Igniting Darkness (His Fair Assassin 5)

I close my eyes, and the impossibility of my situation hits me. I was a fool to come here. A fool to think I could reach for such a gift and not have to pay in some way. “I do,” I whisper.

“I do not know what your assignment is, but with what you have told me, things are clearly getting dangerous at court.” It takes great effort, but I watch as he pulls his mind back from all the possibilities it is constructing, all the dark scenarios he can imagine, all the disasters I might find myself in. He closes his eyes for a moment, and when he opens them, they are clear and unshadowed. He reaches for my shoulders, the heat of his hands warming something that has grown cold inside me. “I will admit that I do not like this, but I trust that you are doing what you need to do and that you will do it well.”

It feels as if all my life I’ve been pushing on a heavy door, trying to get it to open. With his words, it has suddenly given way, and I am thrown off balance.

“You do?” But I do not have to ask. Not really, for that trust shines in his eyes.

“However”—those eyes darken slightly—“I am also trusting that if you need help, or things go awry, you will tell me.”

Trust for trust, that is the trade he demands of me.

“I want to meet again. Tomorrow,” he says.

The reasons I should not agree have increased tenfold, but agree I do. “Not here. The smithy will be open then, and we could be seen. We need to find someplace else.”

“The fletcher’s hut, near the armory,” he says at once.

“Very well. The fletcher’s hut, then. And during the council meeting will be the safest time.”

I start to move away, but he grabs my hand, pulls me close. “You are not alone in this, Gen. And if the danger becomes too great, you can find refuge with us.” Then he presses one last kiss upon my lips and lets me go.

* * *

This is harder than I had imagined—although what I had imagined I cannot say. Bouncing between the king and Maraud like one of those little leather balls against the wall? If I continue to see Maraud, my resolve will crumble faster than a sandy cliff before a winter storm—and my work here is not finished. The catastrophe I set in motion not resolved. The regent’s plans are unraveling. The king is beginning to see her—and her allies—more closely than he has before. Sybella has been removed from the king’s wrath, now I must simply find a way to remove her from her brother’s. Maraud is a gift I have given myself, but one I have not yet earned.

Should I kill Pierre? Sybella said the lines of Mortain’s grace are blurred now with his death. Do any of the rules of the convent still apply?

And surely Pierre presents as great a threat to her and her sisters as Monsieur Fremin did? More.

Why would she not have done this already? Is it some sense of obligation because she once thought him her brother? Or is she unable to get close enough to him to do the deed?

He doesn’t know me. Would not recognize me. Especially if I came to him at night. I could get close enough to strike. I even have my poisoned needles left. If I used all of them, it would be enough to kill him. And Sybella and her sisters would be free. It is not saving the entire convent, but it is a start. It will save the ones I have come to care the most for.

This new plan puts purpose back in my steps as I climb the staircase to my chambers. It will be easy enough to discern which rooms Pierre uses. The hardest part will be ensuring suspicion does not fall once again on Sybella.

Or myself. Because of course the king will suspect me. I have already confessed to Fremin’s murder, and told the king the ugly truths about the d’Albret family. He will think I am merely carrying out the next logical step. I will have to find a way to arrange this so that both Sybella and I are far away when the poison takes effect. The needles are small enough that no one will notice their puncture wounds on his skin.

When I reach the hallway that leads to my room, I see Gilbert and Roland standing rigidly at attention. They have not guarded my room since the day we arrived. My heart skips a beat. Has the king guessed where I’ve been? Had me followed?

Painting a cheerful smile upon my face and a ready excuse upon my tongue, I greet them. In response, they give me nothing but stiff nods. Gilbert steps forward to open my door for me. Before I can thank him, the regent pulls away from the window where she’s been waiting.

“There you are.”

Chapter 53

I have not been face-to-face with the regent since we last spoke at Plessis. Have not seen for myself how she’s grown bitter-looking, like a too-thin blade before it is broken. While she stands composed, arrogant even, a faint desperation taints her features. Perhaps she senses her carefully spun web beginning to unravel. Desperate people begin to make mistakes, as I should know, and their mistakes might grant us further leverage.

“Madame Regent.” I sink into a curtsy.

Her gaze scans me from head to toe, and for a moment, I fear she will sense traces of Maraud clinging to me. “The king has set you up well. Where were you?”

“This morning I was attending upon the queen. This afternoon, I met with the king. He is quite good at jeu de paume.”

Her brows arch in surprise. “You serve the queen now?”

“She is my queen, and she sent for me. I answered her summons.”

The regent crosses the room to examine the blue brocade of my bed curtains. “We have not seen each other since Plessis,” she says pleasantly.

“I did not think it wise to seek you out.”

She twists her lips in a pale imitation of a smile. “There is that notable wit of yours. Tell me, do you remember the last time we spoke?”

“But of course.” My heart begins to beat faster. I could hardly forget—Sybella and I were arguing over this necklace when the regent came upon us.

She lets go of the curtain to face me. “You are from the convent.” It is not a question. She takes a step toward me. “I trusted you.” Her voice is like the thinnest of whips, lashing across the room, meant to draw blood.

But her trust is not what I am worried about. I do not like the faint gleam of victory in her eyes. Whatever this is about, it is not injured trust. “We are even, then, for you broke my trust first.” The moment the words are out, the truth of them punches me low in the belly.

She scowls. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I trusted you to act as a mentor, and instead you acted as the procuress for your brother to feed your own political hunger.”

“You were no innocent, but an assassin.”

“But you did not know that!” We are silent, staring at each other, the weight of tangled betrayals filling the room.

“This only proves how correct I was to try to place someone in the king’s confidence. His relationship with you, his handling of this entire matter, only proves he cannot be trusted to rule on his own. His judgment is flawed and lacking.”

And there it is. The thing that will ultimately destroy her relationship with the king. Whether it will happen in time to do me any good is the question. “The king has now reached his majority. The crown is his, Madame, not yours.”

Her head rears back as if I have slapped her. There is nothing I could have said that she less wished to hear. “You know nothing.” Her pale face is now white with rage. “I have ruled this country for eight years. I have expanded our borders, put down rebellions, negotiated treaties so complex that your feeble brain could not fathom them.” She takes a step toward me, but I give no ground. “I was charged by my father to act as steward to the crown, and I will not abandon that responsibility. Unlike my brother, I have a distinct talent for politics. My father even declared me the least foolish woman in France.”

I want to shout at her that that is no compliment, but bite my tongue.

“He charged me with a sacred duty to continue to consolidate power to France, and I will allow no one, no one, to interfere with that duty.” She recovers her equilibrium somewhat, and an oily smile shimmers across her face. “While trus

ting you was clearly a mistake—one I will not make again—you have served some purpose. You have provided me with a new weapon.” Her eyes burn bright. “The time has once again come for you to remember who you truly serve. I have a task for you. One of utmost importance. You must ensure that the king grants Pierre full custody of Sybella in these hearings. I do not care what else happens, I do not care what else you hear. But Sybella will be in Pierre’s custody within a week’s time, or I will expose your secrets.” My heart begins hammering against my ribs like a rabbit caught in a snare.

She takes a step closer. “And I do not mean that I will simply expose your secrets, Genevieve. I mean I will tell the entire council that the king has knowingly harbored an assassin and a murderer under his wing. How far do you think the king will go to protect you from that truth getting out? What would his Privy Council and bishops have to say about that revelation? Once they hear that, once they see how badly his judgment has gone, they will be inclined to look to me for leadership once more. Do you understand?”

“Madame Regent, I understand, but what you ask is—”