Dark Triumph (His Fair Assassin 2)

Author: Robin LaFevers

D’Albret snorts in disgust. “They have made you soft. ” He turns to one of the guards at the door. “Go see if you can find this crow and catch it. Perhaps I will feed it to her for her supper. ” A faint flutter of dismay moves in my breast, but hopefully the foolish bird will be long gone by now. If I am forced to eat my crow, of a surety I will spew it back up, and I will be certain to do so on d’Albret’s fine cordwain boots. The thought of that gives me some small measure of courage, and I am able to meet his gaze with true amusement in my own.

The guard bows once, then departs. “Search her,” d’Albret orders de Lur.

The captain glances uncertainly at d’Albret. At the count’s nod, de Lur slowly smiles, then moves to stand in front of me. The smirking pig puts his hands on my shoulders and then draws them down my arms, feeling every inch of my skin beneath the fabric of my sleeves.

I refuse to give him the satisfaction of shuddering at his touch. Instead, I amuse myself by wondering if de Lur will try to stop me from fulfilling the convent’s order to kill d’Albret. If he does, I may have to kill him as well.

When his hand connects with the sheath strapped to my left wrist, his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “What is this?”

“’Tis but my knife, my lord. You would not expect a d’Albret to wander about unarmed?”

He starts to peel back my sleeve. “Careful,” I warn him. “The edge is most sharp. ”

That gives him a moment’s pause. While he is still trying to decide if I have threatened him, I reach for my knife. As my fingers close around the handle, I carefully slip the tiny, rolled note against my palm before unsheathing the blade.

He glances warily at the sharp edge, then stuffs two fingers into the leather sheath at my wrist and begins poking around. I cast an annoyed look at d’Albret. “Is it seemly for him to enjoy it this much?”

“I told you to search her, not make love to her,” d’Albret says. “How would you like it if I did such to your daughter, eh?” The threat is unmistakable, and de Lur’s movements become much more circumspect.

However, when he reaches my buttocks, he cannot resist giving my cheeks a faint pinch. That is when I realize I am still holding my knife, and it is all I can do not to plunge it into his gut. Instead, I move my hand as if to return the knife to its sheath, but I do not pull the blade back quite far enough. The point of it rakes across his cheek.

He swears and shoves me away as he puts his hand to his face.

“I did warn you that it was sharp. ”

His nostrils flare in fury, and he glances at d’Albret. “She carries nothing,” he says, “but a small dagger and an even smaller heart. ”

I smile as if his words have pleased me greatly. D’Albret waves for him to step back. “You will be happy to know I have found a use for you at last, daughter. ”

My heart gives one slow beat of dread, for I know d’Albret believes women have but two purposes: to bear him sons and to slake his lust. With his own daughters, he begrudgingly allows a third: to be used as a bargaining piece in marriages that will increase his wealth and power.

It is the note from the convent that gives me the courage to lift my chin and smile sweetly at him. “I can think of nothing that would bring me greater pleasure, my lord, than to be of service to you. ”

“I have yet to discover who betrayed our plans to the duchess and gave her warning. I wish to watch the Nantes barons more closely. Perhaps one of them pretends loyalty to me and then reports all my plans to her. With this suspicion in mind, you will become intimately acquainted with Baron Mathurin. ”

I keep my face perfectly still. This is a new low, even for him—whoring his own daughter out for political gain. “The fat one with the double chins? I am not certain that we must become intimate in order for me to coax his secrets from him,” I say lightly.

D’Albret leans forward, his black beard bristling. “You are refusing?”

“Of course not. ” My heart beats faster now, for I am well aware of what happens to those who refuse him.

D’Albret cocks his head to the side. “Do not tell me you have maidenly qualms, for we all know what a lie that is. ”

His words are like a slap to my face and send me reeling down a long, painful corridor of memories. Memories so terrifying that my vision darkens before my mind scrambles away from them. “I am merely pointing out that there are many methods available to extract the information you wish to have. ”

Satisfied with my answer, he leans back in his chair. “You will sit next to him at dinner. ”

Before he can give me further instructions, his steward arrives, escorting a road-weary and travel-stained courier. D’Albret waves his hand at the captain and me. “Leave us,” he orders, and Captain de Lur escorts me from the room.

Despair and frustration threaten to rise up inside me, but I tamp them down. Even though d’Albret is all but announcing to his men and vassals that I am so sullied that I do not warrant his protection, I need not panic just yet. I place my hand over my wrist sheath, drawing comfort from what hides there, and hurry to my rooms.

I arrive at my chamber, where Tephanie and Jamette fuss and cluck and are horribly relieved to see me. Irrationally, I blame them for what has befallen me this afternoon. “Draw a bath, at once,” I order curtly.

As they begin that task, I slip into the garderobe and remove the note from its hiding place. My hand trembles as I unroll the message, careful to hold it over the privy hole so that no traces of black wax can be found and used as evidence against me. I hope that these are the instructions I have longed for. Of course the note is in cipher. Holding back my impatience, I quickly count out the necessary sequence, but I have no ink or parchment, so it takes me far too long to decipher the message.

“My lady? Your bath is ready. Are you ill?”

“I am fine,” I snap at Tephanie’s worried question. “Except I cannot find privacy. ”

“I beg your pardon, my lady,” she says meekly, and I turn back to the note.

Dearest daughter,

We believe that Lord d’Albret has taken Baron de Waroch prisoner. The duchess has great need of the Beast of Waroch if she is to have any hope of raising an army against d’Albret or the French. We thereby order you to determine if he is indeed alive and, if so, to find a way to secure his release and see that he is brought to Rennes immediately.

Abbess Etienne de Froissard