The Painter's Apprentice

Chapter 16

The opening of the Royal Academy's Salon arrives and I feel suddenly more nervous than I have ever felt in my life. Will the Academy kick me out for what I've presented? Or will no one care enough about the panting's of a great master's lowly apprentice to give them a closer look? Will the Protectorate get the message carefully crafted for him?

Lavernia attempts to distract me with parties and operas and dresses and champagne, but they do little to settle my uneasy stomach. I resolve to hire a carriage and go to Paris to see the Salon for myself and perhaps gauge the Academy and the public's reaction to the paintings of Lavernia and Destan. I dress in my finest traveling clothes, but as I lock up my apartments I spy a note on the floor.

Slid under my door?

It's highly unusual. All letters to me during my time at Versailles have been delivered to me by hand from a palace page. There no seal, just my name on the outside. I unfold the note and read its sparse contents.

I need you. Come quickly.

Very sparse. The sender didn't bother to sign the note, and I don't recognize the handwriting. Lavernia, perhaps? Or Destan.

I don't want to abandon my plans to go to Paris, but the note seems important. My pulse races at the thought of Destan slipping the note under my door, but it doesn't strike me as something he would do. It must be from Lavernia.

At this hour, I should expect to find her eating breakfast in her apartments, but I'm not sure what I'll find her up to after receiving a note of this nature.

There is surprise on her face when she answers the door, a half-eaten pain au chocolate in her hand. "Florette? Did we make plans?" Her eyes flick over my traveling dress.

"No." I smile weakly and hold up the note. "So it wasn't you who left this for me?"

A line creases between Lavernia's brows and she takes the note. "This wasn't me. It wasn't signed? Where's the seal?"

"It didn't have one. It was just folded over and slipped under my door."

Lavernia hands it back. "Highly unusual," she says and takes a bite of her croissant.

"Could it be from Destan?"

A wicked grin slinks across Lavernia's lips. "I don't know. Does he usually send you notes, he doesn't want the palace pages to have a peek at."

My stomach lurches and I shove the note into the pocket of my skirts. "No! Of course not! I just wondered if this was something about..." I don't dare say the name of the Order out loud when anyone passing by in the hall might overhear.

Lavernia shrugs. "Perhaps. You should ask him yourself."

"I think I will," I say, but I'm not sure where to look for him; he usually finds me.

"Try his office in the Great Stables," Lavernia says as if she senses my hesitation. "If he's not on guard duty, he'll be there."

I don't want to delay my trip to Paris any longer, but the stables are in the direction I'm headed anyways. My steps falter as my feet carry me out of the palace and across the marble courts and hesitation turns sour in my stomach. I pull out the note once more and glance across the simple script, hurried but confident. Courtiers that stream towards the palace on this cool morning throw me questioning glances, so I continue towards the massive horseshoe-shaped buildings outside the palace gates.

A veritable palace in its own right, the stables are a hive of busy activity with the whinnies of horses and the clang of a ferrier's hammer in the air. I am obviously out of place as I stumble into a gallery of coaches and find a fleet of ceremonial carriages. A footman spots me wandering aimlessly through the chaos and directs me towards the offices. Several other officers have to stop to give me directions before I make it to Destan's door.