She seemed to be calculating, clearing her brain, trying to make sense of things. He didn’t know how soon he could begin asking the flood of questions that came pouring into his mind. When he acknowledged one, another one came crowding in on its heels. He had never seen her so visibly tortured, so emotionally distraught. A part of him greatly feared a return of that pain to her by asking the wrong question.

Instead, he tried a statement. “I saw you.”

“Yes.”

“You escaped from the prison?”

“Yes.”

“But you are back?”

A great sigh of air left her lungs. “Unfortunately.”

When her face turned up to his, her eyes inches from his own, his breath caught at the great sadness they reflected.

“I thought it was a good idea to come for you, an official visit of sorts. But the guard knew the Seamstress, and he . . . he . . .” She stopped and covered her face with one hand while she tried to compose herself.

The dull ache in his chest sharpened. “What can I do?” Anything he could do to relieve the pain on her face, he wanted to spend all his energies doing.

She shook her head, took two deep breaths, and continued. “Marie died today, earlier than planned, before we could save her. Because of me.”

“Who? The queen?” That could not be true.

“He ordered her execution, called for her to be brought out so I could see it for myself. So altered I did not recognize her. But she walked out, head held high, a queen to the end.”

Something sounded wrong. That had not been the plan. She should have been passed out, carried by the guard. A new anxiety gripped him. “You saw it? Saw her . . .”

“Yes, I did. My dear Marie. I do not even know how her daughter fares. I have failed again. Matteo, I cannot go on. It is too much.” She curled into him, bringing her knees up to her chest, and closed her eyes.

“Surely it is not your fault. You take too much on yourself. Please, Scarlet, do not blame yourself for this.”

But she would not respond. She kept her eyes squeezed shut, and after a moment, her body began the restless twitching of the unconscious. Sleeping again. He pulled her closer to him. Something seemed terribly wrong with her. She felt unnaturally warm. He cradled her the best he could while his mind raced with possibilities. If Her Majesty walked out, unassisted, then it was possible she did in fact lose her life to La Guillotine. Restless, crazed images and thoughts flashed through his mind, bringing with them a rush of worry and a racing heart. He wished for the evening meal to come and with it some information from Simon.