Mortal Heart (His Fair Assassin 3)

“What? What are you not telling me?”

Instead of answering me, he smiles. The smile is so full of sorrow and loneliness that it pierces my heart. “I am sorry,” he whispers. He pulls his cloak tightly around him, steps out of the shadows, and heads for the door into the palace. Still puzzled, but relieved that he will do this, I follow.

Needing no direction, he makes his way unerringly to Isabeau’s room. I briefly wonder if he has been there before, perhaps when waiting for me. He walks slowly toward the princess’s bed, past the Brigantian nuns and the princess’s attendants, but no one in the room appears to notice him. Indeed, it is as if they cannot see him at all.

He kneels beside the bed, his manner so gentle it makes me want to weep. As his hood slips away from his face, the light from the candles in the room casts his profile in harsh relief, plucking at a buried string of memory.

Isabeau looks up at him with enormous eyes, and he reaches for her small, thin hand. “Be not afraid,” he says, and she nods her head, her eyes never leaving his.

“It is not so very scary a place, where we are going. And you will not be alone. I will take you there myself.”

I stare at that noble brow, at the hood puddled around his neck, and recognition begins to seep into me.

Young Isabeau turns to Anne and gives her a brave little smile. “Do not be sad, Anne. I will not be alone. Besides,” she adds shyly, “you have always gone first. This time, it will be my turn to go first, and I will wait for you.” The duchess grabs Isabeau’s hand, silent tears streaming down her face. She still does not look at the stranger kneeling beside her.

And then—even though Isabeau is not yet dead—my lover leans forward, gathers Isabeau up in his arms, and cradles her against his chest.

Except it is not her, but her soul, for her body still lies on the bed, as empty as a husk.

No, I think. It is not possible. A hellequin cannot call a soul from its body.

Isabeau peeks over his broad shoulder and gives me a tiny wave. Then, together, the two of them step through the door, and none but the living remain.

That is when I realize that I have not fallen in love with a mere hellequin, but with Death Himself.

Chapter Forty-Five

I SINK TO MY KNEES beside the duchess and she remains by the bed, gripping Isabeau’s hand.

Balthazaar is Death.

How could I not have known? Not have recognized it? For of course, looking back, I see all the signs are there. That deep sense of recognition. Him leading the hunt. Possessing my arrow. How could I have been so blind?

But my heart—my heart was not, for it knew Him even if my eyes were too clouded to see it.

My face flames anew when I remember the manner in which I threw His name around, and I nearly writhe in embarrassment.

And what does this mean? For me? For us? Surely there can be no future with Death?

It is too much, too huge a thing to wrap my mind around. Instead, I turn my attention to the duchess. She will need my help to begin to deal with her grief.

In the morning, before the duchess can even stir from her tears, we learn that the French army has arrived and is just outside the city.

“Where is Gisors? Bring him to me at once!” Duval is so agitated he cannot sit still and is pacing the privy chamber.

Chancellor Montauban’s brow is furrowed. “What of our scouts? Surely they should have warned us of the approaching army.”

Duval whirls upon him, jaw clenched tight, but Captain Dunois hurries to answer. “It can only mean the French erected checkpoints along the road and intercepted our scouts so they could not bring us the news.”

I look at Duval, the reason for his distress suddenly clear. What of Ismae? Will they have intercepted her?

The messenger returns just then, his face white. “Ambassador Gisors is no longer in the palace, my lord. He and his retinue left last night.”

Duval clenches his fist, clearly wishing to smash it into something. However, he politely dismisses the messenger before swearing a black oath. “It was a trap. A setup. They knew we would not surrender, but they thought to divert us with such talk.”

“And it worked,” Chalon points out.

Duval’s head whips up. “Only because they stopped our scouts and left us blind.” But it is clear that he blames himself.

The duchess tries to remain brave in the face of this setback. “What must we do to combat the siege?” Her voice is small, and she sounds painfully like the child she is.

All eyes turn to her, and Duval’s voice is gentle. “There is not much to be done but play out our hand. We knew this was coming, Your Grace.”

“Although we had hoped we’d have more time,” Captain Dunois says.

“But we do not.” Marshal Rieux’s voice is curt and abrupt.

“So what do we do now?” asks the bishop, trying not to wring his hands.

“Fight,” Dunois says grimly. “Or surrender.”

“Surely that is not an option,” Chalon says. “Not after we have turned down every chance they have given us to make peace. They will grant us no quarter, nor will we be able to negotiate favorable terms of surrender.”

“We can withstand a siege for months,” Chancellor Montauban points out.

“Yes, but to what end? There is no more aid coming. Whatever victory we will wrest from this thing must done with what we have on hand. All our aid and supplies will be cut off. Before long, they will starve us out. And again, to what end? Simply to surrender later rather than sooner?”

“Enough!” Duval cuts off Chalon.

Marshal Rieux shifts in his seat. “It will take days before the supply trains arrive, let alone their siege engines. We have a little time. Best to have the men ride out immediately and secure all the food supplies and livestock that can be found. No point in leaving it for our enemies, and we will have need of it soon enough.”

Duval nods. “Agreed. We must also find out their numbers, their plans. What siege engines they will bring.” He glances up at Captain Dunois. “Whom shall we send?”

Sybella steps away from her place behind the duchess. “I will go,” she says, and I am immediately filled with shame that I did not think to make such an offer.

“What?” she asks, seeing the

councilors’ horrified looks. “Do you think if you ride out on your chargers with shield and banner flying, they will simply confess to you their strategy?” She snorts. “Do not be absurd. But they will never expect a woman, for who is more invisible than a camp follower or laundress? No one notices a woman’s comings and goings.”

Beast looks as if he wishes to put his head down on the table and weep. Or perhaps lock Sybella up in her chamber for the next few weeks.

Duval sends an apologetic glance Beast’s way. “Very well. But be careful, and if there is any sign of trouble, get back here immediately. Find out how many troops they have, what engines of war they bring, how many cannon, if any. We need to know precisely what we are up against.”

Sybella curtsies, then quits the room, grateful, I think, to have some action to perform. Unlike the rest of us, who must wait and wonder.

“Should I go as well?” I offer belatedly.

“No.” Duval gives a decisive shake of his head. “I want one of you to stay with the duchess.”

“You think France will make an attempt on her life?” Captain Dunois asks.

“No, but I am not willing to stake her safety on that.” Duval turns to the window and rubs a hand over his face. Between Isabeau’s death and this, he appears to have aged ten years in a single night. “There has been no word from Ismae?”

It is not clear whom he is asking, so I glance at the abbess. She gives a curt shake of her head, then realizes he cannot see it. “No, my lord. There has been no word. But as it was not a convent-sanctioned escapade, I do not expect she would be in contact with me.”

He sends her a searing glare that would shrivel a lesser woman, then turns to me, his face more gentle. “Have you heard anything?”

“No, my lord.”

“Very well. But if you do, send word to me immediately. I have promised my sister I will help with the funeral arrangements.” At the words, a fresh wave of grief passes across his face. He is such a good tactician, so great a strategist, that it is easy to forget he is also an older brother who has just lost a sibling.