Princess of the Midnight Ball - Jessica Day George [63]
Galen read it all in horror, able to see what Maude could not, that Under Stone had manipulated and used her, playing off her dreams of children, of peace, promising her everything and asking so very little.
Only that she dance for him, to give him power.
Only that she bear twelve daughters, who would one day marry his sons.
That was never mentioned in the bargain, of course. Galen closed the diary with an oath. He replaced the book carefully where he had found it—on top of the history, at an angle—and went quickly across the sitting room to the door. But when he put a hand on the knob, he heard voices in the corridor and stepped back.
The door swung open, and Angier entered with his assistant, Father Michel. And Petunia.
Rather than slipping out before the junior priest could close the door, Galen remained, pressed up against the wall. Petunia looked frightened, and the bishop was holding her tightly by the upper arm. He sat her down in a chair and stood over her. Galen hardly dared to breathe.
The bishop didn’t engage in any pleasantries but got straight to the important question: “Where do you and your sisters go every night?”
Petunia didn’t say anything; she just shook her head.
“You won’t tell me, or you don’t know?”
Another head shake.
“Do you want to be put in a dungeon, and your sisters, too?” Angier’s question made Galen grit his teeth.
“N-no,” came Petunia’s piping voice. “We want to stay here with Papa.”
“Then tell me where you go every night!”
“I can’t,” the child wailed.
“You can and you will. Who is responsible for the princes’ deaths? The Bretoner woman? Your father? Your older sisters? Tell me!”
Galen clenched his hands into fists. Had King Gregor really given permission for his youngest daughter to be interrogated like a criminal?
Looking frantically around the room, Galen tried to think of something, anything he could do to stop this, as the bishop’s questions went on and on and Petunia began to sob. He couldn’t attack a bishop, and if he opened the door and went to see King Gregor, they would notice.
Just as Galen was thinking the risk was worth it, and hoping that they would only think the palace haunted when the door swung open, someone came stomping down the hallway and pounded on the door. The other priest opened it to reveal a red-faced King Gregor with Rose, Lily, and Bishop Schelker standing behind him.
Petunia leaped to her feet and raced across the room to bury her face in Rose’s skirt.
“Your Excellency,” the king said with barely controlled rage. “I gave permission for my older daughters to be questioned, but not the younger set. And none of them were to be questioned alone, without even a maid there to provide support.”
“I need to get to the bottom of this, Gregor,” the bishop said, his voice cold. “The governess and your older daughters will not talk; I thought perhaps the younger ones would be innocent enough not to lie.”
“My daughters are not liars,” King Gregor said through clenched teeth. “If there is witchcraft afoot, then they are its victims, and you should show them compassion.”
“This is very much against policy, Brother Angier,” Bishop Schelker added.
Behind Rose, the door was still open, and as Galen knew that Petunia had more protection than he could rightly offer, he slipped out. Rose looked around, startled, as he accidentally brushed against her, and he held his breath for a moment as she peered right through him.
“You may continue to question her, however,” King Gregor was saying as he shut the door. “You may question us all, in fact. Together.”
Out in the hallway, Galen breathed a sigh of relief. He took off his cloak and pushed it into his satchel, tired of creeping around and nearly being stepped on. Turning over in his mind