Isola

by Allegra Goodman

My guardian was my father’s cousin, Jean-François de la Rocque de Roberval, and he was a great man because he had been the King’s boyhood friend. My father had been greater still, or so Damienne had told me. As for my mother, she had royal blood. However, my guardian had the advantage because he was living.

That means he will not separate us.” I asked, “Why would he want to?” She sighed. “Why do men like him do anything? Because they can.”

As one suffering a blow to the head, I walked in a daze, my ears ringing and my vision strange. The world was now askew. My guardian had mortgaged my château. He had seized my property. Now he was taking me.

Everything we treasure has a price.

And this was New France, which Cartier called Canada, an isle so rich it was an empire in itself—but its greatest gift was the wide river—for ships might sail to the Spice Islands and China by this northwest passage.