Then I heard him say, "Sometimes we must strike first, before we are struck in turn," and I froze, meeting his eyes. In them, I saw what I had for so long anticipated-and dreaded.

Silence fell between us, taut like the pull on fabric before it shreds.

"You admit it," I breathed. "You admit everything."

"I do. I fought for the only thing I had left: my faith. You and I had reached an impasse. Where you saw compromise, I did not. But believe me, I never meant to become your enemy."

"And yet," I said, "here we are." I drew back, lifting my chin. "You will resign from the Council and leave Paris. You are unfit. Be grateful that I spare your life, for no other monarch would."

"If His Majesty commands it, I will submit." He stepped close to me, his voice so low it was almost inaudible. "You make a mistake if you think I am of any account. My faith will prevail, with or without me. We will fight for Navarre and a Huguenot France. Nothing you do can change that."

"You ... you think you can threaten me?" I whispered. "If so, then you are the one who is mistaken, for come what may, I will prevail." I took one last look at him, engraving this moment in my memory so I would never be tempted to rue this day. "We are done here, my lord."

He bowed and walked out, without a single glance back.

A cold pit opened in my stomach. I turned to my desk, retrieved the sealed note I had written that morning. I called for a page. "Bring this to my son, Prince Henri."

After that, I went about my business. I wrote my letters, bathed, changed one black gown for another, and sat down to dine. At one in the afternoon as my supper was being served, in the street winding from the Louvre to the rue de Bethisy a shot rang out.

Lucrezia was clearing the table when Henri came to me. Leaning to my ear he whispered, "They got him. But he's not dead. He had men with him; they saw the house from where the shot was fired. When they broke in, a harquebus was on the table. It had Guise's insignia on it."

I looked at Lucrezia, standing still with the water pitcher in hand. I waved her out, shoving back my chair angrily to stand. "He's a fool! I told you, I wanted it done anonymously."

Henri heaved an exasperated breath. "He wanted them to know who had avenged his father."

"Then he's put us all in danger. Coligny threatened me; he said he'd fight for Navarre. Now, instead of a corpse, we have a wounded leader who'll demand justice."

Henri frowned. "They say the shot went through his shoulder. Maybe he'll die."

"Not soon enough." I struggled for calm, for control, even as I felt myself tumbling into an abyss. "We must send our Dr. Pare to him. Then I'll take Charles and visit."

Henri gaped at me. "But they'll all be there, his men, the other Huguenot leaders ..." His voice faded into understanding. "I see. We must act as if we had nothing to do with it."

Turning from him, I called for Birago. As he hustled away to get Charles, I said to Henri: "Keep Guise out of sight. At dusk, bring him to the oleander grotto in the Tuileries."

We went by coach to the rue de Bethisy, flanked by armed guards.

A crowd of Huguenots already stood vigil outside Coligny's house. In less than an hour, word had spread. By nightfall, I feared, all of Paris would be in tumult.

As we descended from the coach, someone yelled, "Murderers! Papist fiends!" and Charles cringed. I raised my chin. No one dared forbid us entrance, and in the main hall of the house we found more Huguenots, all men who went silent at our appearance. To my disbelief, Navarre stepped forth, his hair disheveled and chemise unlaced, as if he'd just woken from a nap.

"How is he?" I asked.

Navarre searched my face. I almost looked away, wondering if he'd see the complicity etched on my features. "He was shot in the shoulder. It's bad, but we're told he'll survive." He glanced at Charles, then back at me. "You shouldn't have come. It wasn't necessary. They already know who did it. You should be issuing a warrant for Guise's arrest."

"We will, when we know all the facts. Now, take us to him."

Navarre led us to the staircase. The Huguenots parted as we passed. No one said a word.

Upstairs, Pare bustled to me, older now, but with the same brisk efficiency he'd shown when attending to my husband and eldest son in their death throes. "The wound is deep," he said in a low voice. "I've extracted the bullet and set the bone. He lost a finger and his elbow is shattered, but if he rests and keeps the dressing clean, in time he will recover."

Charles had stepped to the bed where Coligny lay. Supine on the narrow mattress, he looked very small, almost insignificant.

Until he raised his eyes to me and I saw them smolder with all the force of his will.

Charles said softly, "My friend, I promise to find the culprit and exact full retribution."

Coligny did not take his stare from me. Everything around us faded. "Your Majesty," I heard him whisper, "I suspect no other than Guise."

I moved to the bed. "Pare says you will recover. I am glad, for I remember when le Balafre was shot. The doctors said if the bullet could have been extracted, he might have lived."

Coligny smiled. "As I said once to you, my life is of no account."

As his smile knifed through me, I suddenly understood. It all came into monstrous focus. He wanted to die. He wanted to perish for his faith, for then he'd wield greater power than he ever had alive. He too had learned his lesson from the murder of le Balafre.

He had seen the devotion martyrs could engender.

I met his burning stare. "My only regret," he said, and he turned his eyes to Charles, "is that my wound prevents me from serving Your Majesty at this perilous time." His hand reached up to grip Charles's; even as I watched, horrified, Charles bent down and Coligny whispered, pressing as he did something into Charles's palm.

Then he collapsed upon his pillows, his face ashen.

Charles turned to me and held out his hand. "Here is the bullet."

I glanced at the shredded nub. "We must let the admiral rest," I said, and I could feel Coligny watching us as I took Charles by the hand and guided him to the door.

Our guards surrounded us. In the coach, seated opposite each other while we lurched over cobblestones, I asked, "What did he say to you?"

Tears swam in Charles's eyes. "Nothing," he murmured, and the moment we reached the Louvre, he rushed past Birago into the palace. Birago met my stare.

"Come with me," I said to him.

In the oleander grotto, delicate bushes transported from Florence sat in tubs filled with native soil, waiting to be replanted. Their red and white blossoms were brazen, their scent as overpowering as their distilled essence could be lethal. Hedges ringed beds of rosemary and marjoram; scattered throughout were enamel salamanders, frogs, snakes, and grinning satyrs.

Two men approached us. One moved with a grace I recognized at once; the other was taller, broader. My throat tightened when he swept back his cloak's hood. With his handsome, chiseled features, white-gold hair, and those deep blue eyes he had the beauty of a young lion.

Beside him, Henri was a dark panther, rubies glimmering about his bare throat, his hair loose about his shoulders and the beginnings of a goatee sharpening his chin.

"You are in grave danger," I told Guise. "You should not have failed me."

His eyes met mine. His voice when he spoke was husky, made for the bedroom. "I know. Already the heretics surround my hotel. They wave cudgels and knives, and scream for my head. I'm fortunate His Highness was with me or they'd have fallen on me like locusts." His full lips parted in a disdainful smile. "I hope there are no heretics hiding in the bushes here."

As Henri let out a laugh, I retorted, "It is no joking matter. If we don't act quickly, we could face another war, only this time they'll burn down Paris." I motioned to Birago. "Tell them."

Birago was like a gnarled branch in his velvet robe, wisps of hair on his liver-spotted pate, yet he spoke with authority. "Over six thousand Huguenots are here; many came for the wedding but have yet to leave. Should they decide to seek retribution for the attempt on Coligny, they'll do far more than wave cudgels and knives at our gates. They could storm the Louvre itself."

Guise stood silent. "Then let me make amends," he said at length.

I stared at him. "I gave you a time and place to do the deed, and you bungled it. What makes you think I'd entrust anything more to you save safe passage to your estate in Joinville?"

"I don't expect you to trust me," he replied with surprising calm. "But I assure you that this time, I will not fail. Unlike Lazarus not even Coligny can rise from the grave."

Henri stepped to me. "Maman, I will go with him. We will kill everyone in the house."

Without warning, I heard my dead father-in-law's voice in my head.

That is the way of life, ma petite. Sometimes we must strike first ...

I pressed a hand to my chest, turning toward the Seine, its acrid stench intermingling with the sweetness of my garden. I couldn't deny it anymore. If he recovered, Coligny would fight me-to the death. It was his life or mine.

I turned back around. They shifted in the shadows: Guise a statue of ivory, Henri sleek and part of the night, Birago a wavering reflection of my own self.

"All of them?" I whispered, and the faces of those I'd seen in the house flashed before me. They had wives, children. Could I live with their deaths?

"All of them." Guise recited the names impassively. "Coligny's son-in-law Teligny, his captain Aubigne, the nobles Rochefoucauld, Souissy, and Armagnac: they are in that house and they must die. The Huguenot cause will never recover." He paused, glancing at Henri, who made a deprecatory gesture. Guise returned his gaze to me. "You have Navarre. I suggest you keep him under guard until this is over. It goes without saying he can never return to his realm."

I hesitated, looking at each of them. My heart pounded in my ears. I thought of what they were asking of me, what I would set in motion if I agreed, and then, just as I began to doubt, I remembered Coligny's words: We will fight for Navarre and a Huguenot France ...

It was him or me. It had always been him or me.

I felt myself nod. "Tomorrow night," I said quietly. "You can act then."

Guise bowed. With a wink at me, Henri pulled up his hood.

"What day is tomorrow?" I asked, as they disappeared into the lengthening shadows.

"Sunday the twenty-fifth," said Birago. "The Eve of St. Bartholomew, patron of healers."

The next day, at twelve o'clock of another scorching afternoon, I received word that Navarre had returned from his morning visit to Coligny. My son Hercule had joined him in his apartments and I dispatched our court prostitutes there, to ensure they had enough flesh and wine to lull them for hours, so they'd fail to notice the guards at their door. When Henri returned from his evening patrol to report that there had been no disturbances in Paris, though Huguenots still crammed the alleys and lanes around Coligny's house, I went to see Charles.

As I spoke to him, he sat on his bed with his hound beside him, juggling the shred of bullet back and forth in his hands. "So, it's true," he said when I finished. "Guise shot him."

"No." I leaned forward in my chair. "I told Guise to do it. My only regret is that he failed. I met with Coligny in the morning; I had hoped to save his life, but he threatened me. After I pardoned him for acts no other would, he admitted he was responsible for le Balafre's murder and he would fight to put Navarre on your throne. I decided I had no other choice."

Charles lowered his head; a low broken sound came from him. "Why do they hate us so much?" he whispered. "I don't understand. Why, when all we ever wanted was peace?"

"It's not all of them. Charles, look at me." I cupped his chin, raised his face to me. He had emulated Henri and started to grow a goatee, but in that instant all I saw was the boy he'd been when le Balafre and Coligny first went to war, with the same stricken bewilderment in his eyes. "It's not all of them. There are many Huguenots who revere their king, who desire peace as much as we do. Do you understand? We must do this to save them."

A tear rolled down his pale cheek. The bullet slipped from his hand to the floor as he nodded, hugged his knees to his chest, and coiled up next to his dog.

I left him in Birago's care. In the corridor, I found Henri waiting. "There's to be no change in our plans," I told him. "Guise's anger for Coligny still burns hot; I don't want him going any further than the men in that house."

"I'll oversee everything." He gave me a reassuring smile. "Trust me, Maman. After tonight, you'll never have to worry about the Huguenots again."

His words left me unsettled, though I didn't know why. I could not turn back, I told myself as I returned to my rooms. I could not afford to indulge doubt or regret. I had to do whatever was necessary to preserve France. Other rulers before me had done away with their enemies; and Coligny was a traitor. He deserved to die for what he'd done.

Still, I barely tasted my food, sitting in silence while my women moved about sorting odds and ends, until I thought to ask, "Has anyone seen Margot?"

Anna-Maria shook her head. "No, my lady. She has been keeping to her rooms, but I heard that she planned to dine with Queen Isabel this evening in her apartments."

It sounded reasonable enough and yet I found myself thinking it would be better if Margot stayed with me tonight. Isabel retired early. Who knew where my daughter might stray? I didn't want her going to see her husband or brother Hercule and finding guards at their door.

"I'll fetch her," I said. "I feel the need for company. Lucrezia, come with me. Anna-Maria, stay here and ready a truckle bed for her in my room."

I pulled my velvet shawl about my shoulders, opened the door, and stepped with Lucrezia into the corridor. On the walls, the torches sizzled, casting more smoke than light. I glanced at Lucrezia; she returned my look with a wariness that made me again aware of what was happening beyond the palace walls. It was almost as if I could see the armed men following Guise and Henri as they galloped down Paris's dark streets to the house on rue de Bethisy, where a gravely wounded man lay in his bed, unaware that death approached.

"It'll be fine," I said to Lucrezia, and, I think, to myself. "You'll see. It will all be fine ..."

As we wound through the long passages of the old palace, I was struck by the silence. There were no official entertainments planned tonight, so the court had no doubt scattered to its own diversions, yet the Louvre was preternaturally hushed. It disconcerted me; I was used to seeing groups of women swishing past in gem-spangled gowns and lithe men prowling the shadows. We were overcrowded with guests of rank invited to the wedding; yet now it seemed as if the entire palace stood empty.

I glanced again at Lucrezia. "It's like a tomb. Where is everyone?"

She shook her head. "I don't know." Something in her tone, almost like an expectant fear, brought me to a halt. "Lucrezia, what is it?"

"It's nothing," she began, and she paused, gazing at me from within the shawl she had pulled over her head. "I thought you knew. Rumor is, His Majesty is unwell and ordered an early curfew."

"Unwell?" I frowned. "But I left Charles only a few hours ago. He was upset but not ..."

Trust me, Maman. After tonight, you'll never have to worry about the Huguenots again.

As I recalled Henri's cryptic words, a sudden gasp escaped me. I began walking, more quickly now, a hand at my throat. Lucrezia hastened after me. We traversed a courtyard littered with gravel and other refuse, the fountain in the center a mess of rubble, part of my ongoing renovations; I stumbled and felt Lucrezia grip my arm. She pointed at my feet. Looking down, I saw I still wore my soft-soled indoor slippers.

"I should have changed my shoes," I said. We skirted the fountain and moved toward an arcade illumined by sconces, where a staircase led up to Isabel's apartments.

It was then that I heard the mournful toll of a tocsin.

"Saint Germain-l'Auxerrois," Lucrezia explained, to my relief. It was the church across from the Louvre; at this hour, I was usually abed myself, writing or reading, so I'd failed to recognize it. But as the bell continued to ring, signaling an emergency, fear seized me. I went still, my shawl clutched about me, Lucrezia reaching for my hand when- A pistol shot exploded. I met Lucrezia's stare. Another shot came and then a scream tore the silence, followed by another-anguished wails that reverberated into the night, punctuated by distant shouting, clanking steel, and the frantic pounding of footsteps.

Then the unearthly silence fell anew.

"Margot," I whispered. "We must find Margot before-"

A round of harquebus shots into what seemed the very space above our heads cut off my voice. Lucrezia gasped as I stood swaying, buffeted by the cacophony coming from the palace.

In a flash at the corner of my vision, something streaked past us. I jerked around, grasping Lucrezia. A lone man raced through the arcade-a youth with tousled hair, in a black doublet and hose, his mouth wide in soundless terror, hands extended as if he pushed through glass. Behind him followed a group I recognized at once as men of our court, dressed in leather jerkins and black masks, carrying pistols and knives. I watched them gain on the youth as he darted about a column, skidding to a halt when he realized too late his mistake and doubling around the way he'd come. He sprinted into the courtyard, dodging one of the men who leapt at him, nearly colliding with the fountain as he came running, running-straight to me.

His hands seemed to stretch out impossibly, fingers clawing at the air. I felt my own hand lift, reach for his. A splash of scarlet gushed from his mouth. He fell on his face inches from where I stood, a dagger stuck in his back.

With lupine howls, two of the masked men kicked him faceup and plunged their daggers repeatedly into his chest. Then one looked up and saw me. He froze.

"C'est la reine mere!" he exclaimed. I met his white-rimmed eyes through his mask; then he yanked out his blade and ran off with the group, laughing boisterously as if they were at a fete.

I looked at the corpse at my feet, the stunned green eyes already glazing over. On his blood-soaked doublet was a red shield, embroidered with interlocked chains in silver thread.

The shield of Navarre.