Grave Mercy (His Fair Assassin 1)

Author: Robin LaFevers

“But he brings with him an army compared to Nemours’s paltry offer!” Rieux sputters. “An army we will need to stand against the French. ”

“Let us put it to a vote,” Crunard says. “All in favor?”

Anne’s voice is first to answer “aye,” but Duval’s “aye” is a close second.

“Nay,” says Rieux, followed by Madame Dinan’s softer “Nay. ”

There is a pause, then Captain Dunois speaks. “I am sorry, Your Grace, but as captain of your army, I must point out that without d’Albret fighting by your side, we will need to find additional allies, and as yet we have had no luck in convincing others to our cause. But as a father, I cannot help but be glad of this newest development. ”

“Chancellor?” says Anne. "What say you? How will you vote in this matter?”

“I am most pleased at this new development,” Crunard says. “Although it does create problems of its own. even so, I vote aye. ”

I sigh in relief on the duchess’s behalf. Just as Duval is reminding them to speak of the Nemours offer to no one, there is a faint whisper of sound behind me. I whip my head around in time to see the latch lifting.

Moving quickly, I pull my long dagger from my ankle sheath and cross the room to stand behind the door.

It creaks open, momentarily blocking my view and trapping me between it and the wall. Madame Hivern again? I wonder. Or perhaps François?

Or maybe Sybella, for why is she in Guérande if not to protect our duchess?

Almost as if sensing the relaxing of my guard, the intruder slams the door into me. I swear as my shoulder crashes into the unforgiving stone, then I spring forward, dagger ready.

Too late. The intruder is already fleeing down the hallway. I step into the corridor in time to see him disappear around a corner. Determined to catch up, I break into a run.

The labyrinth of palace hallways work to my advantage, for every time he turns a corner, he must slow down just enough that I can catch sight of him. One of the circular stairways looms ahead, and the spy takes the steps two at a time. Cursing my cumbersome court garb, I lift my skirts and follow. when I am but halfway up the stairs, I hear the click of a door opening and then shutting.

when I gain the landing, I am dismayed to see a dozen chambers stretching out as far as the eye can see. Swearing in frustration, I approach the first one on my right but sense no spark of life behind it. The first room on the left is similarly empty. I pause at every door until the fifth, where I sense a pulse of life.

I stop long enough to draw my knives, then, moving as silently as possible, I lift the latch and push open the door.

There is a whisper of movement at the open window, then nothing. I race over and peer outside just in time to see a dark figure disappearing through an archway at the side of the courtyard.

At least he is limping. Hopefully, he broke his bedamned leg when he jumped. I sheathe my knives and return to tell Duval of this new twist.

Two days after Duval informed the Privy Council of Nemours’s offer, his brother François invites me to play chess. I accept, wondering if there is some ulterior motive to the invitation.

François is waiting at a table in the grand salon, his attention on setting up the chessboard, which gives me a moment to study him unobserved. That he would betray his own sister makes him dishonorable. That he is Duval’s brother makes him fascinating.

He glances up just then and I smile shyly, as if I have been caught admiring him. He rises to his feet and bows. “Good morning, demoiselle. ”

“Good morning,” I reply as I take my seat.

“Duval let you out for the morning?”

“Duval is busy with the duchess and her councilors. ” I grimace with distaste, and François clucks his tongue in sympathy.

"What will you choose, my lady, white or black?” I look down at the ornately carved pieces in front of me.

“Black, I think. ”

His brows raise in surprise. “You give up the first move then?” “Is not the defensive position the stronger?” I ask sweetly. He laughs. “You have been spending too much time with my

brother and his strategies. Very well, I shall go first. ” He reaches for his king’s pawn and moves it forward two paces. I respond by moving a knight’s pawn forward one pace.

François gives me a sly look. “No hesitation; I like that in a lady. ” It would be hard to miss the double meaning in his words.

“I hesitate when it is called for, my lord, and your game has not called for it yet. ”

He laughs, and I am pleased at how artfully I fall into this flirtation. “A challenge,” he says, his eyes glittering at the prospect.

I let my face grow sober. “Speaking of challenges, what did you think of the estates meeting? were you as shocked as everyone else with Count d’Albret’s threat of war?”

François’s cheerful face turns grave. “I was. He is not known for idle threats. ”

I cannot tell if he is concerned for the duchess or his own aspirations. “Your poor sister already has her hands full with France, she does not need d’Albret’s rebellion on top of everything else. ”

“Indeed, she does not. ” He smiles tightly. “But I am certain Duval will take care of it. He always does. ” He sneaks his bishop out from behind the pawn and takes my knight. when he looks up, our eyes meet. “Your move,” he says softly.

I keep my expression light and turn the conversation to other matters. “Your brother serves Saint Camulos,” I say as I consider the board. "What saint do you serve, if any? Saint Amourna, perhaps? Or Saint Salonius?” The moment the name crosses my lips, I wish to take it back. As François is a bastard, there is a very real chance he was dedicated to Saint Salonius, patron saint of mistakes.

Overlooking my blunder, he claps his hand to his heart. “You wound me, demoiselle! Arduinna?”

I shrug. “You are most charming, so it seems fitting to me. ”

François’s brown eyes grow serious. “There is more to me than that, demoiselle. ”

“Is there now?” I ask, putting just a touch of doubt in my voice so that he will be compelled to prove it to me.

In spite of the seriousness that has fallen over him, he smiles. “I was dedicated to Saint Mer,” he says, "With the hopes that I would have a naval career. ” He gives a self-deprecating grimace. “Until we discovered that I become deathly seasick and am of absolutely no use to anyone on a boat. ”

I laugh, as he intends me to, but I am more than a little surprised to find that I grieve for him as well. It is no small thing to be dedicated to a saint you cannot serve. “And your sister the duchess?” I ask.

“Ah, Saint Brigantia,” he says, then falls silent.

Of course. The patron saint of wisdom.

“You are not close to your sister, are you?”

He looks up at me again, and this time his normally open gaze is unreadable. “I was not given a chance. From the time of her birth, Duval was her champion; I could never get close. ”

I study him. It is not the faint bitterness in his voice that surprises me but the faint echo of abandonment. “You miss him,” I say in surprise.