Chapter 28: The Royal Colony

Trois‑Rivières, New France. Summer 1663

Over the following seven years, the French presence along the St. Lawrence rapidly expands, until their small settlements become towns, and the indigenous villages are pushed farther away. An uneasy peace remains between the French and the Algonquian, thanks in part to Agnès tireless efforts towards resolving disputes through diplomacy rather than war. The Iroquois raids continue, but they’re increasingly an annoyance rather than a serious threat.

Trois‑Rivières, once a fragile frontier outpost of wood smoke and quiet diplomacy, now churns with the heavy boots and shouted orders of new arrivals. The Royal Colony has come in to being. The French King’s decree was carried across the ocean like a storm wind. With it came the Carignan‑Salières Regiment, their polished muskets gleaming, and their uniforms stiff with authority.

Agnès stands from a vantage point overlooking the quayside, watching soldiers unload crates and barrels from the barge that has come up the river. Another barge brings more soldiers and their cannon. Administrators in fine coats stride through the mud, barking instructions, measuring the land and marking boundaries with stakes. Everything is changing. And not gently.

French settlers gather near the trading post, whispering with excitement and fear.

“Finally, real soldiers.”

“They’ll drive the Iroquois back.”

“They’ll bring order.”

“They’ll secure more land for our farms.”

Agnès hears every word. She walks toward the mission house, where Father Lambert stands with two newly arrived officials with sharp and calculating expressions. They are already assessing her.

One of them ... a man with a narrow face and powdered hair ... speaks first.

“You are the interpreter, Agnès‑Waban Ahoté?” he asks.

She nods cautiously. “I am.”

“We have reviewed the governor’s directives,” he continues. “Indigenous relations must be formalized. They are to be regulated and controlled. There are to be no more informal councils. No more unsupervised negotiations.”

Agnès’s stomach tightens. Father Lambert shifts uneasily.

“Agnès has been essential to peace,” he says.

The official’s eyes narrow. “Peace will now be maintained by the King’s soldiers.”

Agnès feels the blow like a physical strike. I float closer so that she is calmed by my presence. Her pulse trembles through the bracelet.

Later, she walks through the settlement, watching soldiers erect new fortifications. These are taller, thicker, and far more imposing than anything before. They cut trees without asking. They dig trenches without consulting. They mark land that has belonged to Algonquian families for generations.