I nod, as if in agreement, but as far as I’m concerned, the d’Albrets need to be scattered far and wide so that they can never find their way back to one another again.
“I’ve even managed to convince Madame Dinan to join us.”
“You do know she loathes me and is looking for a chance to kill me.”
His eyes gleam with anticipation. “Yes.”
While he may have begun to grasp the art of nuance and subtlety, he is as brutish and cruel as he ever was. “Am I allowed to defend myself?”
He grins widely. “It will not come to that.” His smile disappears as he takes a step closer. “You will be there, and you will be dressed for the occasion. Do not make me come looking for you, or you will regret it deeply.”
And then he is gone, the foul taint of him still lingering in the room.
I do not let myself think of Beast locked away in a dungeon, nor let myself wonder how he will possibly get free without me. Instead, I go to the narrow window and rest my chin upon the sill, looking out into the turbulent waters swirling against the rocks. But the window has not grown wider, nor the drop less steep, nor the landing any more forgiving.
* * *
When the guard raps on my door to announce that it is suppertime, I emerge from my room. I have taken great care with my appearance, no hair out of place, every bit of finery I possess strewn about my person. While my golden hair net only has a half dozen pearls left, I have arranged them artfully and within easy reach. I feel naked with no knives, but am wearing the thick gold cuff that holds my thin garrote and have fashioned my rondelles into brooches and affixed them to the waist of my gown. The guards’ eyes widen in appreciation, but to my surprise, say nothing. Those who serve the d’Albret household are not known for their restraint.
As I descend the staircase to the grand chamber, my heart sounds so loud to my own ears that it nearly drowns out all the other heartbeats within the holding. I berate myself for letting a simple dinner, even one Pierre is so smug about, unnerve me so, and yet it has.
When I am ushered into the grand chamber, my senses are assaulted by the press of scores upon scores of bodies, their scents, and the cacophony of their hearts. The warm light thrown off by the fire and the candles in the stags’ antlers, the snarling wolf-head andirons, the sea of hardened cruel faces, all feel as if I have wandered into a nightmare.
Pierre himself comes to escort me to the high table. I give him my most charming smile, as if I have been waiting for this moment all day and not considering dashing myself on the rocks below.
“How elegant you look.” He lifts my hand to his lips and presses a kiss upon it. “Not only am I pleased with your unique convent skills, I find I am also glad you are not truly my sister.”
It takes every particle of will I possess to keep from slamming my fist into his face. Instead, I focus my gaze above his eyebrow. “You are a brave and persistent man,” I say lightly, “considering how that ended the first time.”
He lets go of my hand to lift a finger and rub the white scar there, the one I gave him ten years ago. “It is a good thing your mouth is so lovely, else I would be tempted to strike it,” he says, matching his tone to mine.
“And so we find ourselves at checkmate,” I murmur.
He smiles again, this one the most disturbing I have seen yet. “Oh, far from that. Come.” He tucks my arm firmly in his and pulls me past the milling retainers toward the high table. When we are halfway there, he pats my arm. “Lest you grow lonely, I have brought someone to keep you company. Someone I know is dear to you.”
My heart gives one painful beat of dread as he pulls me past the retainers so that I have a clear view of the high table. In the chair to the right of Pierre’s sits a young girl dressed in a blazing scarlet silk and velvet gown, her thin neck adorned with pearls and gold, her fingers flashing rubies and sapphire rings. The sight of her small, pale face causes the bottom to drop out of my stomach.
“Charlotte.”
She turns her haughty gaze to me, looking down her nose as if I am some serving woman come to take her plate.
“What are you doing here?” Panic squeezes my throat so tight I can scarce get the question out.
“I ran away,” she says coolly. “I left with one of the night rowers once he had made his delivery.”
Her words reverberate along my bones as if they have been struck by a mallet. She chose to come back. She chose to leave the safety of the convent and return to Pierre. I was too late.
The revelation makes me so ill that I fear I will retch. If I had not been so absorbed in my own problems. If I had left the convent earlier. If . . . if . . . if. So many places where I could have made another choice that would possibly have saved this child from making hers.
“She’s a smart girl,” Pierre says close to my ear. “She made her way to Tonquédec.”
My head whips around. “Tonquédec?” That d’Albret holding is but a few miles from Morlaix.
Pierre sips his wine. “Which is where I found her.”
The convent was never meant to be a prison to keep us in, but a fortress to keep others out while we willingly learned the lessons they taught us. “Where you just happened to be for the rebellion.”
He clutches the goblet he is holding. “How do you know about that?”
He does not know I was there—that I saw him with my own eyes. “Some of the queen’s men returned to Nantes just before I did, and they spoke of it.”
“Does the king know?”
I shrug as casually as I can. “He would not believe it, even if he’d heard. He is convinced the queen was behind it all.”
Pierre’s face relaxes, and he takes a sip of wine. “That was always the plan. Now, come. Take your seat over there, and Madame Dinan will sit opposite you. I think dear Charlotte deserves the place of honor at my side for her cleverness, don’t you?”
I say nothing, but move numbly to take my place at the table. I want nothing more than to snatch Charlotte from her chair and steal her from the room, but there are far too many of d’Albret’s men here to do that.
And she would just run back.
Truly, he has won. And before we’d even begun the game.
Chapter 100
Genevieve
The first indication that something is amiss is General Cassel’s face growing pale. It is the closest I have ever seen to him showing fear.
I cast a quick peek over my shoulder to find Maraud standing in the doorway of the king’s audience chamber. His height, the confident set of his shoulders, the proud tilt of his head all cause him to stand out among the other nobles and courtiers who have come for a chance to petition the king. He is dressed as finely as any of them, if more somberly.
The steward approaches, intending to show him out, but Maraud leans close to confer with him. Seeing this, General Cassel steps from behind the throne and begins striding to the door.
No. He will not silence him again. The knives against my wrists and left ankle are solid and reassuring as I quickly make my way toward Maraud. He looks up just then and sees Cassel. He utters something else to the steward, who nods, then escorts Maraud toward the king, careful not to cross paths with the approaching general. I switch directions and aim for the throng of people between them, an added buffer if needed.
When they reach the throne, the steward introduces Sir Anton Crunard, and the room grows hushed.
“Your Majesty.” Maraud’s bow is low and courteous.
“Sir Crunard.” Bewilderment lurks behind the king’s courteous welcome.
“I have come to bring your attention to General Cassel’s deceitful and false conduct on the battlefield and petition that he be made to answer for his crimes.”
The regent pushes her companion out of the way to better see what is happening.
“Crimes? That is a very harsh word.”
“Murder and dishonor are very harsh things, Your Majesty.”
The king’s expression darkens. “Are you n
ot a member of the family responsible for betraying my lady wife?”
“I am the son who was held hostage in order to force the late chancellor to commit such an act.”
Like a hound catching a scent, the king searches out the regent. “I thought you said the queen’s claim was false? Her version sounded remarkably like this man’s.”
Maraud does not give the regent a chance to spew more lies. “I do not know what claim the queen made,” he says. “But my captors were fond of reminding me that my father betrayed the duchess because of the sword the regent held over my head.”
The king’s face grows sharp with interest. “That is precisely as the queen tells it.”
“What the queen could not have known was that even when my father complied with the regent’s demands, she did not release me as promised. She gave the crown’s word and did not honor it.”
The king’s hand grips the arm of his chair.
“If that is true,” the regent challenges, “then how do you come to be here?” It is hard to say whether she truly wishes to know or is merely stalling for time to plot out her response.
“I will gladly tell you, although I don’t believe it is something you will wish to share with the entire court.”
“Leave!” the king commands the assembled courtiers.
As the room clears, he glances at me, his eyes unreadable. I lift my chin, but he does not order me to go. Mayhap he is remembering my own recounting of similar events.
The king’s council remains. “Now.” The king gestures to Maraud. “The room is yours.”
General Cassel steps forward, no longer able to remain silent. “Your Majesty should not indulge this man’s lies.”