Igniting Darkness (His Fair Assassin 5)

“I am sorry,” she whispers into my ear. “I am so sorry we let Charlotte slip out of our sight. Sorry there was no way to contact you.”

I hug her harder, letting her know I do not hold her responsible. “All is well now. And she has learned much and made some decisions. She wishes to stay here, if she may.”

“But of course!”

Before I have a chance to ask how she is faring, Ismae arrives and pulls Annith from me for her own hug. As I watch, I realize that Annith has put on weight—no. “You are with child!”

Annith’s cheeks pinken. “Yes. Ridiculous, is it not?”

“When?” I ask.

“We’re not sure,” Annith says. “I suppose we will know when it arrives.” There is something in her face, the way she says that, that makes me think she knows—or suspects—and is not willing to say.

Father Effram dismounts from his mule and beams at her. “Then you are carrying either the last of Death’s handmaidens or his first mortal child.”

Whether because she does not wish to discuss this any longer or due to her innate kindness, Annith turns from us to where Genevieve waits a few feet away. “Genevieve.” She moves forward, holding out her hand, her face full of remorse and regret. “I am truly sorry for the loss of your sister Margot and hope you will be able to forgive the convent’s utter failure in its duty to you.”

Gen looks stunned, as if the last thing she expected was an apology, sympathy, or compassion. She smiles faintly. “As I understand it, you had little to do with such matters, except in trying to locate us. I do not hold you responsible in the slightest.” She means it, I realize, happy to remove one knot of worry from the string I carry inside me.

Two more figures emerge from the stables just then, no three. Tola, Tephanie, and—“Louise!”

She lets go of Tephanie’s hand and runs toward me. “You’re back!”

I catch her up in a giant hug, my arms wrapped around that small, frail body, and breathe in her familiar scent. She is safe, and her nightmare is truly over. I whirl her around and around until she is laughing and begging me to put her down.

As I set her feet on the ground, I look to Tola and Tephanie. “I can never thank you both enough.”

Tephanie, dear sweet Tephanie, rolls her eyes at me. “We were happy to do it, my lady.”

“Where’s Charlotte?” Louise asks, her little face twisted with worry.

“Over there, sweeting.” Before I have finished speaking, she is off, running toward her sister.

When she reaches her, instead of the hug we are all expecting, she hauls her arm back and punches Charlotte. We all stare in open-mouthed amazement, Charlotte most of all.

“You left! You scared me! I thought you were never coming back!” She pauses to catch her breath. “You were supposed to stay here—with me. And the nuns were worried, too. Annith even cried.”

As proud as I am of Louise, I ache for Charlotte as well. She thought she was going to ensure Louise’s safety—or at least that was what she told herself—and having that thrown in her face is painful.

“I didn’t just run away,” Charlotte says, rubbing her arm. “I was . . .” Her words trail off, and she glances up at me.

Aeva crouches down beside her. “It is not comfortable having your good intentions stomped on and misunderstood, is it?”

“No,” she grumbles.

Louise sighs. “You’re forgiven. Just don’t do it again.”

After Annith has greeted Beast and Duval, she explains, “Balthazaar remained on the island, but is ready to speak with you whenever you wish it.” Then her eyes move to Maraud. “Who is this?”

There is a moment of silence as we all wonder who should tell her. Finally, Father Effram steps forward. “This is Anton Crunard, your long-lost brother.”

Annith’s face lights up. “You found him!?”

Maraud shakes his head in wonder. “I have a sister. This is a boon I had not expected.” He is not wholly without family—surely welcome news in spite of the shock.

“Nor I,” Annith says. “We have much to talk about.”

The happiness in Maraud’s eyes dims somewhat. “Yes, we do.”

She squeezes his hand. “When you are ready to speak of it, I will be most eager to hear. Now come,” she says to the rest of us. “The boats are waiting.”

* * *

The next morning, I find Balthazaar behind the convent, beyond the low stone wall that lies between Sister Serafina’s poison workshop and the backside of the island.

As I approach, he stops what he is doing and rises to his feet. From this distance, he looks precisely as he did the first time I saw him. Tall, cloaked in black, impossibly still. But not truly the same. There is no frost beneath his feet and none of the terrible beauty of his divinity shines in his face.

He still smells of richly turned earth. Or mayhap that is the soil that clings to his hands. He smiles—in welcome, in joy, and, I think, in some way, in sadness. “Daughter.” His voice is no longer the rustle of winter leaves, but a deeply pleasant human voice.

When he came to me as Death, I could feel that he was my father. But with this man, Balthazaar, I do not feel that same connection. “What shall I call you?”

“I am still your father, but if you are more comfortable with Balthazaar, use that.”

Because I do not know the answer to that question, I ask, “Are you happy?” truly wanting to know. We spent last night feasting, all of the convent gathering to share stories and hear of the latest adventures. He seemed happy beside Annith, but now I am less sure.

He looks down at the earth under his feet, the faint breeze ruffling his hair, his face no longer unearthly white, but touched by days spent in the sun and the blood that now flows under his skin.

“Yes.” It is such a simple word, but there is much behind it. He looks at me. “I am happy.”

“You don’t miss being Death? The power you held then?”

A hint of a smile. “I miss not needing food. I tend to forget that I need it, and remember at inconvenient times.”

I cannot help it, I laugh. “Is that why you are out here digging in the dirt?”

It is hard to tell, but I think he blushes faintly. “I am planting something. See?” He squats down and points to a row of seedlings at the base of the stone wall. “Belladonna.”

“Are we running low?” I had wondered if the convent would still make poisons.

“No, I just like the flowers. Like being able to touch the soil and bring life from it rather than death. Although”—he stares ruefully down at the seedlings—“I am not very good at it.” He points to the second row, which has begun to wilt.

“They need water,” I say gently.

His forehead creases. “Water. That’s right. Serafina told me that.”

“Here, I’ll get some for you.”

When I return with a bucket and ladle, I show him how to water

the young plants. As we work together, I dare to say, “What can you tell me of the Dark Mother?”

He shows no surprise at my question and begins gently tapping another seedling into the ground. “I see her mark upon you. It has grown stronger since we last saw each other.”

The black pebble that I still carry hums with warmth. “Is that why my power seems to be growing, expanding in some way?”

Finished with his seedling, he looks up at me again. “Is it?”

“I am able to do things—Gen is able to do things—we’ve never done before.”

He shifts his gaze to stare at the ocean, his gray eyes the exact same color as the sea. “I wonder if it is your powers that have changed or you? From what the others have told me, you were broken and wounded when you first arrived here.” He looks at me with pain in his eyes. “And I am deeply sorry for that. But as you grow stronger now, so do your powers. Or rather, your willingness to explore your own powers.”

That makes sense, and yet. “Sometimes, it feels as if the power is . . . loose . . . in the world, now that . . . now that it is not held by you.”

“Oh, that is also possible.”

“How can you not know? You are—were—Death?”

He rests his arm on his knee. “And you are human. Do you understand all that being human entails? Why some are strong and others weak? Why some seek joy and others seek to destroy it?”

Now it is I who look away. I do not like that he doesn’t have all the answers. Or mayhap he no longer has them—they have slipped away with his godhood. “Father Effram said something once about the original covenant between the Church and the Nine.”

Balthazaar smiles. “Gods, we were young. And the Church so full of hubris.”

“Well, that part has not changed much.”

“When we first entered into the agreement with the Church, they wanted to keep our powers contained. The covenant stated we could not bear sons, because the Church was so blinded it only saw men as threats to its power.” He smiles. “Of course it was Salonius who discovered that loophole, and once we found it, we took full advantage. Gods do not like being restricted, even when they must agree to it.” He falls silent again as he stares out at the thick green grass rolling its way down to the shore. “But I have now seen how much the convent has forgotten. How many powers they have stopped using. How many they did not know they possessed.”