The King's Daughter by Vonda N. McIntyre

Author:Vonda N. McIntyre
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2021-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15

The Venetian boat glided along the Grand Canal, poled by a gondolier singing an incomprehensible Italian folk song. In the bow of the gondola, Marie-Josèphe trailed her hand in the water. Silver water lilies bearing lighted candles spun past, swirling.

Lorraine had claimed the next seat in the gondola. Madame and Lotte occupied the central bench, while Monsieur sat aft at the gondolier’s feet.

Ahead of the gondola, His Majesty’s miniature galleon raced his galley. The gondolier had resigned himself to last place as soon as they left the bank. His passengers were entirely content with his singing.

The overseer screamed at the convict rowers. He lashed their backs. The galley plunged into the lead.

“Hardly a fair race.” Lorraine gazed at Marie-Josèphe. The candlelight, and the light of the waxing moon, flattered his handsome face. “A whip against the barest breeze.” He slipped his hand around Marie-Josèphe’s ankle. She moved her foot; he gently restrained it.

There’s no harm in it, Marie-Josèphe thought. His touch pleases me. Yves would not like me to allow it, but Yves allows himself his own pleasures, riding in the galleon with the King and the Pope, reliving the sea monster hunt.

“Why must they race?” Marie-Josèphe said. “The poor men—”

“They’re only convicts,” Lorraine said. “Prisoners of war, or murderers—”

“Surely not!”

“Who else would suffer such treatment? My dear, His Majesty races so he may lose his bet with King James. Then James will have money for another week or two at Versailles.”

“His Majesty is magnanimous,” Marie-Josèphe said.

Lorraine moved his hand above her ankle to her calf.

Monsieur gazed at Lorraine. Despite the shadows of candlelight, despite his powder and diamond patches, distress showed plain in his face. Marie-Josèphe wondered if perhaps the friends had argued.

The galley reached the man-made island that floated where the arms of the Grand Canal crossed. A cheer went up from the English King’s party.

“You are looking particularly splendid this evening,” Lorraine said.

“Thank you, sir,” she said. “It’s entirely thanks to you.” She stroked the peacock feather in her hair. “Odelette had no time for my hair. Mademoiselle needed her—and Mary of Modena particularly requested her attendance. I’m so proud of her success! But if not for your peacock, my hair would be …”

“What a fortunate peacock.” He closed his eyes, and opened them; his long eyelashes brushed against his cheeks.

The gondolier, a fine tenor, held a high note till the bow of his boat touched the island. Marie-Josèphe applauded him; he bowed. Lorraine tossed him a gold piece. The passengers disembarked onto the heavy planks of the island. Lorraine took Marie-Josèphe’s arm and helped her onto the platform. Nearby, in the galley, the rowers gasped for breath. Loincloths and chains hid their nakedness. They glistened with sweat and blood. Lorraine hurried her past them, out of hearing of their groans as their salty sweat stung deep welts.

A fairyland of delicate gold archways and tall spires distracted the guests. Sprays of crystal dispersed the light of a thousand candles in colors across drifts and wreaths of flowers.

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