Author: Robin LaFevers
“I mean that you are a traitor to the crown of Brittany, and for that you must die. Saint Mortain has willed it. ”
She puts her hand to her forehead. “Is that why it grows warm in here?”
I am impressed that she does not faint or scream or cry out for help. “Yes, my lady. That is the poison beginning to work. ”
“Poison?” Her face relaxes somewhat. “Thank you for that. I am not overfond of sharp things. Or pain. ”
Her composure surprises me, as I have always thought her high-strung and overwrought. "Who besides François is involved in your plots and conspiracies?”
At her son’s name, she grows rigid with fear. “No! Not François! Do not lift your hand against him!” She rises up from the bed, crosses the distance between us, and grabs my shoulders. I wince as her slender fingers bite into my still tender wound. “It was me, all me. François wanted nothing to do with it. You must not kill him. Promise me!”
“I cannot make such a promise. If my saint bids me act, I must, but if François is innocent, Mortain will not raise a hand against him. ”
She pushes away from me, her cheeks flushed. “Do not sit in judgment of us, stupid girl. You do not know what it is like, having your life run by men. Men who care not one whit for you beyond the pleasure you can bring them in bed or the pretty way you decorate their arms. ” She clenches her fists. “You have no idea what it is like to have no choices, not one thing to call your own, not even your children. ”
“But I do, madame,” I say softly. “I assure you, no woman has the choices you speak of. She cannot choose whom she marries or which family she is born into or even what her role in this world will be. I do not differ from you in that regard, only in what I did with what I was given. ”
"What could I do when I was but fourteen and the aging French king decided he must have me in his bed at any cost? what choice did I have when he died? So I chose the duke. He was young and handsome and kind and, most of all, smitten with me. That power — the power to attract men — was the only weapon I had. ”
To my horror, I find myself sympathetic to her.
“And once I’d borne children — do you know how hard it can be for a bastard? How dispensable they are? I tried to do all in my power to assure them some measure of respect and safety in their lives. ”
Her words make me think of my mother for the first time in years. would that she had tried to protect me as well as Madame Hivern protected her children.
Madame Hivern shoves her golden hair out of her eyes and gives me a scornful look. “This love you feel for Duval is nothing to the love you would bear your child. Believe me in that, if nothing else. ”
A child. Something I have never even allowed myself to think about. Knowledge wells up from deep inside me. If I did have a child, I would protect it and serve it with every breath I drew.
It hits me with the unwelcome force of a crossbow bolt: we are alike, Hivern and I. Both women, both powerless over our own fates. who is to say I would not have done exactly as she if I had been born into her circumstances? The life I would have led with Guillo spreads out before me, his offspring hanging from my skirts. would I have grown to love them? Protect them? Could I have done any differently than Hivern had?
She sways on her feet, then stumbles over to the bed, all the will and fight seeping out of her at once. “How much longer will this take?” she asks, and I find I am nearly drowning in my reluctance to kill her. Not fully understanding my own intentions, and with a quick movement I am not sure is my own, my fingers reach up and snuff out the flame. I go to the window and throw it open, letting the cold, cleansing air rush in and chase away the cloying, sweet scent.
Hivern’s teeth begin to chatter. "W-what are you d-doing? It’s c-cold. ”
I want to shout at her that I do not know what I am doing, that mayhap I have gone mad. Instead, I cross to the bed. “Stand up. ” I grab her by the arm and haul her to her feet. "Walk. ”
She looks at me as if I am addle-brained, and perhaps I am. “I don’t want to walk. I want to sleep. Isn’t that what you want?”
"Walk!” I command. “I have an idea, a plan to protect you and François. ” That gets her feet moving.
Her gaze fuzzily tries to focus on mine, urgent. "What is it?”
“You say you lack choices in your life, and I would give you a choice. But we must walk while I do it in order to chase the poison from your body, or else you will have no choices left to you at all. ”
She looks at me, her lovely blue eyes confused and hopeful. I give her a shake. “Move. I need your head clear when you make your choice. ” But that is only partially true. I also need time to marshal my thoughts.
I cannot believe I am refusing to carry out an order from the convent. I glance at the marque upon Hivern’s face. It is one thing to agree to work with Duval on behalf of the duchess, one thing not to tell Crunard of Duval’s whereabouts, but this . . . this is to move in direct opposition of the convent’s orders — and Mortain’s.
But my mind has affixed itself on my first kill, Runnion, who also bore a marque. Duval maintained that Runnion was working for the duchess in order to cleanse his soul. That knowledge has haunted me ever since, the idea that I robbed him of forgiveness.
what if I can give Madame Hivern the choice I took from Runnion?
what if I can convince Hivern to renounce her sins and thus gain forgiveness? Surely that is not going against the convent, or the saint, but simply finding another way to do His will?
If He does not remove the marque from her, it will be easy enough to set up a second kill. And then I will also know that my actions against Runnion did not cost him forgiveness.
After three turns about the room Hivern is still shivering, but it is only from the cold now, not the effects of night whispers. Only then do I lay my offer of salvation before her. “My lady, if you and François will appear in front of the full court and swear an oath of fealty to the duchess, then perhaps I can spare your lives. But only if the oath comes from your hearts and you mean to keep such a vow, for while I might not know if you are lying, Mortain surely will, and He guides my hand in all things. ”
“If you will spare my son, I will promise you anything,” she swears.
“If François is innocent, then he should have no hesitation swearing fealty to his sister. ”
She grabs my arm and falls to her knees in supplication. “He will have no problem with such a thing,” she says. “Indeed, he will be glad to do it. As will I. ”
I watch her closely, but the marque does not fade. Hoping I am not making the biggest mistake of my life, I take her arm and pull her to her feet. “Very well then. Here’s what we will do. ”
Chapter Forty-two
That night, the duchess once again takes dinner in her chambers, so the rest of the court does the same. I am not hungry, which is just as well since Duval will need all the food Louyse has brought me.
I dismiss the older woman early under the guise of having a headache and take the precaution of locking my door. Then I take a seat by the fire and wait. I go over my actions of the afternoon for the hundredth time hoping — praying — I have made the right choice.
When Duval arrives, his doublet is unlaced and his shirt sleeves rolled up. His hair stands on end, as if he has spent the day running his hands through it. when he sees me fully dressed and sitting by the fire, his hand goes for his sword hilt and his eyes dart around the room.
“Much has happened since we last spoke,” I say quickly to reassure him. “I did not want to risk falling asleep or missing you. ”
Satisfied there is no trap waiting, he comes fully into the room and takes a seat in the chair next to mine. He shoots me a cunning glance, then pulls the white queen from the leather pouch at his belt and sets it on the arm of the chair. “It is done,” he says.