Dark Triumph (His Fair Assassin 2)

Author: Robin LaFevers

“The ones in the old tower. It is well and truly haunted. Many have heard the ghosts moaning and wailing and making a terrible noise. ”

Tephanie crosses herself, then turns to me. “Here is your clean chemise, my lady. ”

I set down my wine and shrug out of my robe. Tephanie’s cheeks pinken with embarrassment as she helps me into my shift. “My lady is growing thin,” she murmurs. “You must try to eat more. ”

While I cannot help but wish she were less observant, I am inexplicably touched that she has noticed.

“It does not help your looks any that you insist on wearing all these dark colors,” Jamette says, holding out a gown of patterned black brocade. “It makes you appear unnaturally pale. ” What she chafes at is that my complexion is fairer than hers.

“I’m afraid my time at the convent of Saint Brigantia has lessened my love of material luxuries,” I tell her. Since rejoining d’Albret’s household, I have worn nothing but somber colors—not because of some newfound piousness, but out of respect for all those d’Albret has murdered.

Tephanie hands me the silver chain from which my special crucifix hangs and helps to fasten it about my waist. The chain also holds nine glass rosary beads, one for each of the old saints and every one of them filled with poison. “If we hurry,” she says, “we can attend mass this morning. ”

I glance up at her. “Do you want to attend mass?”

She shrugs. “It seems like a good day for it. ”

“Tephanie, my little mouse, what forgiveness must you pray for?” Her sins can only be those of a small child—the wanting of a sweet or a new gown. But she blushes in embarrassment, and I am pricked with guilt for having teased her. “Go,” I tell her. “Attend your mass. ”

Her face falls. “You mean, alone?”

“I do not wish to pray for forgiveness. ”

“Although, Heavenly Father knows, you need it more than most,” Jamette mutters. I pretend I do not hear her but add it to her long list of transgressions.

“Wait,” I tell Tephanie. “You are right. With rebels and ghosts lurking in every corner, it is not safe to wander this castle’s halls. ” They do not catch my irony, but the truth is, we have more to fear from those who claim to protect us than from any rebel or spirit.

I tug my skirt into place and then hurry to one of my trunks. I retrieve two of my smaller knives and turn back to the others.

Tephanie’s eyes widen. “Where did you get those?” she asks.

“From my brothers, goose, where do you think? Here. ” I thrust one at her. “Carry it from the chain at your waist. You, too. ” I hand the second one to Jamette. “Now, hurry along or you will miss your mass,” I tell Tephanie.

“But—”

“When you are done, come find us in the solar. ” Realizing she will never leave unless I order her to, I add, “You are dismissed. ”

After a moment’s hesitation, she bobs a curtsy and then, still clutching her knife, hurries from the room.

When she is gone, I sit down so Jamette can dress my hair. In truth, I can do a better job myself, but it irks her to have to serve me, so I relish giving the task to her. It is almost not worth it, for she is intentionally ungentle and there are some days, like today, when I fear she will tug all the hair from my head. It makes me long for Annith and Ismae, their gentle hands and soothing ways. Not to mention their razor-sharp wits. My heart twists with longing, hot and bitter.

As I glance resentfully at Jamette’s reflection in the mirror, I see she sports a new ring on her finger, fashioned of pearls and a ruby. A prize, no doubt, for carrying reports of my movements and actions back to my father. I cannot help but hate her for it; I already feel trapped and suffocated. Knowing that she relays my every move to him makes it nearly impossible to breathe.

After I have dressed and broken my fast, there is nothing for it but to join the other ladies in the solar. I dare not attempt any spying today, as my father and his men will no doubt be extra alert in the days to come. I must be content with what I accomplished yesterday, for I did accomplish much, I remind myself. I saved the duchess from d’Albret’s trap and got Tilde and Odette to safety. There are many weeks when I am not granted any such victories.

With a resigned sigh, I grab my embroidery basket. At least I will have something entertaining to occupy my mind: plotting how best to kill the two marqued barons. Smiling, I open my chamber door and nearly bump into—“Julian!” I say, all the joy I have been feeling crumbling to dust. “What are you doing here so early?”

“I come to wish you a good morning, fair sister. ” He glances over at Jamette, who is making calf eyes at him. “We must speak privately for a moment, if you please. ”

Looking disappointed, she curtsies, and before I can think of an excuse to keep her near, she is gone. “What is it?” I ask, my face a picture of concern.

Julian’s face is carefully blank. “Where were you last night?”

My heart thuds painfully against my ribs. “I was here in my room—where were you?”

He ignores my question. “Then why did you not answer when I knocked?”

“I took a sleeping draft for the vile headache I had. ”

Julian’s face softens and he lifts his hand to tuck a strand of my hair in place. “I could have soothed away your headache, had I but known. ”

With all my secrets that he keeps hanging in the balance, I smile up at him and tap him playfully on the chest. “Then next time, knock louder. ”

When he smiles back, I know that he believes me. As he lifts my hand and places a lingering kiss upon it, I wonder—for the hundredth time—how on earth I let the convent talk me into returning to my family.