“Ah. And will you say this, too, about the tonsured murderer who has just confessed to killing the Duke de Montereau in the winter, and buying an archer to kill me in revenge this morning? Are you sure, my lord cleric? Really?”

There was a pause. The high cleric cleared his throat. “We will take counsel as to this man Barthelmy, whom I believe to be no cleric at all. But that is not what you are asking of me.”

He was far from a fool, de Vaux thought. He wouldn’t be. Even so…

“I think you are making a terrible mistake. One that will affect your own status, and perhaps even the freedom of the university. Take careful thought, high cleric. That is all. You will be guarded here and escorted back to your residence in the morning. After we have made an arrest.”

“You are really going to do this?”

“I just told you I was. I brought you here to help me control what will follow. To give you a chance to be praised as a wise man before the queen and the dukes. You have declined. Aubrey, see that the high cleric has whatever he needs for the night.”

He waited until Aubrey and the cleric had left the room, then he summoned Medor Colle to go onto the university residence grounds with five men to arrest Denis Cassin, advocate, and take him to the Châtelet.

“A cell for the night,” he said. “Food, water, no questioning. I will be there in the morning to do so myself.”

Which was extremely unusual. But all of this was. And then…and then a message came, very late, and de Vaux changed his plans. If he was summoned to the court, to the queen and the dukes in the dead of night, the cleric and the lawyer were coming too.

—

In Robbin de Vaux’s experience, beautiful women, of any age, rarely desired a room to be brightly lit. The queen of Ferrieres, he had come to realize, was different. Bianca di Rizzetto evidently preferred to observe closely those she was speaking with, and wanted light for that. A shrewd, dangerous woman, he had long since decided. Had to be to survive, with the king so fragile.

The small reception room in the palace was, accordingly, replete with torches and lamps when they assembled to await her arrival, well after midnight, both moons setting. This could have happened in the morning. That it did not was telling. Someone had awakened her, and she had taken action.

Queen Bianca entered, sweeping into the chamber with an entourage that included her husband’s uncles—the two dukes, who were now, with her, custodians of the realm. Those awaiting them bowed.

Normally, the high cleric of Orane would have been standing with the queen. Instead, he was behind de Vaux, here against his will. So, too, was the lawyer, Cassin, visibly unhappy. With cause, mind you.