Author: Robin LaFevers
“So You did not reject me?”
His voice, like the rustle of dying leaves, fills my head. “Never. ”
“But I have sinned against You and acted on my will alone, rather than Yours. Do I not deserve Your retribution?”
“No, for you are My daughter and I would no more punish you for plucking flowers from My garden than I would for your drawing breath. Besides, the men you killed had earned their deaths. If they had not, the knife would have missed, the quarrel gone wide, or the cup laced with poison remained untouched. ”
“Are the marques not meant for us to act upon?”
I realize I do not so much as hear Him speak as feel Him inside my mind, as if He is unfurling some great tapestry before me, filling me with understanding.
As a person’s death draws near, his soul ripens and readies itself for plucking. That ripening can be seen by some. As souls ripen, they begin to loosen from their bodies, much as fruit makes ready to leave the branch. But even the same fruits on the same tree fall at different times—occasionally defying all odds and clinging throughout the entire winter.
And just like one who toils in the orchards, He does not control everything. Not the wind, nor the rain, nor the sun. And just as those elements shape the fruit on the tree, so do many factors shape a man’s life, and therefore his death.
Then He reaches out and lays His cold hand on my head, and His grace and understanding fill me, burning away all vestiges of d’Albret’s evil darkness weighing on my soul until the only darkness that remains is that of beauty. The darkness of mystery, and questions, and the endless night sky, and the deep caverns of the earth. I know then that what Beast said was true: I am a survivor, and the taint of the d’Albrets was but a disguise I wore so that I could pass among them. It is no more a true part of me than the cloak on my back or the jewels I wear. And just as love has two sides, so too does Death. While Ismae will serve as His mercy, I will not, for that is not how He fashioned me.
Every death I have witnessed, every horror I have endured, has forged me to be who I am—Death’s justice. If I had not experienced these things firsthand, then the desire to protect the innocent would not burn so brightly within me.
There in the darkness, shielded by my father’s grace, I bow my head and weep. I weep for all that I have lost, but also for what I have found, for there are tears of joy mixed in with those of sorrow. I let the light of His great love fill me, burning away all the tendrils and traces of d’Albret’s darkness, until I am clean, and whole, and new.
Beast finds me just before daybreak. Asking no questions, he helps me to my feet. The small circle of frost on the ground is all that remains of Mortain’s presence.
No. That is not true. For I am utterly transformed by His presence. All the fear and doubt and shame has been stripped away, like dead leaves in a winter storm. Only the clean, strong branches remain.
I know now why d’Albret bore no marque, and I also know why he has not yet died. Even better, I now possess something I never had before: faith. Faith in myself, faith in Mortain. But most of all, faith in love. Hate cannot be fought with hate. Evil cannot be conquered by darkness. Only love has the power to conquer them both.
With the strength of that love flowing strong within me, we make ready to go rescue my sisters.
Chapter Forty-Six
WE RIDE HARD FOR NANTES, stopping only when it is so dark we cannot see the road in front of us, then start again as soon as there is light enough to continue. Beast brings Yannic and Lazare and two of his men-at-arms. There is little time for talking, and we collapse bone tired into our bedrolls each night and fall into a dreamless sleep.
When we draw near Rennes, Beast dispatches the two men-at-arms with messages for Duval and the duchess. As we turn and head south, I wonder if this was my destiny all along, to face d’Albret with Beast at my side, for surely it will take the power of our two gods to bring him down. Or—I glance at the silent Lazare, whose rouncey struggles to keep up with our stronger horses—two gods and the Dark Mother Herself.
By the time we draw near Nantes, we have a plan firmly in place. The desire to ride off straightaway and storm through the gates of the city to the palace is nearly overwhelming. But we will have no prayer of success if we face d’Albret in our current exhausted state. Indeed, we barely have a prayer of success if we are rested and fully prepared, so we stop at the abandoned hunting lodge, the very one where this journey first began, hoping that it is still abandoned.
“Empty,” Beast says when he returns. “It does not look like anyone has been here since we left. ”
That is all the rest of us need to hear. We put our heels to our horses’ flanks and head for the stable. They hardly need any steering, for they are as exhausted as we and go eagerly to the scent of hay and the promise of rest.
For all my exhaustion, I cannot sleep. I toss and turn, causing the bed ropes to creak in protest. I can think only of the morrow and getting my sisters to safety. I wonder where they are being kept and who is guarding them. Hopefully, they are in one of the palace’s many chambers rather than in the dungeon, for Louise’s health will quickly fail if she is kept in such a foul, damp place. And while d’Albret might not care for her, he would not want to lose a bargaining piece in this game he plays.
The desire to leave now is so overpowering I fear I will have to tie myself to the bed. To wait here all alone for morning when I can finally act is agony.
But you are not alone, a small voice whispers inside my heart. A great, giant-sized love waits in the next room.
Suddenly, I wish to drown myself in that love, don it like a shield or a suit of armor to keep my doubts at bay. Without stopping to think, I throw aside the covers, get to my feet, and step out into the hall.
When I pause at the door, my doubts catch up to me. Will he think me wanton or depraved? Surely not, for he has learned every horrible secret I possess and has not flinched. It is impossible not to be humbled by the sheer immensity of that gift.
I knock once on the door, then open it.
The room is dark but for a trickle of moonlight coming in from the window onto the bed. At my entrance, Beast starts to reach for his sword, then stops. “Sybella?”
I shut the door softly behind me. “I have slept with five men, not dozens. Three because I had to, one because I thought he could save me, and the fifth so I could get close enough to kill him. ”
He says nothing, but watches my fingers as they unlace my chemise.
“I have never lain with a man out of love. ” I meet his gaze steadily. “I would like to do so at least once before I die. ”
“You love me?”
“Yes, you great lummox. I love you. ”
He lets out a sigh. “Sweet Camulos! It’s about time. ”
I cannot help it. I laugh. “What do you mean?”
“I have loved you since you first slapped that vile mud on my leg and ordered me to heal. ”
“As far back as that?”
“I was too stupid to know it, but yes. ”