Courting Darkness (His Fair Assassin 4)

He is stunned at my quick capitulation, but I have had enough. He is a fool, and he can live with the consequences. I peer at the horizon. “How long until dawn, do you think?”

As he turns around to glance at the sky, I reach for the pouch at my waist.

“Three hours. Maybe four.” When he turns back to ask why, I hold my cupped hand up between us.

“I am sorry,” I whisper.

He frowns. “For what?”

“This.” And then I blow.

Chapter 80

t first, nothing happens. He looks from me to my hand and back again, opening his mouth to ask a question. Before the words can form, his eyes roll back in his head and his entire body goes slack.

I leap forward, catching his shoulders and easing him onto the ground.

I lay his head gently on a tuft of dead grass, straightening his neck so that he will not awake with a crick in it. I try to arrange his body as comfortably as I can, but he is heavy, and it is like trying to arrange a pile of stones.

When I am done, I lean close to his face to make certain he is breathing, then lift one of his eyelids to check his reaction to the night whispers. He is large, and I used only a small amount. I reckon he will sleep four hours, maybe five, but enough for me to put some serious distance between us.

I stare down at him, refusing to indulge in guilt or remorse or any of the dozen feelings running through me. He has already created more complications in a hopelessly complicated situation. The convent must come first.

Even so, I allow myself one last indulgence. I lean in close and press my lips to his. They are as soft and warm as I remember. So, I think, as I pull back, that is what true honor tastes like. I press my hands to my lips to seal the memory, and say a quick prayer to Camulos to guard him as he sleeps. Now there is nothing to stand between me and my duty to the convent.

When the eastern sky finally begins to lighten enough that I can ride, I return to the camp where the others are still sleeping. I search out Andry and kneel down to shake his shoulder. He comes awake immediately. “I wasn’t able to sleep, so I took the last watch. I must continue on my way, but Maraud will be traveling with you. Well”—?I grimace—?“once he has slept off all the wine he drank. Good luck to you all,” I tell him, and mean it.

He will need it once Maraud awakens and realizes what I’ve done.

Chapter 81

Sybella

onight’s dinner in the grand salon has been a quiet affair. The king is relaxed, almost bored, his gaze wandering aimlessly among his guests. He has spoken politely to the queen the few times she has ventured to speak to him, but he does not seek out her conversation. More and more messengers have been arriving, and he spends longer with his advisors attending to matters of state. This short month they had to get to know each other is drawing to a close. It has been hard enough to cultivate any intimacy between them. How much harder will it be once we are at the full court?

I glance around the hall, looking once more to be certain I haven’t missed Katerine. But no, she is not at supper. Has Madame sent her packing already? If so, that was an easy victory.

And suggests that she wasn’t planted by Madame. Who is also not here, I note.

A page appears at my shoulder, offering to refill my goblet. With the matter of the king’s affair attended to, I allow my mind to circle back to the moles. I cannot travel to Cognac, but what if I called them into service from here? Would they come if they simply received a letter containing a crow feather and a single word naming where to meet?

Yes. They are convent trained and have been waiting for this for years. As initiates of Mortain, they are resourceful. The hardest part would be getting the message to Cognac, but surely the king corresponds with Angoulême regularly. What if I could sneak it into that courier pouch without his knowledge? Or the regent’s.

A slight commotion at the door draws my attention, my heart sinking as the regent appears. Can the woman be summoned by one’s thoughts like some gorgon from the oldest of hearth tales?

Beside her is a man I’ve not seen before. He is tall and pleasant enough of feature, except for his eyes, which are both calculating and contemptuous. It does not bode well for whatever business he has with the crown. My gaze is drawn back to the regent, who wears a faint satisfied smile. It is so imperceptible that I almost miss it. Until she looks at me. The smile deepens.

My stomach sours, and all the food I have just eaten turns to lead. Unease snakes along my shoulders, and I allow the fingers of my right hand to dip under my sleeve for the reassuring feel of my knives.

A hush falls over the room as the regent and her guest make their way to the dais. The king straightens in his chair, looking faintly annoyed.

Whatever the regent’s purpose, it is not entertainment. I am as sure of that as I am that the sun will rise in the morning.

When she reaches the high table, she curtsies. “Your Majesty.”

“Dearest sister.” His voice contains a sour note. Is he wroth with her over his banished favorite? Maybe this guest is someone she plans to use to get back in his good graces. “Who have you brought before us?”

“This, my dear brother, is Monsieur Simon de Fremin, and he comes to you with a most urgent matter.”

“Urgent enough that it must interrupt my honeymoon? Not to mention my dinner?” I take heart at his growing annoyance.

The man himself—?Monsieur Fremin—?steps nimbly forward, ignoring the regent’s quelling stare. “It is imperative that I speak with you at once, Your Majesty. As for interrupting your dinner—?and your honeymoon—?both my liege and myself regret that deeply, but the matter pertains to those here at court with you, Your Majesty.”

Interest piqued, the king shifts forward. “And who is your liege, Monsieur Fremin?”

“Pierre d’Albret, Viscount of Limoges.”

His words clamp around my chest, forcing all the air from my lungs. Pierre. The regent is working with Pierre. Truly, I cannot draw breath.

It should not surprise me—?it was Pierre who negotiated with the regent to hand Nantes over to France. But I never dreamed he would appeal to her on such a personal matter.

My heart resumes beating—?but too fast. I grip the edge of the table and force myself to take slow, deep breaths.

The king is frowning. “What possible urgent business does the Viscount of Limoges have with us?” he asks.

Fremin’s eyes flicker ever so briefly to the queen, and I wonder if he knows she was once the house of d’Albret’s most sought-after prize. “It is a matter of utmost importance and speaks to the sovereignty of a man over his own household.” A hush goes round the salon. This is far better than a mere troubadour’s tale or minstrel’s tune.

The queen glances in my direction before reaching out and gently touching the king’s elbow. When he begrudgingly turns to her, she speaks in low tones, looking meaningfully at the door behind the dais, hopefully suggesting this would better be handled in private. But Pierre’s lawyer is a master of showmanship. Before the king can agree, Fremin continues speaking, his voice pitched perfectly so all in the room can hear.

“Lord Pierre d’Albret respectfully requests that you return his sisters, whom you now hold in your possession, to his custody as soon as possible.”

A number of curious eyes turn toward me, but I keep my attention politely focused on the dais. The king scowls in confusion. “You are mistaken. I do not harbor any of d’Albret’s family here.”

The regent leans forward. “Oh, but you do, Your Majesty. Lady Sybella d’Albret is one of your queen’s ladies in waiting.”

At my name, a faint expression of surprise flickers across the lawyer’s face—?surprise and a faint note of alarm. He was not expecting me to be here, only Charlotte and Louise.

So there is my answer as to who sent the assassin.

The king turns to his wife. “Is this true?”

The queen sits straight and tall in her chair. “It is t

rue that Lady Sybella has served loyally as one of my ladies in waiting for quite some time. She is one of my most valued attendants and here at my request.”

The king leans back in his chair, his face clearing. “Well, there you have it. Surely d’Albret’s sister can receive no greater honor than serving as attendant to his queen?”

The king’s blithe dismissal catches Fremin off-guard, for it is true that serving the royal household in such a fashion is a great privilege bestowed upon very few. That is no doubt one of the reasons they wished me conveniently buried in the forest somewhere. He must tread carefully here. As must I. Every muscle in my body is corded so tightly that I fear they will snap.

“I am sure Lord d’Albret is beholden to you for bestowing such great distinction upon his house. However, as you know, daughters are meant to be married to forge new alliances and strengthen a family’s political ties. With so many recent deaths in his family and the loss of lands that had been promised to him—” He risks a glance at the queen, for it was her lands and hand in marriage that had been promised to him. “He is forced to create these new alliances as soon as possible.”

The queen’s lip curls in contempt, and even the king’s mild humor dissipates at the reference to Brittany, brought under his rule at such great cost to so many.

Seeing his misstep, the lawyer changes tactics. “Besides, two of the girls are far too young to serve as attendants to Her Majesty. Lord d’Albret respectfully requests their return so he may arrange for their education as well as suitable marriages.”