Mortal Heart (His Fair Assassin 3)

“How? You yourself saw that every road was watched by the French troops.”

“I will travel due north far enough to avoid them, then give them wide berth before heading south again toward Guérande.”

Floris tilts her head and studies me. “But the northern road is blocked.”

“Then I will not use the road.”

“But what of the hellequin?”

“I will not let them stop me. I shall look for walled cities and churches in which to pass the nights.”

“Can you be so very certain there will be one on every leg of your journey?” Her voice is gentle as she points out how much I am leaving to chance.

“Of course not, but I will manage.” I consider asking them to teach me how to draw those wards—Tola would, with a little persuasion.

Aeva folds her arms and looks at me in disgust. “You would abandon all these innocents and leave them to the French to avenge one who is already dead?”

“Aeva!” Floris’s voice is sharp. “That is her choice to make, not yours.”

I meet Aeva’s gaze steadily. “All those innocents have the followers of Arduinna to see to their safety. Matelaine has only me to avenge her death and see that such a thing never happens to one of Mortain’s daughters again.”

Aeva barks out a laugh. “You would protect Mortain’s daughters against death?”

“No. I would protect them against the betrayal that led to her death.”

They all fall silent then, but Aeva’s words have planted a small seed of guilt in me, and it begins growing, for there is truth in what she says. Confronting the abbess sooner rather than later will not bring Matelaine back from the dead. More importantly, I must think carefully about letting my own headstrong stubbornness propel me straight into the arms of the hellequin. Who will avenge Matelaine if they capture me?

“At least stay another night,” Floris suggests, “so our scouts can report back on the French positions. That way, you’ll be able to avoid them, if not the hellequin.”

Impatiently, Tola tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Could we not show her the wards, so she could protect herself?”

Aeva’s answer is fast and unequivocal. “No! She is not one of us and has no right to our secrets.”

“Thank you,” I tell her coolly, “but I do not wish anyone to betray their secrets. However, getting captured or killed in the attempt to avenge Matelaine will only ensure that the truth dies with me, so I will stay another day or two and think on other possible plans.” I turn to Floris. “If you will have me.”

“But of course. You are welcome to stay as long as you like.” She flashes a quick smile. “You are also more than welcome to fight with us. It may help some of that pain you are feeling.”

The suggestion startles me. “Is that allowed?”

Aeva snorts. “She will not sully herself by riding out with us. She will stay and cower in our camp while we do the hard work.”

“I am getting tired of your constant slurs and insults,” I tell her.

“Then do something about it. Something besides sitting secluded behind your thick stone walls, venturing out only when Death deigns to pay a visit, not understanding that dying is the easy part.”

“The easy part?”

“Enough, Aeva! All of us who serve our gods have our own roles to play. And there are men who would argue with your belief that their deaths were easy.” Floris’s eyes grow dark with some remembered pain, and I look away to give her privacy.

I am being offered a chance. I do not know if it comes from Mortain or Arduinna—although why she would offer me such a thing, I cannot fathom. But no more can I reason out why Mortain would send hellequin to ride after me, then allow me to use my skills to evade them. But just because I cannot understand the reasoning of the gods does not mean I will pass up this opportunity. I wanted a life outside those stone walls that Aeva scorns; I scorned them myself in much the same way when I feared I would be imprisoned behind them all the rest of my days. This may be my only chance. I do not know how things will go with the abbess when I find her in Guérande, but I feel like a starving child who must eat all the sweets now, before they are taken away for good. “Yes.” The word falls into the silence, causing everyone to look at me. “Yes, I will ride with you and aid your cause.”

“Well.” Aeva’s eyes rake over my traveling gown. “You cannot fight with us in that.”

“Of course not.” Tola takes my hand and all but drags me away from the other women. “I will see to getting her properly equipped.”

If fighting my way through the French soldiers is the only road to the abbess, then so be it. I will fight my way through them, soldier by bedamned soldier.

After pulling me back to the supply wagons, Tola rummages through their contents, then hands me a pair of leather leggings, a soft leather tunic, and a belt. I disappear into our small tent, slip out of my gown, and shimmy into my new clothes. The leggings fit like a second skin, and the leather tunic is both thicker and more supple than my gown. I cannot help but wish for a mirror to see what I look like in these strange new clothes, but of course there is none. Feeling self-conscious, I step out of the tent. Tola nods in approval. “See? You will move much more freely in those.”

And so I do. Next, Tola offers to braid my hair. I sit on a nearby log and toss my hair over my shoulders so she can more easily reach it. As her fingers busy themselves making rows and rows of small braids, she chatters about which horse is her favorite and of her excitement about our mission. Suddenly, she stops and is quiet for a long moment. “What?” I finally ask. “What is it?”

She traces her finger down along the nape of my neck, just below the ha

irline. “Where did you get this mark?”

“What mark?”

“You did not know that you had it?”

“No. What does it look like?”

“It is nothing, never mind. It must just be a birthmark of some sort.” And then she resumes braiding my hair.

Chapter Twenty-Two

EVEN WHEN THEY ARE in such a large encampment, the Arduinnites stick to small groups, or clans, as they call them, of anywhere from three women to a dozen. Campfires decorate the ground like the fireflies of summer, their flames twinkling yellow and orange in the encroaching night.

As I draw near our campfire, Tola and Floris stop their conversation and turn to me. Tola beams as proudly as a new mother, and I feel suddenly shy in my new attire. Floris smiles warmly, and even Aeva gives a begrudging grunt of—could it be?—approval. Four quail are on a spit over the fire, and my mouth waters at the scent of roasting meat.

Floris and Tola, while always friendly enough, seem especially relaxed in my presence tonight. Perhaps that is simply because they are surrounded by such a large number of their sisters. Whatever the reason, I welcome it, for I have questions I wish to ask, and it will be much easier if I do not have to wade through suspicion or hostility.

Once we are eating and all their attention is turned to their food, I begin. “Floris, you said that you are a priestess of Arduinna. How are her priestesses chosen?” I cut a quick glance at Aeva, bracing myself for a protest, but none comes.

“Followers of Arduinna can choose to be priestesses if they are willing to submit to the required nine years of training. Once they have mastered that, they take turns serving the goddess at different times of the year, then resume their normal duties when they are not.” She tilts her head curiously. “Is that not how your convent does it?”

“No, we are fashioned more in accordance with the offices of the new church. We have an abbess who oversees all, and then a seeress who helps us interpret Mortain’s will.” Before she can think to wonder how our seeresses are chosen, I hurry to ask my next question. “Who rules over all of you? With so very many groups, surely you must need some way to settle disagreements.”