Igniting Darkness (His Fair Assassin 5)

“Poulet.” The single word from Beast is enough. Neither Gen nor Maraud look particularly perturbed, but from what Gen’s told me, they’ve had interesting travels of their own.

“

I’ll have to consult with the others,” the older charbonnerie finally says. “This is not a decision for me alone.”

“I know, Kerrigan. That is why I came here first.”

The other man nods. “For tonight, they may spend the night in our forest, under our protection, but I cannot guarantee you any more than that.”

* * *

By the time we have set up our small camps and bedrolls, nearly fifty charbonnerie have drifted out of the woods—far more, I’m guessing, than live in these two dozen tents.

We are invited to dine with them and share our meals—they their acorn mash, bitter but filling, and we our dried meat and hard cheese. As before, I am fascinated by the faces of those around me, their colorless drab clothes and nearly invisible appearance belying a fierce, proud nature. Many of the women’s gazes dart my way, and I wonder what they see.

When the rituals of hospitality have been observed, Kerrigan leans back against his log. “Lazare tells me that you wish our cooperation,” he says to Beast.

Beast cuts a sideways glance at Lazare, for it was Lazare’s idea to seek help from the charbonnerie. “I welcome any and all aid we can get to put down Rohan’s rebellion.”

“You will forgive me if I point out that it hardly matters to us. We already fought this war once. Or Erwan did on our behalf. If I remember correctly, that was to maintain Brittany’s independence, which has been lost to France. For us, the war is already over.”

“While that is true, this is what I would point out. The queen is your ally. Rohan is not. She has done much to raise the status of the charbonnerie, including appointing one to her personal guard. She will continue to defend your rights.”

“If the king will let her,” a voice calls out from the back. I cannot help but wonder if rumors have spread this far or if it is simply the age-old disbelief that a man will honor a woman’s wishes.

“Furthermore,” Beast continues, “war is never good for the people. Not the charbonnerie, not the farmers, nor the merchants, nor the crofters. That is what the duchess was trying to avoid by marrying the French king. They would have looted our holdings, razed our fields, and burned our forests to win what she has brought them by marriage.”

Kerrigan shrugs. “She would have had to marry anyway.”

“And lastly,” Beast leans forward, the light from the fire reflected in his eyes, “Rohan has sought the aid of the English, and knowing the English, they see this as an opportunity not to aid a Breton noble, but to stake a claim to Brittany—perhaps even France. We have seen what the British do to our land when they cannot have it.”

Silence falls over the group as everyone remembers the horrors of the war between France and England that lasted a full hundred years. “And England has even stricter regulations surrounding the collection and use of wildwood, some jurisdictions viewing it akin to poaching.”

Kerrigan slowly lifts his eyes from the fire. “While that is most unwelcome news, how can a handful of men repel such an invasion?”

“We know where they are landing and when. And we are far more than a handful.” Beast goes on to tell him of our activity in the south and the near four thousand loyal troops that have joined in our fight.

Murmurs go up among the men who sit just beyond the light of the fire. Kerrigan thinks another moment. “We must discuss this among ourselves.”

Lazare opens his mouth to speak on our behalf, but Kerrigan waves him still. “I know Erwan trusted this man and the duchess, and was willing to join their cause. But he is the leader in the east, where the charbonnerie have more interaction with other folk than we do. I must weigh the risks to our future alongside the risks we will face in the present if we join you. Besides, you don’t just wish us to help. You wish to share our secrets, which is another thing altogether.”

Lazare lifts his chin. “I believe the woman has a right to those secrets, as she serves the Dark Mother.”

I grow perfectly still, having had no idea Lazare planned to use me as a bargaining piece. By the echoing silence around the fire pit, the charbonnerie are equally surprised.

“Which woman?” Kerrigan asks, but I can already feel over half of the eyes staring at me.

“The Lady Sybella,” Lazare says, pointing at me.

The leader stares at me with flinty eyes. “How do you come to serve the Dark Mother?” he demands.

The silence in the clearing is nearly deafening. Even the small creatures lurking among the trees and bracken have ceased their rustling. “I do not know if I serve the Dark Mother as much as I honor her,” I say, picking my way through my words. “I am a daughter of Death who is learning how to use her skills in a new world where my father is no more. That is all.”

“But they say he’s no longer—”

“They are right. He has given up his godhead and now walks the earth as a mortal. The god of death’s time on earth has come to an end.” Saying those words out loud causes the emptiness inside me to swell. I shrug helplessly. “So who was I to serve? Who was I to pray to? Especially since my gifts from him are dark. That is when I remembered the stories of the Dark Mother, how when one is out of hope, it is she who leads us out of despair. She had done this for me before, and there are times when I feel as if she is doing this for me again.”

“In other words,” one of them says, “you are undergoing your own rebirth.”

The words hang in the space between us, and I wish to snatch them out of the air, but I can’t, for there is truth in them as well.

Lazare leans forward again. “She not only honors the Dark Mother, but serves her as well. I have seen the power she holds, and it is akin to the Dark Mother’s own. I have seen her kill, countless times, but for a daughter of Death, that is nothing. What I have also seen her do is to call death from the body, as if coaxing a fox to eat out of her hand. I have seen her own blood work magic on the souls who linger. I have seen her, time and again, wrest hope from the darkest of hours. I tell you, she is the Dark Mother’s, even if she does not know it yet.”

As he speaks, the black pebble inside my pocket grows hotter and hotter, pressing its heat into my leg so that it runs through my entire body, causing me to tremble. Lazare’s words terrify me, even as they feed something deep inside me that is hungry for such nourishment. I didn’t just lose a father when Mortain passed, but my very identity—if I am not my father’s daughter, who am I? Perhaps the Dark Mother is answering.

* * *

Beast finds me later, leaning against one of the trees, staring out into the dark forest. He silently slips his arm around my waist, pulling me closer, and I allow myself to lean against him instead, soaking up the comfort and solace he offers.

“He is not wrong, you know,” he murmurs. “What is it you have always claimed? That you take Fortune’s wheel and give it a spin to turn disaster into triumph? Is that not the very essence of what the Dark Mother does?”

“Yes, but that is an entirely different thing from being compared to the Dark Mother herself.”

He heaves a great, dramatic sigh. “Not to mention that now I’m going to have to do something truly spectacular to deserve you.”

* * *

When the charcoal burners have finished discussing the matter, they return to the fire pit, this time with an older woman accompanying them. Her gown is the color of leaf mulch, as are her eyes, and while they are old, they are not clouded with age. On the leather cord around her neck hang three acorns. A mark of some high office?

“Let me see the girl,” she says, and the charbonnerie open a path among themselves. Beast gives me a reassuring nudge, and I make my way past all the soot-covered faces and curious gazes to the woman. As I draw closer, I see that Kerrigan holds a giant oak gall in his hands.

“Come here, child,” the woman says, “so I may look at you.”

I angle my face closer to the fire so she can better find whatever it is she is searching for. As she studies me, her gnarled fingers gently trace the bones of my face. “You have lived lo

ng in the darkness,” she murmurs, then presses her parchment-like hand to my brow. “But the fire burns bright.” She nods, then looks at the rest of our party, who sit just inside the light of the flames. “The fire burns bright in the ugly one as well. And in that girl there”—she nods in Gen’s direction—“it has recently begun to burn.” She steps away. “They have the Dark Mother’s blessings upon them. Let us consult Brother Oak.”

Kerrigan sets the oak gall upon a stone near the fire, then removes the ax he wears—like every charcoal burner—at his waist. He holds the blade over the flames and murmurs a prayer, or blessing. When he stops, he lifts the ax up and brings it down, splitting the oak gall open.

At first, I think it is empty of either grub or moth, but then a piece of the darkness itself dislodges and flutters into the air, like black ash from the fire. When Kerrigan looks at me, there is new respect in his eyes. “The Dark Mother has spoken. You will have our full support in all that you ask.”

Chapter 83

The next morning when we resume our travels, our party includes a number of charbonnerie. Now that he’s received permission to help us, Lazare’s plans practically spill out of him. “Fire,” he says. “Fire is the great equalizer, and the best way for a small force to take on a larger one.”

“Yes,” Beast says, “but far better to prevent the forces from landing in the first place and avoid having to fight them at all.”

“So we use the fire against their ships.”

Beast mulls that over as he ducks a low-hanging branch. “There will be a wide expanse of water between us. How exactly do you suggest we do that?”

Lazare’s enthusiasm is undampened. “We take the fire to them.”

Beast fixes his gaze upon the smaller man. “Why are you being so helpful with this? The charbonnerie are not normally this involved.”

Lazare turns his gaze to the trees around us, eyes darting among the shadows for saints know what. “Powder artillery is the way of the future and something the charbonnerie know well. It seems a good time to demonstrate that to the king.”