The Shadows of God - J. Gregory Keyes [99]
“Tell me. Please. I am inured to pain.”
Karevna finally looked her full in the face. “The Korai created you, Adrienne. We created you to bear your son. You are not altogether … human.”
“Created me? Out of what—snow?”
“Out of a hundred marriages. Out of a thousand subtle manipulations—alchemical treatments administered in secret throughout your life— especially at Saint Cyr.”
“Saint Cyr?”
“Yes, of course. Madame de Maintenon was no Korai, but she was manipulated by them, from the day she met Ninon de Lenclos, decades ago. It was a place designed to reveal—you. And to perfect you.”
“Father Castillion taught at Saint Cyr.”
“Father Castillion?”
“The priest, the one who joined me in New Moscow.”
“I didn't—” She spun on her heel as the door creaked open, and Castillion stood there, regarding them.
“You told her,” he said.
“I had to,” Vasilisa replied.
“God have mercy on you, then. She was not to know.” Vasilisa raised her chin. “Who are you?”
“As she said, I am Pierre Castillion. I taught at Saint Cyr, many years ago. I was one of those men—adjunct to the Korai, let us say.”
“A Rosicrucian? A Freemason?”
“No, but it doesn't matter. I am the last of my order. The rest of us perished in China.”
“So you knew—this all along, and did not tell me.”
Castillion knelt next to her. “The time was not right. I knew it would only anger and confuse you.”
“What else have you lied about?”
“Most of what I have told you is true. There are some details I left out.”
“It was no accident we met in New Moscow.”
“No. I had been following your son. In fact, my order sent me to kill him.”
“The Jesuits?”
He shrugged. “Yes and no. Again, it does not matter. I knew I could not. Should not. Instead, I found you.”
Adrienne closed her eyes, wishing them both away.
“Too many questions, too many lies. Take four steps back. I was created, you say. Am I like Crecy, then? But I don't have her strength, her speed.”
“You have some of her toughness,” Castillion said. “What you've been through in the past few months should have killed you, though I helped when I could. But, no. You are of a very different sort and order than Crecy. Her sort were the beginning, and they spring ultimately from the same blood. But Nicolas, your son, is the omega. Joining you with the Bourbon line was the masterstroke. It was the prospect of that marriage which began all this, set everything in motion. And it is that child who will bring victory to one side or another.”
Words of denial came into Adrienne's mouth and stayed there. Denying it all seemed even more absurd than hearing it, somehow.
“Damn you,” she said instead. “Damn every last one of you to the lowest pit of hell. Damn— Did Crecy know?” The last she shouted, furious at the mere possibility.
“No,” Karevna said. “Only seven living ever know—in France it was Madame Castries. Crecy was their pawn in this as much as you.” Her eyes narrowed. “But you know, Castillion. How?”
“I am not a woman. There were also seven of us.”
Karevna opened her mouth to reply, then apparently thought better of it.
Half an hour passed, and no one spoke. Adrienne thought of her mother and father. What had brought them together? The marriage had been arranged, as most marriages were in noble families. She tried to remember if Castries or Orléans had had a hand in it, and could not.
Finally she pushed the thought as far back in her head as it would go. “It doesn't matter if this is true.”
“Of course it does,” Karevna said. “It means you and Nicolas are the key. Not a key, but the key. One of you is with them, but one of you is still with us.”
“As you say. But what lock am I supposed to turn, Vasilisa? Your story does not say. Castillion?”
“I don't know either,” the priest admitted.
“I can answer that question, I think,” another voice said, from the still-open door.
Adrienne turned to see the Indian.
“Hello, Red Shoes,” Adrienne said. “Who else is in line out there? Usher them all in, please, and I will serve the chocolate and cakes.”
“You know my name.”
“Indeed.”
Red Shoes shrugged. “We