The Painter's Apprentice

Chapter 18

The second note arrives on the morning of Queen Henriette's private dinner party. This time I find it propped up on my easel with care. My stomach lurches at the thought of someone slipping into my chambers while I was readying in the next room unaware.

What are you waiting for? Come find me in the deep.

The note leaves me more befuddled than the first. Perhaps this letter wasn't intended for me since I have no idea what the sender means. My pulse stumbles when I remember this apartment's previous inhabitant. Morel. Could this letter have been intended for him? It is possible whoever sent the note doesn't know he's dead, but everyone at Versailles knows of Morel's tragic end. There's little chance the letter came from someone outside the palace — it was hand-delivered to my room.

Come find me in the deep.

The entire note seems to be a riddle wrapped in a mystery.

I want to show the note to the Order, even though Destan didn't find any clues on the first one. I don't know what evidence about the mysterious sender could be discovered with this note, but I remind myself to think like a spy. My instincts tell me to burn it, so I commit the words to memory and throw the sheet of parchment on the glowing coals in the grate. The paper catches quickly then curls and blackens before it turns to ash. I make sure there isn't even a scrap left to be found by a curious chambermaid before I put the matter out of mind.

I need to be focused on tonight. Vigilant. My attendance at Queen Henriette's party is not official business for the Order, but it's not something we expected. In fact, I would prefer to stay as far from the faerie Queen as possible.

Lavernia and her team of dressers arrive to help me prepare for the party much earlier than I expect them. "Do you really need four hours to prepare me for this party? And won't one dress be enough?" is ask as a fifth dress is carried through the door to my apartment. The gold brocade gown is draped over the settee beside a lovely gown of deep blue, patterned with large pink roses.

"Destan is right," Lavernia says. "You indeed question everything."

I color at the realization that Destan probably complains about me behind my back. "Can I wear this one?" I ask of the blue robe à la française with the roses.

Lavernia's lips press into a smile as if she's marked my attempt to change the subject. "Perhaps. If it can be made to fit, and you don't mind being full of pins tonight."

"I don't mind." There is a garish yellow dress thrown over an armchair that I am keen to avoid with my coloring.

"The reason we're here early is because you will be expected to be in the full habit du cour tonight. I'm not worried so much about the dress, but something will have to be done about your hair."

"My hair?"

A footman enters the room carrying a voluminous wing of white curls pinned with swaying ostrich plumes.

I gasp. "Oh no."

"Oh yes," Lavernia says with a devious grin.

The confection of false hair wobbles precariously on the bodyless mannequin head.

It weighs less than it looks, but it is insufferably scratchy where the hairline sits against my forehead. "Please, Lavernia," I beg. "Anything but this."

Lavernia slides a pin into the wig none too gently. "Save your histrionics for someone who hasn't been made to wear these since she entered womanhood."

After that, I hold my tongue until their hour of labor is finished and Lavernia brings me to stand in front of a full-length mirror.

Wrapped in the mirror's gilt frame, I resemble the perfect sketch of a Versailles courtier. Panniers widen my hips to a dramatic effect. With the towering ceilings of the room, the mountain of white curls and ostrich feathers seems somehow dwarfed. My makeup is painted with a heavier hand than usual, but it is set off nicely against the deep blue and warm pinks of the gown.