The merchant let out a loud breath and smiled as the King turned to the nobles. “Try it, try it. It is the perfect blend of sturdiness and refreshment.” The nobles came forward as the merchant poured more glasses and handed them out. Rohan lifted his toward the King in a silent salute, and Louis returned the toast.

Montcourt entered the salon, dressed in his new clothes. “My good friend Montcourt!” said the King.

Nobles turned with their wine glasses, surprised to see the outcast back in the fold.

“A few years ago,” Louis announced, “I banished this man from court. It is with open arms that I welcome him back. He is a shining example that fidelity has its reward.” Louis hugged Montcourt and Rohan led the nobles in applause.

As Montcourt approached the table for a taste of wine, Cassel sidled up to him. “How the hell did you acquire the King’s forgiveness?”

“I begged for it,” said Montcourt, lifting the glass as if toasting himself. “I told him that life away from Versailles is not worth living.”

Cassel’s lip twitched furiously. “And what of our other activities?”

“We shall have this discussion in private.” Montcourt turned from the table and moved toward a cluster of smiling nobles. “Now, if you will excuse me, I must say hello to some old friends.”

Fabien sat without flinching on the cot as Claudine carefully unwound the long bandage from around his eyes. She was careful, though certain the man was still in pain. His forehead was covered in sweat and his lips were red and blistered.

“Is it possible,” he asked, “that the same person who tried to poison me killed your father?”

Claudine nodded. “Whoever is the poisoner is an expert. Do you believe you know who killed my father?”

“Not yet, but I’m close.”

With the bandages gone, Claudine plucked the patches of cloth from each eye. She studied each one as he stared back. “Your right eye seems well recovered. The left still shows signs of the poison. Now, what do you see?”

Fabien blinked hard, then looked at her. “The truth,” he said. He swung off the cot and grabbed a coat off a kitchen chair.

“You’re in no fit state to move!” said Claudine.

Fabien buttoned the coat. “You’ve saved my life. I thank you.” He marched past her to the door and grabbed a pair of boots from the door-side mat.

“The coat is my father’s. And those boots are, as well.”

Fabien stepped into the boots and pulled them up. “They say one shouldn’t wear a dead man’s shoes. I will make an exception.”

Mike stood in the torture room with his arms tied behind him, his leg chained to the wall. He grinned a blackened-toothed grin as Bontemps tried to question him. He refused to give his name and only chuckled as Bontemps grew angrier with his feeble efforts.