The Moon and the Sun by Vonda N McIntyre

Author:Vonda N McIntyre [McIntyre, Vonda N]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: General, Fiction
ISBN: 9780606195003
Google: z084nwEACAAJ
Amazon: 1433254921
Barnesnoble: 1433254921
Goodreads: 263023
Publisher: Pocket
Published: 1997-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

16

MARIE-JOSÈPHE STUMBLED up the Green Carpet, anxious to leave the gardens before anyone saw her running bedraggled and dew-damp and barefoot. She wished she had Zachi to ride. She could hardly feel her toes. She clutched the sheaf of sketches, shielding her dangerous new knowledge beneath the Chevalier’s warm cape. The sea woman’s despair stalked her like a beast.

Upstairs, she peeked into Yves’ room. He snored softly. His cassock, shirt, and boots lay in an untidy path from doorway to bed. She put her sketches on his desk, shook him till he sat up mumbling that he was awake, changed her mind about the drawings, and hid them away.

If I tell Yves about the sea woman, how can he believe me? she thought. But if I show him…if I show everyone…

Odelette returned, carrying a tray of bread and chocolate. In a new morning dress of sprigged muslin and lace, she glowed with health and beauty.

“I’ll stay with you.” Odelette’s expression was somber. She put the tray on the table near the window.

Marie-Josèphe, distracted and distressed, could not think what she was talking about, could not think where the dress could have come from. Then she remembered: Chartres’ assault; her own promise; Mary of Modena’s favor.

“But only until the family fortunes are repaired, or until I may return home unashamed. I’ll make my own fortune, if I can. I’ll no longer serve you—but I will help you, if you request it, because, Mlle Marie, you know nothing of fashion. No one may ever again call me a slave.”

“I accept your terms, Mlle Odelette, and I’ll be grateful for your help.” Marie-Josèphe kissed her cheek. Odelette embraced her and leaned her forehead on Marie-Josèphe’s shoulder. She began to tremble; she drew back abruptly. Her dark eyes glistened.

“When you go, I’ll miss you as my sister,” Marie-Josèphe said. “Nevertheless, I’ll do everything I can to speed your independence.”

Self-possessed again, Odelette gave an elegant bow of her head. She sat at the breakfast table. Marie-Josèphe joined her, sitting in the window-seat. Marie-Josèphe poured chocolate for them both. Hercules followed, miaowing; Marie-Josèphe gave him a saucer of warm milk.

“Do I smell chocolate?” Yves strolled in. He ran his hands through his hair. It fell into curls as graceful as any perruke. He glanced at Odelette. “Where am I to sit?”

“You may bring yourself a chair,” Odelette said, perfectly composed. “You’re strong and fit.”

He frowned. “Enough—I’m hungry. Let me have my place, Odelette.”

“My name is not Odelette. My name is Haleeda.”

Yves laughed. “Haleeda! Next you’ll tell me you’ve become a Mahometan!”

“Indeed I have.”

“I’ve given Mlle Haleeda her freedom, and adopted her as our sister.”

“What!”

“I freed her.”

“On a whim? She’s our only possession of value.”

“She belonged to me—I’ll free her if I wish.”

“In five years, when you’re of age, you may free her.”

“I gave her my word. She is free. She is our sister.”

He shrugged. “I’ll sign no papers to that effect.” To Haleeda he said, “Never fear there’s a question of my selling you—but we cannot live at court without a servant.

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