Grave Mercy (His Fair Assassin 1)

Author: Robin LaFevers

I slip my hand through the slit of my overskirt, and my fingers close around the hard wood of the crossbow tiller. “Vengeance,” I say softly.

His eyes widen slightly at my words, then he grows alarmed as I draw the crossbow from its hiding place. within the space of a single heartbeat, I cock the bow, fit the quarrel to the string, and level it at his head, aiming directly for the marque. For a moment I am torn, balancing the duchess’s and Duval’s need for information against my desire to prove myself to my god and my convent. I decide it cannot hurt to ask. "Who paid you to push your lord to his death?”

The man’s face pales. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. ”

“No? I think you do. I think you are the man who betrayed the Duke of Nemours. If you tell me what I need to know, I will kill you as quickly and painlessly as possible. If you do not, it will be slow and lingering. Your choice. either way, you will die. ” My blood is singing in my veins, so happy am I to be doing my god’s work.

Keeping his eyes on mine, the man comes out from behind the desk. "Who says I killed my lord Nemours? Do I get no chance to defend myself? Be tried and judged?”

“You have been,” I say. “By Saint Mortain Himself. And found guilty. Now, I will ask you one last time: On whose orders did you push?”

I see in his eyes the moment he decides to rush me. Grunting in annoyance, I release the bolt. It flies straight and true and strikes him in the forehead, precisely where Mortain has marqued him. As he falls, his eyes shift from my face to the door behind me. Swearing, I drop the crossbow and go for the knife at my ankle.

The action saves my life.

There is a breath of air at my back followed by a searing pain, then I am turning toward my assailant, thrusting upward with my knife before I have even laid eyes on him.

My aim is good, and the knife plunges into his gut. His brown eyes widen in surprise, then in pain, as I shove the blade upward, hastening his death. In spite of my threat to the other man, I do not deal in long and lingering deaths.

Before I can do more, however, the soul of the first man flees his dead body. It rushes at me, swirling with cold hostility. I force myself to concentrate on the myriad images it sends flickering through my mind, desperate to find some small tidbit of information that will tell us to who is behind this disaster. while I am distracted by this task, the second man’s soul also rushes at me. I gasp as if I have been plunged into a frozen river and stagger back against the wall, shivering so hard I can barely stand. As the second soul floods me, I am filled with anger and pain and regret. An aching sense of loss. A sense of fear so thick it coats the back of my tongue with its bitter taste.

Then, as quickly as they came, they leave, and I sag against the wall. The faint, faraway blare of the hunting horns sound outside. The hunting party has returned.

I kneel on the floor next to the second body long enough to retrieve my knife and wipe it clean on his tabard. when I rise to my feet, I am surprised at the small wave of dizziness that passes through me. I turn for the door, then blink at the smear of red where I leaned up against the wall. I am injured.

Desperate to be away from here, I grab a rough woolen cloak from the bed and use a corner of it to wipe the wall clean as best I can. Then I throw it around my shoulders and hide the crossbow beneath my skirts once more. I can hear the faint clatter of horses’ hooves on cobbles and the excited barking of the hounds. Satisfied that everything is as it should be, I step from the chamber out into the hall and begin the long walk down the corridor and away from the evidence of my actions.

As I wind my way through the palace corridors, I debate whether to return to Duval’s residence or meet him outside. In the end, I decide he must know what has transpired sooner rather than later, and better from my own lips than a stranger’s. Besides, someone must clean up the mess.

The wetness at my back spreads as the injury burns and pulls. I glance behind to be certain I am not dripping a trail of blood behind me.

Outside in the courtyard is a confusion of prancing, blowing horses; dismounting men; barking, wagging hounds; and shouts of greeting. Two large stags hang from poles and I find myself smiling. Today was clearly a good day for hunting, inside the palace and out. I hang back, searching for Duval.

Almost as if I have called his name, his head comes up and his gaze latches on to mine. I do not care for this connection between us.

Duval dismounts and makes his way to me. "What are you doing here?”

I say nothing, but simply stare at him.

“God’s Teeth!” he says. I would be heartily impressed by his ability to read my thoughts if it were not so exasperating.

He leans in closer, dipping his head as if he will kiss me, and I must remind myself that it is simply so no one will overhear. "Who?”

“Nemours’s guards. ”

One dark eyebrow shoots up. “More than one?”

“One because he was guilty of treachery; the other was in self-defense. ”

“Did the convent send you orders?”

“No. I went to pray for Nemours’s soul. Then I was drawn to Nemours’s chambers. There I saw a guard who bore a marque, and so I acted. ”

I cannot read the expression on Duval’s face. “I did try to question him first, my lord, but he gave nothing away. At least, not then. ”

Duval pounces on that like a wolf on a fallen bone. “Did you read his soul?”

I nod, then swallow before continuing. “He was paid a bag of ducats, and those who paid him held his wife and child. His last thought was of them, a quick prayer that they would be allowed to live now that he had done what he had been asked. ”

“He spared no last thought for those who had ordered him?”

I shake my head, then wince, as it pulls the cut on my back. “He did not know. The man he dealt with wore a deep hood, and they always met in the shadows. ”

Duval sighs. "Where are the bodies? I assume you need me to clean up after you. ”

“They are in Nemours’s chambers. If you will see to them, I will be on my way. ”

For the first time Duval notices the unfamiliar cloak I wear. "Whose cloak is that?”

I start to shrug, then wince again. “One of the men I — ”

with a sound of impatience, Duval lifts the cloak from my shoulders, then sucks in a breath. I look around to see the gown beneath is soaked through with blood. "We must get you attended to,” he says, letting the cloak fall back in place.