribute to many great things by his side."

Fitzroy leaned in closer to Beatrice. "So, you want to know why I'm loyal to Lucien, even though I could work for any family? It's because of all the great and terrible things he does. By my pardon from the Cardinal I owe my life and my soul to this rescue. As his left hand I see the results of his work. Thousands die in the foreign wars, hundreds because of the games the other nobles play, only dozens by Lucien's command. I see the countless lives he saves by ruining a handful. I watch as he keeps the pillars of the Empire intact while humiliating his rivals. The time of saints in Salia is long since past, if such a time ever did exist. Now, the best we can hope to become is black-winged angels, and bring greater good through wickedness."

Beatrice waved her hand, dismissively. "Yes, that's all well and good." She rolled her eyes and said in a mocking tone, "Deep down he really is a good man. Ha! All the good he does for the Empire doesn't excuse the wrong he does to his own family!"

"No," said Fitzroy. "No, it doesn't. But you mustn't think you are all just pawns to him." Fitzroy pushed himself to his feet with a groan. "I'd like to show you something, if you would be so kind as to follow me. Maybe this will help you to... understand your husband a little better."

Beatrice shrugged. "If you really think it will help."

Fitzroy led her through a series of older, abandoned hallways in the Renart mansion. The halls were narrow, and the corners lined with cobwebs. Some of the walls were covered in mirrors, others in old portraits, the eyes of which Beatrice could swear tracked her every step. The further into the mansion they went, the more Beatrice got a feeling like she was unwelcome in these parts of the house.

The air grew both stale and cold, and soon the only light or warmth came from the candelabra Fitzroy had brought with them.

Beatrice was certain she heard someone, or something, moving inside of the walls all around her.

"Here's the room," said Fitzroy, coming up on an old door with light peering from underneath. He produced a skeleton key from his pocket and slipped it in the lock. "Now, my lady, you must understand that once I open this door there is no going back to the way things were before. Your life will—"

"Just open the damn door!" Beatrice groaned. "Stop being so dramatic!"

"Alright! Alright!" Fitzroy turned the key and pushed the door open. "I've brought Beatrice, just as you requested," he said.

For a moment, the light blinded Beatrice, but as her eyes adjusted to it she caught a glimpse of what lay inside.

The room had a small table decorated in a red cloth, two sofas facing each other, a crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling, lanterns lining the walls, a large bed in the back, and a small fireplace under a stone hearth.

More importantly, Beatrice saw Lucien and Leon standing inside, both watching her as she entered the room.

Fitzroy closed the door behind her, and Lucien gestured to one of the sofas. "Please, have a seat. Glad you could join us."