Queen of Exiles by Vanessa Riley

Author:Vanessa Riley
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2023-04-24T00:00:00+00:00

26

1817 Palace of Sans-Souci, Kingdom of Hayti

Clutching my bracelet, twisting it about my wrist, wishing it had magic powers, I paced outside of Améthyste’s bedchamber. I’d done nothing for weeks. My birthday fete approached. My royal troop practiced without me.

Hard to plan a celebration or think of my Dahomet tribute when my poor daughter lay gravely ill.

Améthyste had always been sickly, but it had been years since she had an attack this bad.

The hall was full of noise. My royal court of ladies prayed with me. Others had come and shared my vigil. It made me feel not so alone wearing a path from the cracked bedchamber door to the middle of the corridor.

Geneviève stood beside me and let me lean on her shoulder. “Any change?”

“No. Henry and Dr. Stewart are in with her. They made me leave. That’s one of the cruelest things one can do to a mother.”

She rubbed my shoulders and the stiff part of my neck. “Princess Améthyste will be well. Don’t lose heart.”

Straightening, I left the touch of her warm hand. She didn’t know what I’d always known about my oldest girl, that every day she breathed was a miracle.

“Having Améthyste come watch my ladies practice while the horses kicked up dust, the scorching heat, even the wildflowers—all this choked her lungs.”

My fault.

Geneviève said nothing.

Her condemnation made my pulse boom. It echoed in the hall and in my hurting head, like the pounding of the Citadel’s cannons.

Was I a bad mother for letting her live life the way she wanted out in the sun?

Or was I merely a desperate wife who put her husband’s needs above her children’s . . . and even her own?

I peeked through the door and watched the doctor circling the bed, saw the king looking smaller by the hour.

“It’s fifty-fifty,” Dr. Stewart said to Henry. The physician was a gambler. He knew odds.

Henry folded his arms, then banged the chair. “This one is not like her other attacks.”

He didn’t know about the worst ones. The war had called him away when Améthyste suffered in the damp woods. I thought she’d die then.

“She’ll pull through this time, Your Majesty. Fifty percent is good. If we were in Europe, I could try more treatments. Here, there’s not much we can do to shorten these attacks or extend her life.”

“What are you saying, Stewart?”

The doctor put his hand to my daughter’s wrist, then moved away. “This inflammation of the lungs . . . it will eventually claim her, Your Majesty. One day, her lungs will simply fail to work.”

My sister drew me, shaking and furious, away from the door. “How dare Stewart talk to Henry like that? And with Améthyste right there! She might hear.”

Henry’s shadow covered me.

Geneviève took one look at him and left, backing all the way down the hall.

Turning, I could barely meet his eyes.

“This is my fault, Louise.” Pushing at his sleeves, he exposed his rich dark hands. “The blood on these is why our daughter suffers.”

“Non.”

He looked at his fingers and I clasped them with mine.

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