Rapprochement

'I hope you're going to apologise,' Claude's big brother said meaningfully as their mother swept off, Lord Narcisse at her heels. 'You've enjoyed this syphilis thing entirely too much.'

'Do you blame me?' Claude huffed with a toss of her unruly red head. 'She tried to kill me! Her own daughter!'

'You heard her.' Francis was abnormally serious and stern. He'd always been an indulgent big brother but now authority radiated off him, reminding her that he was the King. 'She wasn't in her right mind—'

'Is she ever?' Claude couldn't help smirking. Her smirk faded as she rubbed her tummy in an attempt to alleviate the twisted pain inside. 'How's this for a deal, brother dear. I'll apologise to her—when she apologises to me!' Her sister-in-law made a sound thatClaude correctly interpreted as a smothered laugh and she pointed. 'See, even Mary knows it'll never happen.'

'It doesn't have to.' Francis had risen, his hands braced against the table in a mannerism that recalled their late father, Henry II. 'Catherine is the the Queen Mother, feared and respected through this court and abroad. You are just another princess, and a pampered and spoiled one at that. All you want is your own way, you refuse to do your duty as a Valois and an enfant de France—'

'And why should I?' Claude snapped. 'You said it yourself, Francis. Even Bash said it. I'm not like the rest of you, I was always the unwanted one, the outsider! This family has never done anything for me so why should I wish to do anything for it?'

'Come on, Claude.' That was Bash, his vivid eyes fixed on her. 'You asked me to investigate what happened with the twins because you wanted to build bridges with Catherine, right? Now don't pout at me, you know it's true. Here's your chance. You're both victims. Go and say you're sorry for everything you've said and I'll wager she'll respond.'

She rolled her eyes.

'Dear Bash. Have you met my mother?' Despite her words, her determined and defiant insouciance was wearing thin. Claude's brothers had targeted her softest, weakest, most vulnerable spot: her fear that she wasn't loveable, that she wasn't even likeable, princess or no.

'Look, I'll make it easy.' Francis reached into his doublet and pulled out a tightly bound scroll of papers that he sent sliding across the table with a flick of a finger. 'She needs to see these anyway. Why don't you bring them?'

Claude leaned back in her chair and folded her arms, leaving the papers where they were. 'What's in it for me if I patch things up with her?'

'H'mmm.' Franicis's blue eyes narrowed threateningly but she'd seen the twitch at the corner of his mouth. She batted her eyelashes at him and he shook his head. 'What are we going to do with you? You're impossible.'

'That's why you love me.' Insouciance restored, Claude blew him a kiss and pushed her chair back from the table, giving her space to rise and shake out the silken folds of her gown. 'Think how boring life would be if I was like Elisabeth, all yes, Mama, no, Mama, whatever you say, Mama.' She shrugged. 'Oh well, I suppose it was good practice for being Queen of Spain. Everyone knows old Philip doesn't let her call her soul her own.'

'Thank God our parents didn't send you,' Francis commented sourly, resettling himself in his chair. 'You might find Elisabeth dull, but at least she's sensible. You'd probably have created a diplomatic incident or started a war.'

Claude paused mid-turn. 'Oh, Francis. Now you're making me sorry I didn't go. That actually sounds rather fun!' She bestowed her most dazzling smile on her brothers and swept away without even a token curtsy—only to be brought up short by Mary.

'You forgot these,' her sister-in-law said, gliding across the room to fold Claude's fingers around Francis's scroll of papers. Her gaze was hard. 'The King and I would like you to bring these to the Queen Mother straight away.'

Claude scowled. 'But—'

Mary's smile made her spine tingle. 'Oh, didn't I make myself clear? That was a command. You don't get to argue about it.'

'I hate you,' Claude muttered—but she did not throw the papers back in Mary's face as she was half tempted to do.

The elder girl gave a short nod. 'Hate us all you like—but do what you're told.' She paused before adding the clincher: 'Or we'll stop your allowance.'

Claude made an involuntary step backwards.

'You wouldn't! Francis won't let you! Mother won't let you!'

Mary's eyebrows went up.

'Wouldn't she? After the way you've behaved?'

Claude blinked, furious with them all—and more furious with herself for caring what they thought. 'That's not fair. I didn't know!'

'And neither did she.'

'What's it to you? It's not as if there's any love lost between you and my mother!'

Something dark ghosted across Mary's face and Claude took a second step backwards. There was something … frightening … about her sister-in-law when she looked like that.

'Just get lost, Claude,' Francis called, striking a note of disquiet in his young sister's heart. He sounded genuinely annoyed. 'Do what you like, we haven't time for your tantrums; we've two countries to run. Just think about this, though: if you really want to avoid a marriage you'd better start behaving, sister mine. Cause too much trouble and we'll all be eager to get rid of you.'

Mary folded her hands at her waist and smiled. She did not speak, but her eyes went to the door and back to Claude's face. Defeated on all counts, the younger girl twisted on her heel and marched out, praying that her shock and hurt wasn't plain on her face. She was Claude de Valois de France, not some silly chit who cried after a row with her family.

What family? she thought as she flounced down the hall. I don't have a family. I never did.

Her eyes stung and she blinked rapidly to clear them, unwilling for anyone to see her distress. She was less successful than she'd hoped, for Bash's wife paused on her way past with Lady Lola.

'Are you all right, Princess?' she asked and Claude dredged up a faux smile. Half-sister-in-law or not, she couldn't stand Kenna.

'I'll be all the better for not seeing you,' she purred. She wiggled her fingers. 'Au revoir—and try not to make it too soon!' she shouted as Kenna's cheeks flamed furiously while Lola dragged her off with a scolding glance for Claude.

Another person who thinks she can tell me what to do, the princess fumed, stopping by a window to dab at her eyes which had flooded anew. I hate them. I hate them all!

Her shoulders slumped.

But not as much as I hate me. Everyone loves Francis and Bash. Even Mary has friends. Charles and Henry are everyone's pets, I was never that even when I was little, except those times when Papa remembered I existed. It's as if everyone knew what Mother thought… She shivered. As if they knew, and were afraid to be kind for fear of Mother's rage.

She leaned over the window sill, dangerously far, her eyes fixed blindly on the courtyard two stories below.

I must be such a beast, I must always have been such a beast, for Mother to ever believe that I killed my sisters. She wouldn't have believed it otherwise, not Mother—

'Hey!' Someone grabbed at her and she whirled, heart thumping hard, to face a worried looking Leith. He gave her a shake. 'What were you doing, I thought you were gonna fall—'

His plain concern startled Claude into the truth. 'I think … I think I almost wanted to.'

'What?' His hands were hard and warm on her arms, holding her secure, but the moment of honesty had passed and she detached herself with a tinkly laugh.

'Silly Leith, you're so easy to tease. I just trying to see if I could spy my ring. I dropped it and I'd hate to lose it, it was a present from my sister, the Queen of Spain—'

Leith's eyes narrowed and she gave him her best smile, the one that proclaimed her a princess confident in herself and her many bewitching attractions. It seemed to work; the tense line of the guard's shoulders relaxed.

'I'll find it,' he promised, drawing her away. 'Just do one thing for me, Princess. Stay away from windows, my heart can't take it.'

Claude giggled, the sound semi-hysterical even in her own ears. 'What, a strapping young fellow like you?'

'Oi,' Leith objected, but he still looked anxious and that tightness was back in her throat.

She raised her eyes to his, uncharacteristically wistful.

'Do you really care? About me?'

Leith stopped dead, fair complexion reddening. 'Uh—'

'Please.' Impulsively, she covered his hand with her own. 'Please tell me. You won't get in trouble, I promise.'

'I uh…' He swallowed, his eyes skittering, and Claude felt as if he'd kicked her in the stomach. He didn't believe her, he thought she was just playing games with him.

She tore herself away. 'It, it doesn't matter.'

He caught at her. 'Now who's being silly? 'Course it does. Who wouldn't, you're the brightest spark in this place.' Claude began to smile but before she could say more Leith had gripped her arm and was towing down the hall.

When she realised where he was taking her she stopped, digging her sharp heels deep into the wood floor. 'What are you doing? I don't want to—'

'And I'm not leaving you alone,' Leith interrupted with a firmness that made her eyes widen. 'Not after that.' He was knocking on the double doors and before Claude was quite ready he was urging her inside.

Her mother looked up from the papers she was frowning over, a line indented between her brows. 'A guard … And my daughter.' She sighed, tossing her quill aside with an impatient tut. 'Do I want to know?'

'I think you do, Your Majesty.' Leith had regained his grip on Claude's wrist and she stared at it, wondering why she didn't simply shake him off. Such impertinence, to lay a hand on a princess thus! 'I—I caught her looking as if she was going to throw herself into the courtyard.'

Claude's mother stared. 'What?'

Now Claude did shake herself loose. 'Don't be ridiculous, Leith. You're imagining things. I told you, I was just looking for my ring. You know, Mother, the one Elisabeth sent?'

Catherine's eyes narrowed as she left her desk and came to take Claude's chin in her hand, their gazes locking. After a long moment her hand dropped and she turned away. 'Find the ring, Leith.'

'But—'

'Find it!'

Claude glanced up from her study of her mother's rich rug in time to see how his jaw squared at the Queen Mother's tone. Not that he tried to argue; few people did—but that squareness said he longed to, and it warmed the cold places in her heart. She could hardly condemn him for his restraint. Even she had never dared to really lock horns with her formidable mother. After all, Catherine had already tried to kill her once.

'Is it true?' Catherine asked once they were alone and Claude's head jerked up; there was something in her mother's tone, a tremor that aped concern. 'What he said?'

'Suicide is a mortal sin, Mother.' It hurt to force out the flippancy but she wasn't going to be manipulated a second time.

Catherine snorted. 'So is fornication.'

'And murder.' Claude gained some satisfaction from seeing her mother flinch and she pressed on quickly, unwilling to lose the rare pleasure of having the upper hand. 'You have no right to lecture me on anything! Because no matter what I do, I've never done anything as wrong as you!' She took a step nearer. 'Me aside, how many people have tried to kill? Or actually killed?' A flicker of the eyes was her only response and she scoffed. 'You don't even know, do you.' She moved away. 'No wonder we're all so messed up.'

Silence fell and lingered.

A silence so profound that Claude's skin crawled; she couldn't even hear the cheeping of the little birds her mother often kept … The little birds who seemed to change every week. She shivered despite the heat spilling out of the fire in the massive grate, her hands attempting to rub some warmth into the goose-pimpled skin beneath her gauzy sleeves.

A sigh and the sound of rustling, crumpling silk made her turn from the comforting flames to see her mother ensconced on her small chaise longue.

'Come here.' Catherine held out a hand and Claude eyed her askance.

'You must be joking. As if I'd want to be anywhere near you!'

Her mother went very still.

'Everything I've done … It's been for you children. Keeping you safe, that's the only reason for my existence—'

'Not power?' Claude interjected sweetly but Catherine's expression did not change.

'Like it or not, power keeps you safe. How long do you think you would survive, a princess of Valois and Medici blood, if the Bourbons took our throne? Granted, as a girl you can never wear the crown so you'd be safer than the boys—perhaps. Or you may find yourself sold in marriage or … Or worse.'

Claude threw up her chin. 'I can defend myself.'

Catherine gave a short laugh. 'No, daughter. You can't. You're nothing but a pampered princess, my dear, and the sooner you realise your limitations the better for us all. Now for the love of God come and sit down!'

Claude obeyed, displaying her reluctance by sitting at the most extreme edge of her mother's chaise, her skirts arranged so that she could collect them and run. If she needed to.

Catherine's hands folded tightly in her lap, the knuckles glowing white. 'I should have said it before, but I'm sorry. For trying to poison you.' It was said stiffly but Claude's eyes nearly popped out of her skull.

Her mother was actually apologising? To her?

'I—I thought I could see your little sisters. Their ghosts,' Catherine went on, speaking with such difficulty that even Claude's scepticism faltered. 'They made me believe that you—that you—'

'That I killed them,' Claude supplied.

Her mother gave a brief nod. 'Yes. And because I'd always wondered … I think the twins, my visions … They were my own doubts taken shape and I … They were so real, Claude! I could touch them, hold them. And your father—you were his favourite, can you honestly tell me that if he appeared before you, wanting to hold you tight, that you'd be able to turn away? That you wouldn't suspend disbelief for just a little while?'

For the first time that morning Claude met her mother's eyes. They were wide open and unguarded and that pesky lump reformed in her throat. She'd never seen Catherine look so vulnerable before.

Unable to speak, she shook her head.

The Queen Mother continued.

'They told me I had to kill you—or they would. Do you remember the night you woke and found me in your room?'

Claude frowned. Her memories of that time were fuzzy and confused. 'I—I'm not sure.'

'I was in my night robe,' Catherine added and memory returned in a flash: herself, waking to find her mother standing near her bed, just staring at her … Even at the time it had made the little hairs on the back of Claude's neck rise.

They rose again now as she inclined her head.

'Before you woke … I saw them, Claude. That's when they told me that they would kill you and your father, he said that it was better coming from me—'

That broke the spell.

Claude jumped away on jerky limbs, a sour taste coating her tongue and her tummy threatening to rebel at this latest betrayal. 'I don't believe you! Papa wouldn't have—'

'It wasn't your father,' her mother reminded her in a hard tone. 'Remember? It was all me, all coming from my own poisoned mind—'

'At least you admit it,' Claude interrupted and Catherine's lips thinned.

'I cannot help but admit it in this case as it was the literal truth. Whether you believe it or not, I was trying to protect you. In my own way.'

Claude shivered again, studying her mother beneath her lashes. 'How were they going to do it? The twins?'

She saw Catherine's throat constrict. 'I…I don't know. They only hinted and your father, he said that it would be cruel and you would suffer, so I—' She shrugged and Claude was furious all over again as she remembered weeks of pain and fever and debilitating fatigue.

'But you made me suffer! If that was your idea of protecting me—!'

'I wasn't myself! I did the best I could!'

Claude shifted. 'And … And now?' Her hands tightened on the skirt of her gown as she got out the question that had haunted her for days. 'Do you still think it was me?'

'No!' In two steps Catherine was beside her, taking one of Claude's cold hands in both of her own. 'No, I don't.' Her eyes glittered. 'Poor child, you were a victim, caught between my grief, a frightened maid and the machinations of the murderer themselves.' She freed a hand to stroke Claude's cheek, a tender touch that was so unaccustomed that Claude had to will herself not to flinch. 'It's over now, daughter. The murderer has paid the price. They will never harm us again.'

'Who was it?' Claude whispered but Catherine was shaking her head.

'That does not matter. Justice has been served … Rather late, unfortunately, but still. We must all move on.'

There was a long pause. Claude became aware of several different things: of the burning heat on one side of her face, echoing the fire in the grate; of Catherine's hand on hers, warm and tight (too tight, her rings bit into Claude's flesh); of the thready beating of her heart and the twisting discomfort of her abused insides.

'I—I don't know if I can.' Her lips were dry; she tried to moisten them and her tongue caught on the brittle edges. 'I grew up believing you didn't love me. Knowing why doesn't fix that, Mother. Not after all this time.'

She was surprised to see that her mother seemed genuinely upset, her eyes gleaming.

'Will you try?' Catherine asked, unwontedly gentle. 'Or at least, allow me to try?' Now it was she who licked her lips. 'It breaks my heart to think that you've never believed my love for you. If you knew how long it took me to bear a child, ten years worth of experiments and noxious potions and watching month after agonising month for a single sign of pregnancy … After that, every child was a blessing. Every child, Claude.'

'Francis was,' Claude managed, surprised at her own daring. 'Elisabeth was. Louis and Charles and Henry, because they were boys and a Queen always needs sons. But me? You didn't need another daughter, Mother. You said it yourself, a girl cannot be Queen so what use is she?!'

'I never said that!' Once again Catherine caught at Claude's hands. 'Think of me what you will, but I'm no Marie de Guise, to blame my daughters for not being sons. You are valuable as you, regardless of France, and I'm sorry if you've ever thought otherwise.' A pause, and then: 'Can't we start again?' She put her fingers under Claude's chin and her daughter found herself glancing up unwillingly. Catherine smiled; the tender smile that Claude had seen directed at her brothers and sisters but never herself. 'My little rebel. The only one to inherit my hair and temper … You've always been absolutely fearless, my child. Show me some of that courage now, I beg of you. Give me a chance.'

More than anything Claude wanted to throw herself into her mother's arms and weep stormily on her shoulder, but she did not. A few sweet words did not make up for years of ostracisation, and no-one was better than Catherine de Medici at sweet words—sweet words with absolutely no substance behind them. She'd already been tricked once. And yet …

She was nearly fifteen. She was growing up and her mother was growing old; sooner rather than later Claude would marry and Catherine would never be able to hurt her again—and in the meantime giving her this sop would show Mary and Francis and everyone else that she wasn't the petulant child they thought her.

And there was always the possibility that Catherine meant every word she said. It would be foolish to trust her too swiftly—but it would also be foolish to throw away a chance at the relationship Claude had hungered for her entire life.

She set her mouth in a firm line. She might be young but she was still Catherine's daughter—the child most like Catherine herself, as her mother had just said. She was not a fool.

She lifted her chin. 'Fine. If you'll try, so will I.'

'Oh, Claude.' Her mother pulled her close, just as she'd done that other day, the day Claude finally learned what was behind her distance. 'I swear I'll make it up to you, I promise.' That tremor was back in Catherine's voice and Claude, unseen, bit deep into her lip.

That sounded genuine. And if it was …

She allowed herself to relax into her mother's arms and relished the sensation of being held and rocked and loved. The others did not know how lucky they were, to them this was normal, but to her—

On impulse she pulled away to meet Catherine's eyes. 'I'm sorry too.'

'For what?'

Claude couldn't help it. She started to smirk. 'For making fun of you when we thought you had syphilis.'

'H'mm, yes.' Her mother's gaze narrowed but for once Claude did not tremble; she'd spied a quiver not unlike the one that had graced Francis's mouth earlier. 'You did get rather more enjoyment out of that than a dutiful daughter should.'

Claude's smirk broadened. 'If you were me, you'd have enjoyed it just as much.'

'Well, I—'

'You would,' Claude insisted, suddenly reassured by her mother's self-conscious expression. 'Especially the birds.' A beat. 'I made them up and bribed that old doctor into going along with it.'

Catherine's eyes went wide. 'I—you—What?'

'It was perfectly fair,' Claude said, defensive despite herself. 'That poison hurt, Mother. I thought that … Well, that you should hurt a little too.'

Her chin lifted in the old defiance and Catherine's shoulders squared as they always did when she was preparing to give Claude hell. It was almost back to their version of normal—until Catherine started to chuckle and an astonished Claude caught her eye.

The Queen Mother tried to recover her composure but it was too late; Claude's smirk had turned into sniggers and all at once they were laughing helplessly, laughing until their sides ached. When Catherine pulled Claude close a second time the girl went willingly, allowing her head to rest quietly against her mother's shoulder.

Nothing more was said. It did not need to be.

End