Mortal Heart (His Fair Assassin 3)

“Do the gods themselves know this?”

He nods. “Yes.” There is an ocean of sympathy and compassion in his face. “Child.” He reaches out and takes my hand in his. “Your love cannot change a man—or a god. All it can do is open a door, create a new path for him to choose. One that has not been open to him before. That is what the power of your love can offer him—all of that, and no more.”

I look away. “I have no desire to change him, only to see him happy.”

“I am certain your love does make him happy. Whether it will give him the courage to step through that door remains to be seen.”

Chapter Fifty-Three

TWO DAYS LATER, the planning begins in earnest. The duchess insists on being a part of it, claiming if I can make the sacrifice, the least she can do is stay informed. Ismae and Sybella are there as well, but more as moral support, I suspect, than in any official capacity. The abbess too has somehow managed to worm her way into the proceedings, and it is all I can do not to ask the duchess to order her from the room.

Beast has invited both the Arduinnites and the charbonnerie to attend, arguing that they have skills and knowledge that may prove useful to us. The Arduinnites have only been helping with maintaining order in the city for a matter of days, and already he is impressed with them.

It is odd, seeing them in the same room as the duchess’s formal councilors, yet it feels right that all of the country’s forces, both the old and the new, should come together to find a way to turn the tides of war from our land. In spite of the Arduinnites’ unusual dress and unrefined manner, their presence and bearing is as regal as the duchess’s, and I am proud to be one of Arduinna’s line.

We have just sat down—the bishop as far away from the Arduinnites as he can manage, as if he is afraid they will taint his own faith just by their proximity—when the door opens. Duval whirls around to face the interloper. “I told you we were not to be disturbed.”

Before the white-faced page can speak, a dark brooding figure fills the doorway. Without waiting for an invitation, he steps inside. Ismae gasps, her hand flying to her mouth, and Sybella’s lips part in surprise, but no sound emerges.

Balthazaar walks slowly forward. “For too long I have kept to the shadows, and I will do so no longer. I would be a part of this.”

The bishop crosses himself, and beside him Father Effram bows low, his cowl falling over his head as he does. No one else says anything or ventures into the awkward silence growing larger by the moment. I rise to my feet and clear my throat. “Your Grace, Lord Duval, may I present my lord, Mortain.”

The duchess’s eyes widen, but with curiosity and wonder rather than fear. She motions him forward. “Pray, join us.”

Duval grows distinctly pale, and even Beast looks caught somewhere between awe and discomfiture. But it is the abbess’s reaction that is most satisfying. Her entire body stiffens in surprise. Mortain turns to look at her a long moment, until she finally looks away, her guilt and shame burning inside her like a candle.

Duval clears his throat. “My lord. We were just discussing a way to get Annith into the French camp so she can fire Arduinna’s arrow at their king.”

“I know.” Mortain comes to stand next to Duval and looks down at the map the others have made. “Please continue.”

Duval tugs briefly at the collar of his doublet, then resumes. “I have been thinking, perhaps it would be best if Annith disguised herself as a camp follow—um, a laundress—as Ismae suggested, and insinuated herself into the camp. Then she could choose the right time to make her move. In the confusion that follows, there is a good chance she could easily slip into the nearby woods to hide for a few days.”

Mortain stares down at the map, one white finger tracing a line from the center pavilion off to the side of the camp where it meets the forest. “That is a lot of occupied ground to cover with no escort.”

Marshal Rieux gives a sharp shake of his head. “In any case, I’m afraid that it is no longer a possibility.”

“Why not?”

“Because this morning, scouts and sentries reported that the French are moving their scaling towers and cannon into range, even as we speak.”

“How soon until they will be ready to fire?”

Rieux shrugs. “It could be as little as two days from now.”

Duval swears a black oath. “So, even time is no longer on our side.” He runs his hand through his hair. “That reduces our options to an outright assault or a sortie of some kind.”

Captain Dunois furrows his brow. “Neither of which creates a clear path for getting the girl back to safety.”

“What if we created a diversion? Sent out a sortie to distract them, then sent out a second, smaller contingent to punch through to the pavilion during the ensuing scramble?”

“In addition to the second sortie,” Beast muses, “we could use our own cannon. Remind the French that we have them and maybe even take out a few of theirs while we’re at it.”

Mortain’s voice fills the room. “But that still leaves Annith’s safe return to chance.”

The room falls silent. “We could mount a full-scale charge,” says Marshal Rieux. “Use what remaining mercenaries we have left to us.”

“If they will even fight. Many of them will not until they are paid what is owed them.”

Captain Dunois rubs his face with his hand. “That reminds me. There is another contingent of mercenaries demanding to leave the city.”

Mortain looks quizzically at him, and Duval attempts to explain. “The French king is buying off our mercenaries, hiring them out from under us.” He turns to Dunois. “Let them go, and good riddance.”

“Wait!” Beast’s eyes grow distant, as if he is studying some invisible map that only he can see. “How many mercenaries are attempting to leave?”

“Three or four hundred.”

A grin spreads across Beast’s face, lighting it with a nearly unholy glee. “We have just found our way out of the city.”

Duval grins back, discerning his meaning at

once. “Our forces can slip out with the mercenaries.”

Mortain plants his hands on the table and leans forward. “While it is an excellent plan for getting to the French king, it does not address how Annith will get safely back into the city.”

“We will have to plan two diversions and utilize our cannon. We could send a sortie out this sally port.” Duval points to the map. “The French would think we were taking advantage of the departing mercenaries when, in truth, we would be creating a diversion of our own. It is common enough for the besieged to make forays into enemy camp hoping to find food or loot of some kind.

“Then, even if the first group posing as mercenaries can’t get her back, the second group can clear a path for her.”

“But who will clear a path for them?” My question gives all of them pause. “We are trying to avoid countless deaths, not hasten them.” The duchess and I exchange glances, and suddenly, I have no idea how she has borne the weight of these decisions. I do not think I could bear it. “You are asking them all to sacrifice their lives simply to give me a chance to shoot the arrow. An arrow we do not even know will work—”

“It will work,” Mortain says.

“Even so, we cannot ask so many men to ride to what will certainly be their death.”

There is a long moment of silence. “That is what they are trained for,” Captain Dunois explains gently. “And they well understand the need for some to die in order that a great many more can live. It is the very nature of a soldier’s life.”

Mortain looks at me. “What if,” he asks softly, “we do not ask your men to ride to their death? Instead, we will ask those that are already dead.”

“The hellequin,” I whisper.

“The hellequin. They wish to atone for their sins and find redemption. I believe sparing thousands of lives will grant them that.”

The bishop clears his throat. “Can they be trusted to ride on such a mission without you leading them?”