I started to evade the question, for I hadn't thought that far ahead; then I decided it was best to begin this venture with full honesty. "I cannot say when, or even if, I'll be able to legalize your faith. As you've said, there are many obstacles and I cannot make a foe of either Spain or Rome. But peace in this kingdom is paramount to me. We've too much to lose otherwise."

He sipped his wine, without taking his eyes from me. He did not speak and I thought perhaps I had disclosed too much. After all, he was still a stranger to me.

"How can I help?" he finally said.

I allowed myself a smile. "You speak with the Huguenot pastors and other leaders, yes? Tell them of my edict. Let them preach to their congregations and counsel restraint, so there are no disturbances while I work with parlement." My voice took strength, envisioning the country liberated at last from the Guises' terror. "I do not blame the Huguenots for wanting revenge, but there must be tolerance if we are to survive."

"And the Guises? The leaders want them removed from the government. They see the Guises as cold-blooded killers, who must pay for what they've done."

"I agree. However, I cannot remove them by force, not yet. But I believe in this new enterprise as I've believed in nothing else, and I know that in the end France will have no peace while the Guises hold power."

He leaned back, raking his hand over his close-cropped hair. "I think I can speak for most of the leaders when I say peace is also our desire. But not everyone will bow to reason."

"Oh? Explain." I knew I wouldn't like it, but I needed to hear it. I must recognize and overcome all obstacles, no matter where they came from.

"Put simply, the deaths at Amboise have divided my brethren into two factions. One side wishes to live their lives without fear. The other wants the same, plus the removal of the Guises and a role in the government. This is not simple: some men will switch sides, depending on their circumstances. If you seek to worship freely, but then your house is burned, your crop razed, and your daughters raped by a Guise patrol, you're likely to change your stance."

"So, we have religious and political issues to address." I caught a shift in his eyes and added, "I would seek to place Huguenots of influence on the Council. I do not believe our differences mean we cannot find common ground."

He cupped his hand at his chin. "When that time comes," he said, "I would welcome a place at court. We need to work together if we are to return France to her former glory." And a genuine smile brightened his face, the first I'd seen all night. "I believe you have our best interests at heart. I will therefore speak with the leaders and the pastors and see that no one acts in retaliation for Amboise. It will take time, though. They are scattered; no one dares congregate in these dangerous times. I'll have to meet with them one by one."

"I ask for nothing more." For the first time in weeks, I felt I might actually succeed in bringing down the Guises for good. I reached for the decanter, saying, "I hope you'll like the chamber I've prepared for you. It's small but I've little extra room, as my children are here."

"I'm sure it would be fine," he replied, "though I must decline your hospitality."

The air in the room shifted. I bit back my protest. Of course he couldn't stay. I might see Chenonceau as my refuge, but neither of us could be sure there weren't Guise spies lurking about. And he had his own family to consider, whom he'd left to see me.

"Naturally," I said, hiding my disappointment. "I was thoughtless to assume otherwise."

"No," he said. "I would stay, if I could. But my wife ... she has been ill."

"Oh, no. I hope it's not serious."

"I'm afraid it is." He averted his eyes from me. "Charlotte is dying. She gave birth a few months ago to a daughter," he said, his voice so low I had to lean to him to hear. "The labor was hard but the child sound. Then Charlotte lost her milk; she couldn't feed the babe. Her appetite deserted her and at first we thought she had milk fever, but as time went on she did not improve. We hired a doctor and he found ..." He swallowed. "She has a lump in her breast. She wastes away before my eyes and I can do nothing."

I knew all too well the helplessness of watching a spouse die, of praying for a miracle you fear will never come. I reached over, set my hand on his where it rested on the table. "I will send to court for our royal physician, Dr. Pare. If anyone can heal her, he can."

He went still. Then he withdrew his hand and stood. "No. It is too late."

That brief touch of his skin burned in me. I followed him to the bay window overlooking the night-shrouded gardens, where mummers entertained Mary and Francois in a spangled pavilion. "She might yet be saved. While there is a chance, we must never lose hope."

He turned so quickly we found ourselves face-to-face. I could discern darker flecks in his pale blue eyes, the supple lines at their corners, and slash of cheekbones above his lustrous beard. He was a few inches taller than me; his wine-tinged breath blew warm on my brow. "You remind me of her," he said. "She too is brave and bold."

Under my bodice, my heart started to pound. "I ... I am not her," I whispered.

His hand slid downward, to my waist. "No, you're not. She doesn't have your strength. You are the strongest woman I know, Catherine de Medici."

The sound of my name on his lips sent heat rushing through me. No one had looked at me like this; no man had ever seen the strength in me as he did. I felt as though I might dissolve in his gaze, as if he had opened that place inside me where I'd locked the wreckage of my youth and my dreams-everything that life and time had made me surrender.

And I knew then that I wanted this man. I had wanted him all along.

Desire flared in me like a newborn sun, so overpowering that I tried to pull away. He didn't let me go. He brought me to him, his lips closing on mine, quenching my breath. I lost all sense of reason, of myself, drowning in the heat of being wanted for myself, for the very first time.

I heard him murmur, "Just for tonight," and it was enough. It was everything.

I led him through the darkened chateau to the staircase. Through the open windows that let in the soft evening air, the sound of music and laughter drifted to me. My children and Mary Stuart were enjoying their revel; they sounded for once like the young people they were.

Lucrezia rose from her stool, her eyes sharp in the moonlight sliding like silk through the mullioned window. I gestured. She gathered Muet in her arms and retreated without a word.

My bedchamber awaited; sun-dried linen sheets drawn back, the satin coverlet I'd embroidered by hand folded over. Anna-Maria was with the children; hearing the door click shut behind me, I moved as if in a dream to the candle in its sconce on my dressing table.

"No," he said, "leave it. Let me look at you."

I felt as I had the night I first bedded Henri, at a loss as to how to act. I almost laughed aloud. I was forty-one. I'd been with a man before. I knew what couples did.

With that uncanny way he had of sensing my thoughts, Coligny said, "Don't be afraid." He untied my sleeves, removed my stomacher, bodice, and skirts, until my clothing lay strewn like foam at my feet and I stood in my shift, trembling, but not with cold.

In an instinct born of years as a wife, I turned to climb into bed. Then I heard clothing slide to the floor, the single clank of a metallic buckle. When I looked around, he stood naked, a taut silhouette of pallid skin.

I stared. He was beautiful but his body was nothing like Henri's, not that broad hirsute frame I'd known. This was a small wiry man, his muscles melded to the bone, standing with utter confidence and a wry smile that made my knees turn to water. His manhood rose upright from its thatch of bronze hair; his ribs showed under his flesh as he drew quick breaths. Lifting his corded arms to undo the gilded net at my nape, he released my hair and it tumbled over my shoulders.

"Like a dark sea," he whispered and he melded his body to mine, laying me on the bed as with one hand he slipped my shift upward, over my head. All doubt evaporated when I felt his touch, transformed by some alchemy into exquisite, near-unbearable pleasure. He teased me with his lips and his tongue, and when I began to shudder and he entered me, I let out a cry I'd never made before: a spontaneous celebration of uninhibited joy that released my very soul.

I awoke before dawn. He was at the window, dressed. He turned as the sky unfurled behind him. "I must go," he said and he sat beside me, caressing tangled hair from my face. He looked into my eyes with sadness and I said softly, "No apologies."

His expression was gentle yet grave, once again the reserved courtier.

"We must never speak of it," I said, and I touched his cheek. "They would not understand. We have so much to fight for and they ... they would say I seek peace with the Huguenots because I took you to my bed." As I spoke I trembled with the first chill I'd felt since our night together and I had a fleeting fear that I might have surrendered something I'd come to regret.

"I will not tell a soul," he said. "Never forget that God has a plan for you. Without you, this realm will fall apart. You can save France, but never underestimate them. Remember, while you think you hold them at bay, they are still tigers and tigers know when to attack."

He kissed me. "I'll send word as soon as I can. Until then, do not risk yourself, even for me."

I cradled his face, engraving it in my memory. "Godspeed, Gaspard," I whispered.

He gathered his cloak and left.

As I brought my hands to my face, his scent clung like rain to my fingers.

TWENTY-ONE.

WE LEFT CHENONCEAU IN LATE AUTUMN, AS THE CHESTNUTS changed colors and wild swans flocked to the Cher in search of last-minute food. I'd had time to bask in my secret, to relive it in my mind every night; I'd ridden with Mary and overseen Francois's health. I spent time with Charles, Henri, Margot, and Hercule, governing their lessons and their well-being.

At ten, Charles bore a startling resemblance to his father. He was tall as Henri had been, with the hooded Valois eyes and aquiline nose. He liked the same activities: riding, hunting, fencing, and hawking, and I had a special bow made for him so he could practice. Seven-year-old Margot was budding into a precocious beauty with her mass of red-streaked hair and feline eyes that seemed to miss nothing. She was indolent, however, preferring to preen before the mirror, and I put her on a strict diet, for like me she easily gained weight. In contrast, nine-year-old Henri was slim as a blade, with my olive skin and long-lashed dark eyes that contained a prescient light. Of all of them, Henri alone seemed to sense the change in me.

I enjoyed every moment of time alone with my children, but the idyll couldn't last. When the Guises sent word that the court was in Orleans preparing for Christmas, we packed up and left, the children chattering with excitement as I braced for another battle with the Guises.

Instead, we arrived to tragedy.

Marie de Guise, regent of Scotland on her daughter's behalf, had died after years of struggle against the Protestant lords, who now ruled the kingdom until Mary came home or named another regent. Mary was oblivious to the political discord plaguing her land, disconsolate over the mother she did not recall, and though the Guises declared us in mourning, they understood that with no means to keep Scotland safe, our alliance was now on paper alone. The Guise prestige had plummeted; few of the nobles invited to court that holiday season deigned to appear and tumult plagued the streets, with placards denouncing the Guises as bloodthirsty tyrants plastered on every corner. Their stranglehold on France was weakening.

I was left to care for the children and Mary. Her sorrow roused frenetic concern in Francois, who couldn't stand to see her distressed. The combination of her grief, undercurrents of intrigue at court, and daily visits from Monsignor proved too much and Francois fell ill again.

This time, the onslaught was merciless. Within days a monstrous fistula had formed inside his left ear and he writhed in agony, suppurating pus and soaked with fever. I ensconced myself in his chamber and held him while he shrieked and his physicians debated the feasibility of using a stronger dose of opiate.

"Fools!" I yelled. "Look at him! Dose him now or by God I'll have your heads!"

Mary hovered nearby. I almost waved her out, thinking the sight of her would make Francois even more anxious, but she crept to his side and took his hand. I watched in awe as he went quiet, like a sick animal soothed by its master's touch. She had a more calming effect than any opiate, and so I left her in charge of his care so I could contend with the growing anxiety at court.

Every time I emerged from his rooms to change my clothing or take nourishment, I found a host of whispering courtiers and dagger-eyed ambassadors waiting in the galleries, searching my face for any sign that death was about to claim my son. Francois was childless; his heir was my third son, ten-year-old Charles. I could almost hear the court's avid speculation as they sensed the balance of power begin to tilt; and I took to creeping down hidden back passageways to my rooms, where I stayed only long enough to recover my strength.

One night, bone-weary from my vigil, I entered my apartments in a haze. As I passed the alcove, I sensed a presence. I whirled about. I couldn't contain my gasp when I saw Nostradamus materialize as if from nowhere. "You scared me to death! How did you get in here?"

"Through the door," he said. "No one noticed." He wore unadorned black, his collar high about his throat. He clutched a staff and held himself with an aged person's focused poise, yet I heard wry humor in his tone. "You'd be surprised at how little attention old men get." His voice softened. "I am sorry for your trials, my lady. I would not have come this far to trouble you had I not felt the need."

I took a step back. "No. You must not say it."

He tilted his head. "If I do not say it, how will you know?"

"I don't want to know!" My voice cracked. "My son is dying! If you have any care for me, you'll not speak of further suffering. I'm not you. I can't bear to know the future."

"And yet you must, for I have seen you in the water." His voice turned dark. "'The eldest branch dies before eighteen, without leaves and two islands in discord. The younger tree will rule longer, against those who would fill the realm with blood and strife.'"

A black wave crashed over me. "What ... what does it mean?"

He shook his head. "You ask and yet you know." He held up his hand. "I cannot give you something I do not possess. I do not hold the key. Only you do, for it is your path."

He turned and walked out, leaving emptiness in his wake. I wanted to yell at him to come back. What good was a seer who spoke in riddles and disappeared like mist? How could his convoluted prophecies serve me now?

Then, without warning, I understood.

Francois was my eldest; he had no child. The islands in discord were the religions. And my next son, Charles-he would inherit. He would rule, much longer, against those who wished us harm. I knew who they were: the Guises, my mortal enemies. I had to fight. Charles would need me more than Francois ever had; he would need me to champion his rights, to thwart those who sought to rule through him and bring more havoc upon France.

Never forget that God has a plan for you. Without you, this realm will fall apart.

I was about to lose a son. But in return, I now had the chance to save his kingdom.

I called for Birago. "Send out letters with my private seal," I said in a muted voice. "Write to the constable, to all the nobles who would see the Guises fall. Tell them the Queen Mother urgently requests their presence at court. Tell them it is a matter of life and death."

He nodded. "Is His Majesty ...?"

"Soon," I whispered. "We must be ready."

Five days later, as I held his wasted hand, flanked by sobbing Mary and the grim-faced Guises, my son Francois II breathed his last.

He had not yet celebrated his seventeenth birthday.

TWENTY-TWO.

I DID NOT HAVE TIME TO MOURN.

We returned to Paris with my son's corpse, where he was handed over to the embalmers and Mary, our widow queen, was escorted by her Guise relatives to her cloister in the Hotel de Cluny. Overnight, a frozen hush descended, mirroring the December snows blanketing Paris.

I moved at once to protect Charles and my other children. No one was allowed to see them without my permission, especially the Guises, and once I proclaimed our official mourning I embarked on my second order of business.

"The lords will be here by tomorrow," Birago informed me as we sat in my apartments at night, haggard from our labor. "Letters have also been sent to Philip of Spain and Elizabeth of England, as well as the princes in Germany and the Low Countries, stating your case."

"Good." I undid my ruff, set it aside. "Is there any word from Queen Jeanne of Navarre?"

He sighed. "Yes. She wrote back to say she'll consider your offer to receive her, but she does not think she can bear weeks of difficult travel across France in the dead of winter."

"Is that so?" I snorted. "Well, that suits me fine. I've no desire to contend with her or that Bourbon husband of hers. I offered as a courtesy, nothing more."

Birago ran a hand over his balding pate. Now in his late forties, he'd lost most of his hair and his bare brow emphasized his sharp features and deep-set eyes, which were always alert, watchful, like a bird of prey's. "Madama, much as I hate to say this I believe we should not dismiss Antoine of Bourbon so quickly. By law, Charles must have a regent until he comes of age. Antoine is of royal blood; he stands in the line of succession after your sons. He is also of the Catholic faith and therefore could stake a claim to the regency against you."

I forced out a curt laugh as I trudged to my chair. My legs ached from the icy chill permeating the old Louvre, which no amount of fires in our hearths could mitigate. "Last I'd heard, Antoine's sole faith was wine and vice. I hardly think such a louse poses a threat."

"When it comes to power, even the worst sinner can repent."

"In other words, he could become a Guise weapon." I sat, considering. "Well, for now we can assume Jeanne has no intention of letting Antoine come to court. Like us, she must be aware that he has a right to the regency, and the last thing she'll want is her husband, the father of her son, making an alliance with the Guises, whom she detests as only a Huguenot queen can. I don't think we need worry on his account." I paused. "Any news of Coligny?"

As I spoke, I kept my tone neutral, not showing the surge of anticipation I felt when Birago replied, "He wrote to say that the Huguenot leaders agree to refrain from further action until they hear the outcome of Your Grace's edict."

"And of our request to attend us at court ...?"

"He cannot, for the moment. His wife is still quite ill, and he says he must be with her."

I bit my lip, my enthusiasm fading into disappointment. Much as I yearned for him, I couldn't expect otherwise. "So be it," I said. "We'll proceed without him. As soon as the lords arrive, call the Council to session. It is time I gave these Guises a well-deserved lesson."

I sat at the head of the wide oak table as the lords filed in. I smiled at each in turn, noting the constable's vigorous nod and Monsignor's silken smile. Though not pleased to find himself surrounded by old foes at court, he didn't look like a man who was about to concede defeat.

"Where is your brother le Balafre, Monsignor?" I asked, and he replied: "He sends his regrets but felt he should inform our parlement of our late king's funeral arrangements."

"Oh?" I returned his smile. "He should have asked first. I sent word myself, days ago."