"We worship the same God," I snapped, stung by her insight. This was not going as I'd planned. When had my daughter paid such close attention to doctrine? She was a dutiful Catholic, yes, but I'd always thought she viewed religion much as I did: as a necessary institution we must conform to because the alternative was chaos.

"You are a Valois princess," I added. "As Navarre's queen, you can bind him and his faith to us. It is your duty, and a small price to pay for a future of peace."

Her expression wavered. Had I finally touched her pride? While Navarre might not be her ideal, how could she resist playing a pivotal role in our welfare?

Our eyes locked. To my disconcertion, I still saw no indication that I'd convinced her. She looked at me as if she were seeing me for the first time and didn't quite like what she found. Then she said quietly, "Very well. I'll do as you ask. But you can't make me love him."

"You'll fare better without love. We Medici always do." As soon as I spoke, I regretted it. I'd remembered Papa Clement's phrase exactly, used it to the same horrid purpose. I saw her flinch, take a small step back. I wanted to console her, to somehow ease the harsh reality of what I'd said. But I could not. I would not lie to her nor pretend the task I set before her was anything other than what it was: an act of submission, which could entail the loss of her youthful dreams.

"You should pack for Chenonceau," I murmured, and with a curtsy she turned and walked out, leaving me sitting there, an awful feeling in the pit of my stomach.

That night after I retired, I tossed and turned for hours.

I loved Margot. Of all my children, she and Henri were my brightest, combining the best of the Medici and the Valois bloods. Why did I now condemn her to a loveless union, when I knew how much misery it entailed? Had the past years of war and struggle hardened me so much that I didn't think twice about sacrificing her happiness? Maybe this marriage wasn't meant to be. I could still put a halt to it, go to Charles and- Sharp rapping came at my door. I glanced at the candle; the hours notched on its side had dissolved in a molten pool. It was too late for visitors. Then I heard Lucrezia say, "Your Grace, Margot's lady is here. She says Her Highness is in danger."

I hobbled down the darkened galleries in the west wing of the Louvre, which I'd shut down for repairs. I was panting, my sciatic leg throbbing, as Lucrezia and I came before an open door.

"Putain!" a voice yelled. "I'll flay you alive for this!"

At the crack of a lash, I forgot my pain and barreled in. Margot cowered by a coffer, her scarlet bodice in shreds, her lacerated arms raised to protect her face. Charles stood over her with a hunting whip. By the shuttered window, Henri held a dagger to the throat of none other than young Guise. His distended blue eyes met mine as my son dug the stiletto against his neck, drawing a bead of blood that trickled down his strong white throat.

"Shall I do it?" hissed my son. "One less Guise makes no difference to me."

Margot cried out, "No! Leave him alone. It's not his fault. I asked him to meet me here!"

Only then did I notice that once again both she and Guise wore red. And I understood, with a sickening knowledge that curdled inside me. She was Guise's lover, had been his lover for months. Their choice of color was obvious, a declaration I should never have failed to notice.

Charles lashed out with the whip, cutting into her shoulders. Her wail propelled me forward. I wrenched the whip from him. He whirled on me, snarling like one of his dogs. I saw something terrifying in his eyes, a demon blazing at me, and I backed away, saying to Henri, "Let Guise go."

Henri withdrew his blade. A spasm shook Guise. "Madame," he said, "I am wronged." His gaze shifted to Henri; my son's face darkened. "It is I who am wronged," Henri said in a quavering voice filled with an emotion I'd never heard from him. "You have played me for a fool and I will never forget it."

"I did not intend to," said Guise softly, "but you wanted something from me that I could not give."

Henri started to lunge. I lifted my voice, detaining him. "No." I looked at Guise. "You will leave court at once. Return to your family estate in Joinville and stay there."

He bowed, gathering his doublet about him. He shot a look at Margot before he walked out. Henri called after him, "If I ever catch you with my sister again, I'll see you dead!"

I signaled to Lucrezia to close the door and bar it from any intrusion. With the whip still in my hands, I turned to my sons. "What is wrong with you? She is your sister. How could you-"

"She's a whore," spat Charles, his lower lip spraying blood, cut no doubt by his own teeth. "She's about to be betrothed to Navarre and she goes and fucks Guise behind our backs."

I suppressed my horror as I gazed at his twisted expression, his shoulders, thickened with muscle from his daily labors in his armory, hunched about his neck.

"Go," I said. "Let me take charge of this."

"Yes," said Henri. "Let Maman take charge. I daresay Guise won't come near Margot again."

Charles barked sudden laughter. "Yes, and he'll stay away from you too, brother. No doubt, your pretty bodyguard Guast will be pleased."

Henri froze. Then he grabbed Charles by the arm and steered him out, leaving me with Margot. She forced herself to her feet, her hair catching in the clotted blood on her shoulders.

"Is it true?" I said. "Did you let that Guise whelp take your virginity?"

"No." She was trembling uncontrollably. "I ... I only wanted to see him, to ... to say good-bye." Her voice choked on a sob; she buried her face in her hands. "I love him. I love him with all my heart and now I've lost him forever because of you."

I found myself unable to move. She had nearly cost me everything by giving herself to the heir of a family that was my most relentless foe; yet I could not blame her entirely, for it was my fault. I had underestimated the depths of her passion; I hadn't realized how dangerous it could become. In a man, such impulse was permissible, even admirable; but in an unwed woman, especially a princess, it could spell her doom.

"You must never see him again," I heard myself say, and my voice was flat, cold. "Do you understand me? Never. Guise is dead to you now. As you must be to him."

She raised huge tearstained eyes, full of a pain that I almost couldn't bear to see. I extended my hand to her. "Come, we must tend those wounds. Can you walk?"

She nodded and together with Lucrezia I took her to her apartments.

The next day, I wrote to the duchesse de Guise to inform her that the recently widowed Madame Porcein would make an excellent match for her son. The widow in question was in fact twice his age, but I assumed he'd informed his family of his predicament and there would be no objection. There wasn't. Guise wed his bride in a hasty ceremony the very next week.

I went to inform Margot. Guise had not fought for her; he did not lift a single protest that she was his one and only love. The stunned expression on her face said everything.

"Now," I added, "you can devote yourself entirely to Navarre. You will marry him, get him to convert, and bear sons that you can rear as Catholic princes. It is your destiny."

"My destiny," she echoed. She smiled darkly. "Is that what you call it? You and Charles have taken everything from me. You have destroyed me. I hate you both. I wish you were dead."

I eyed her where she sat taut on her bed, like a wounded animal about to strike.

"So be it," I said, and I yanked open the door. "But whatever you feel, you will do as I say."

Storm clouds hovered over Chenonceau, a fanged wind ripping at our standards and our clothes as we waited for Queen Jeanne's entourage.

My hands were numb in their lynx-lined gloves. A few steps away Margot stood in a primrose satin gown, her sable hood crumpled about her head like a ruined veil. The bruises had faded, but she was not speaking to us, her face a mask of stony indifference.

Heralds blew a shrill note. Moments later, the entourage from Navarre straggled toward us. I surveyed the ranks, a small collection of black-clad lords on horseback escorting a coach. I stepped forth to open the door. "Madame, I am so pleased to-"

My greeting died in my throat.

Queen Jeanne sat sunken among her pillows, wrapped in a fur mantle; she was mere flesh pasted over bones, her coppery hair lank and eyes ringed in shadows.

One of her men eased me aside to help her out. She leaned on his arm as she faced me, so frail it seemed she'd be carried away by the wind. But even in her weakness she had not lost her impudence; she gave me a ghastly smile and whispered, "In case you're wondering, Madame de Medici, the answer is no: my son is not coming."

Jeanne sat erect in the airy blue-satin suite I'd appointed for her. She'd not left the room in weeks; I was terrified she would die before we'd reached an accord and I'd had my own physicians attend her. She looked better, frail color in her pale cheeks, though her hacking cough and her infuriating obstinacy persisted.

"I said no. I'll not bring my son here until I am completely satisfied."

I lost all patience. "What more do you want of me?" I cried, pacing the chamber. "First, you insist on a ceremony that will be neither Catholic in appearance or ritual and I assured you they can wed outside Notre Dame, after which your son and his entourage can attend a Huguenot service while we hear mass. Then you asked that if Spain makes a threat against Navarre, I must pledge my surety of troops and I agreed. Finally, you requested Coligny's support of the marriage and I told you he does, as you yourself saw by his letter."

"I saw his signature on a letter, yes. But how do I know the letter was his?"

"Of course it was his!" I paused, lowering my voice. "I wouldn't play you false. I've told you before: our children must wed. They are ideal for each other and together will show the world that while we may not worship the same way, we need not go to war over our differences."

"When did you decide we can live in peace?" she said tartly. "After or before you put a price on Coligny's head and destroyed the Huguenot stronghold of La Rochelle? Or was it when you brought in Spaniards to fight against us?"

I clenched my hands at my sides. "Did you come all this way to remonstrate with me?"

Phlegmy laughter rattled her chest. She gasped, pressed a handkerchief to her mouth. The cloth came away stained with blood. She tucked it into her cuff as if it meant nothing.

"I wanted to see you again," she said. "I wanted to lay eyes on the infamous Catherine de Medici and find out if everything they say is true, if they call you Madame la Serpente because, like a snake, your bite kills your enemies."

Red heat overcame me. How dare she sit there in her Huguenot weeds and accuse me, when she'd abetted our enemies? I took a step forward, not caring in that moment if she consented to the marriage or dropped dead at my feet. She flattened against her chair.

I paused. I did not expect this recoil or the frantic clutch of her hands at her skirts. As her dilated gaze met mine, I realized she was afraid. Afraid of me. She actually believed I was as monstrous as the Huguenot pamphleteers claimed. She'd heeded innuendo and rumor, though she knew what it meant to be a woman alone, with a realm and children to protect.

My mordant sense of humor got the better of me. With a chuckle, I said, "Well, now you've seen me. Do I look as evil as they say?"

"The fact that you make light of it confirms everything," she replied.

"Then think what you like; it makes no difference to me. I offer your son a royal bride and your realm protection from Spain. No other will give you as much."

She eyed me in silence. Then she thrust out her chin. "You can't manipulate me. I'll not call for my son nor give you an answer unless I am allowed to meet with your daughter-alone."

I considered. Margot was here, of course. But could I trust her? I rued the hour I'd admitted my plans to her, for now I must rely on her. Jeanne wouldn't budge; she'd write another batch of sepulchral warnings to her son and he'd lock himself up in her castle. My hope for ending our religious dissent would fall apart. War would erupt, as it inevitably did, and I'd again be at the helm of a realm devouring itself whole.

Unless ... The idea crept through me like a cat. I still had Cosimo's gifts.

"Fine," I said to Jeanne. "I'll send Margot to you this afternoon."

I went downstairs to my study. Once inside, I locked the door and removed the box from a hidden cabinet in the wall. Opening the lid, I found the dolls resting on their velvet bed.

I lifted the female form.

You must first personify them by attaching an article from the person.

All I needed was a wisp of Margot's hair.

Despite her anger with me and her habitual melancholic drifting about the palace, Margot radiated health, her color high from days in the gardens, her hair a mass of sun-lightened curls.

"You look lovely," I told her, and her turquoise eyes narrowed as I reached out to tuck a stray ringlet of hair over her shoulder. "Now, remember to answer her questions, but don't reveal too much. We mustn't overtax her." I cupped her chin. "Do you understand?"

She scowled. "Yes. I'll be the perfect, dutiful daughter-in-law and say as little as possible."

"Exactly." I propelled her to the staircase. "I'll await you in my study." As she lifted her skirts to mount the stairs, I closed my fingers about a strand of her hair.

In the study, I pulled the curtains across the windows, set two candles and the doll on my desk. I felt ludicrous, standing there about to coil my daughter's hair about a wax figurine in the hope of compelling her to fulfill my will. I steeled myself and took up the doll. I lit the candles and paused. What now? I had the pins. Should I press one into the doll to enforce my desire? No, that might hurt. I could see Margot talking to Jeanne and crying out in sudden pain.

What if I knelt? Would that be sacrilegious? It must be. Best not.

I extended my hands over the candles. Closing my eyes, I whispered, "I, Catherine de Medici, invoke upon thee, Marguerite de Valois, my sole desire. You have no other will than mine. You will tell Jeanne de Navarre everything she wants to hear and nothing to cause doubt."

I opened an eye. I felt no brooding presence, no subtle thickening in the air or ripple along my skin, as I'd felt every time my gift had stirred or I'd met with Nostradamus. If I had a facility for magic, it wasn't revealing itself. I picked up the doll again, cradled it in my hands, and repeated my chant. I recalled reading somewhere that blood was essential to spells. I opened the box, retrieved a pin and jabbed my finger. A dark red bead welled. I watched it seep over my nail to spatter the doll's face. I went still, straining to hear the thump overhead that would herald Margot's precipitous drop onto the floor.

Nothing.

I again whispered my chant, removed the amulet from inside my bodice, and pressed it on the doll. Evil against evil, Cosimo had said. Then I waited, reasoning that spells, like scents and potions, needed time to brew, to blend and create the desired result. After what I hoped was sufficient time, I blew out the candles, gathered the objects, and returned them to hiding. At the last minute, a twinge of guilt caused me to unravel the amulet from my neck and also hide it in the box, next to Maestro Ruggieri's old vial. Then I whisked back the curtains, propped the window open. Sitting at my desk, I smoothed out a fresh sheet of parchment and inked my quill.

That was the moment I began these confessions.

Hours fled by as I revisited the past, filling page after page with memories. When Margot knocked at my door, I looked up in a daze. She entered. "The queen wishes to see you."

I tucked the pages into a portfolio. A strange calm stayed with me as I went to Jeanne's rooms. I found her at the gilded desk, a quill in hand. She'd donned a blue gown and pearls-unusual extravagance. She turned in her chair. She looked serene, as if she'd taken a rejuvenating tonic. If this was due to my magic, it had imparted unexpected consequences.

"Madame, I don't know how you managed it, but your daughter is as virtuous a princess as I've had the privilege to meet." She extended the page to me. "Here is my consent. Providing you fulfill the terms we discussed, I believe she'll make an excellent wife for my son. She says she can think of no greater privilege than to be Navarre's queen and live in our realm."

I hadn't believed the spell would work. How could such an insipid ritual bring about the impossible? Yet it seemed it had, though I'd not been specific enough. I needed Margot and Navarre to live in France; under no circumstance could he return to his country, where he'd be surrounded by Protestants warning him against us.

"She says she cannot embrace my faith," Jeanne went on, "but when I told her my son would want their children raised Protestant, she replied that as his wife, she owes him her obedience."

I had to bite my lip lest I burst into caustic laughter. Margot was truly my daughter! She'd refrained from rousing Jeanne's suspicion yet had managed to promise something she knew I would never allow. The loss of Guise still burned inside her; she would do anything to thwart me, it seemed, but the marriage would proceed and soon Navarre would be under my control.

"I'll come with you to Paris," Jeanne added, to my disbelief. "Margot has asked me to help with her trousseau. I'll also write to my son. You did say you'd like them to wed in August?"

I nodded, searching her face for a sign of deceit. I found none. She'd never been good at concealing her feelings. "Yes, in August," I said, and I exhaled in relief. "We'll arrange the most glorious wedding France has ever seen."

"Not too glorious," she chided. "My faith is a simple one. Now I must rest. We'll meet tomorrow to plan the details. We can share lunch, al-What do you Italians call it?"

"Alfresco," I said. "Yes, that would be nice."

As I left her, I couldn't help but marvel that fate, the supreme joker, had thrown together such a pair of mothers-in-law.

THIRTY.

UPON TAKING UP RESIDENCE IN MY NEWLY COMPLETED HoTEL de la Reine, Jeanne dove into the wedding arrangements as though she'd never been ill, dragging me around Paris to view this bolt of fabric, that pair of candlesticks or piece of cutlery. In a store on the Left Bank, she so admired a pair of supple Italian gloves fringed in gold that I bought them for her. She accepted them in childish delight, proof she wasn't immune to vanity. I found it fascinating to watch her become the woman she might have been if her religious devotion hadn't shackled her heart.

The moment word came that her son had departed Nerac, I ordered banns posted, inviting everyone in the realm to Paris to partake of the grand event. Everything was going as planned until I received word one evening that Jeanne had collapsed.

I hurried with Margot to the hotel through a dank mist. We found the downstairs hall filled with men in dark clothing, all Huguenots. They turned toward us as if on cue, bowing stiffly.

From among them stepped Coligny.

He looked healthier than the last time I'd seen him, his face more rounded and rested, his spare frame heavier and his eyes alert, piercing. Time in Chatillon with his new wife had done him wonders, and as he bowed before us a surge of dread iced my veins.

"I didn't know you were back," I said. "You should have sent word, my lord."

"Forgive me. I'd only just arrived and taken residence in my town house when I heard Her Grace of Navarre was ill. I thought it best to come here first, to offer my services."