Courting Darkness (His Fair Assassin 4)

“Yes,” he says heavily. “Yes, I am.”

I am instantly on alert. “Why? Have you learned something more?”

He throws his hands out to his sides. “Do we need more? We’ve lost Captain Dunois, Captain Lannion, and a half dozen other good men, the regent threatens us at every turn, and the queen’s new home looks more like a prison than a palace. I’d say that warrants a foul humor.”

I grimace. “You’ll get no argument from me. Where are you and the queen’s guard assigned to?”

“The garrison.”

“The garrison? How will you protect the queen from there?”

“My question exactly. For now, we will be posting two of our guards at her door until we can find a way to settle this matter. Even if I have to take it to the king himself,” he mutters. “Speaking of which, what did you learn about his whereabouts?”

“He was not here to greet his new queen because he was off visiting the former dauphine, Princess Marguerite.”

“You mean she has not been returned to her father?”

“No. She is less than half a day’s ride away.”

“To what end?”

“I do not know if she is still here because of the king’s affection for her or as a political advantage meant to keep Maximilian from retaliating over the marriage.”

“Or perhaps they are reluctant to give up her dowry. It was a great deal of land, and the French are greedy in that regard.”

“Or,” I say more slowly, “could they still be holding out hope that Marguerite will one day be queen of France? With this latest revelation the king could easily have been behind the ambush and Dunois’s death in a desperate move to acquire Brittany while still honoring his betrothal to Marguerite. Just how far are they willing to go to see that happen?”

Beast shakes his head. “I cannot believe it of the king, Sybella. Or that the Duke of Bourbon would agree to such a plan.”

“Not willingly, no. But I have yet to see him stand up to his wife.” There are other explanations, I assure myself. Some of them even benign.

Chapter 47

Genevieve

araud regards me quizzically. “You want me to do what?”

We are in a bigger room, surrounded by the light of three torches rather than the feeble dribble from a single one. We are not here because Maraud asked, but because he is right—?the oubliette is far too small to be of much use. We have practiced every move and strategy that I could employ in such close quarters. “Hold your wrists out so that I may secure them.”

In the additional light, I can see that his eyes are not only large, but fiercely intelligent, his lips well-shaped, and beneath the beard, his cheekbones sharp and defined.

“And this will improve your swordsmanship how?”

“Today we are working on something other than swordsmanship.” I do not like that he is getting precisely what he wants. It feels like a fool’s bargain, and I am no fool. We will use the bigger room in a way he does not expect. I have not brought my short sword with me, and no weapons for him at all. We will be practicing a different kind of fighting, although it is tricky. He is larger than I, and a more skilled fighter. Practicing the moves I wish to practice means getting physically close to him.

“Give me your hands, please.”

He hesitates.

“I will not hurt you, if that is what you are afraid of.”

He snorts.

While he is weaponless, I carry four knives, a thin piece of wire, a thick piece of rope, and my needles. He will only know about the rope. The rest are insurance. Should he try anything other than what I tell him to, he will quickly learn about the other weapons—?in a most painful way. “If you do not wish to cooperate, I can find better things to do with my day.”

He looks at me, a faint, pained accusation in his gaze. It is all I can do not to squirm under that look. There is no rule that says I must play fair. In fact, there are not any rules for this situation.

Besides, it will make a most excellent test. If he obeys the rules of today’s game, he will have come just that much closer to proving to me that he is a man of his word. And if he does not, I am well prepared for that.

After a long hesitation in which I hear every word of his silent protest, he slowly raises his arms. I slip the rope from my belt, intending to loop it around his wrists, then stop. “What are those?”

He tries to tug his sleeves back down. “Manacles. I told you they had bound me.”

“Yes, but I thought you’d meant with rope.” Not these thick iron bands that encircle his wrists. Wrists that are rubbed raw and red. My gaze springs back to his face. “Why did you hide them?”

He shrugs. “I didn’t hide them so much as use the sleeves to buffer the chaffing. The darkness of the oubliette did the rest.”

He is right. The one time his wrists were close enough to see clearly, I was distracted by the wooden blade he held at my throat.

“Besides, displaying my manacles did not seem as if it would earn your trust.”

“Well, hiding them hasn’t helped. Where is the chain?”

He waves vaguely toward the oubliette, the iron band slipping down to bump against his hand. “On the floor down there.”

I remember his feral smile when I commented that he was no longer bound. “How did you get it off?”

He runs a hand over his head. Unable to help myself, my gaze follows the manacle. I cannot unsee them. “Where the chain attaches to the cuffs is the weakest link. I used a small piece of stone, or rock, or bone—?whatever I could find—?and just tapped and hammered and pried until it came loose. There wasn’t much else to do.”

Such determination! What drives a man to such patience and persistence—?to eat rats, to exercise his body even as he grows thin from near starvation, to chip away at the impossible?

“I can make you a salve.”

“What?”

Not sure who is more shocked by my offer, I gesture to his wrists. “For the chafed spots. Now,” I say gruffly, “give me your hands.”

I can feel the heaviness of his gaze on me as I tie the rope to the manacles—?his wrists are too raw—?but I keep my attention on the knot I am tying. “There.” I step back. “Clearly it will not hold you for long, but that is not the point of this endeavor.”

He shrugs one shoulder. “You are the one making up the rules.”

I take a deep breath, savoring the feel of that. “Exactly. Now?”—?I pull another length of rope from my belt and wrap an end of it around each of my hands—?“today we are going to—”

“Strangle me?”

“I like to pretend it is a garrote, but yes, that is the thrust of it. I have not practiced these moves in quite a while and need to refresh myself on them.”

He folds his arms. “And why does a supposed noblewoman need to practice how to garrote a man?”

I widen my eyes. “Why, to defend herself, of course. You know how eager men are to prey on helpless women. What choice have I but to learn to fend off an attack of any sort?”

He lifts a finger. “But the one holding the garrote is usually the one attacking.”

I wave away his point. “Not always. Sometimes in close quarters, a garrote is the easiest weapon to get into place.”

He continues to study me, his fiercely intelligent eyes mulling me over as his mind gnaws on the puzzle I present. He steps away from the wall with a sigh. “What am I to do?”

“Stand facing me as if we are having a conversation.”

“What are we talking about?”

“That doesn’t matter! It is just the position you are to assume.”

“Very well.” He squares his body, feet slightly separated in a well-centered stance.

I nod. “Perfect.” I glance up at his face. “Although, if you wanted to talk about something, you could tell me why the captain of the duchess’s army would know a mercenary’s name.”

As he opens his mouth to respond, I step in close, use my elbows as leverage, and come up behind him with my rope tight against his neck. Yes! This is exactly how we did it in practice at the convent. In the next moment, however, there is a swooping sensation deep in my belly, and before I know it, I am airborne, passing over Maraud’s shoulder toward the floor. The only things that keep me from landing flat on my back and knocking all the air from my lungs are Maraud’s hands.

“Rutting figs.” That is precisely what Sister Thomine did whenever I put too much weight on my front foot. When I open my eyes, I find Maraud peering down at me.