Courting Darkness (His Fair Assassin 4)

The realization chases my anger from me faster than water douses flames.

What would it be like to have so many willing to fight for your safety? To simply assume your world would be safe and you were worthy of such efforts?

What would it take for these men to feel that way about my sisters?

I nearly laugh. They likely do not even remember that I have two sisters.

Something dark and ugly rises up in my throat. While I am perfectly able to take care of myself, my sisters are not. They have only myself and Beast to see to their well-being. How would these wise and noble men react to the news of Pierre’s abduction attempt?

Duval would give us his full support. Dunois as well, perhaps. The chancellor would want to support my family, as long as it did not jeopardize his main responsibility, the duchess. Former marshal Rieux and the Prince of Orange? No. They are not the sorts to lift a finger to help someone else—?especially if there is not something to be gained from it. They are like all the men throughout the years that could never be bothered to concern themselves as d’Albret went through wives faster than most men go through horses. They did not even question the rumors or gossip, merely dismissed them as such.

The chancellor might fuss and cluck, but would not endanger his other charges. Clearly there is only so much protection to go around. Especially when the law is on Pierre’s side.

There will be no help from this quarter. The duchess has more courage and integrity than two-thirds of her council. She is the one who has offered my sisters protection, although I wonder how many in this room even know that?

Anger, hot and acrid, fills my belly. Surely my sisters are owed such protection.

But Pierre has shown just how ruthless he is. How much of that will spill onto the duchess? Is this roomful of protectors enough to deter my brother? By accepting her protection for my sisters, am I putting her in harm’s way?

My path ahead seemed so clear—?in exchange for my continued service, the duchess offered to foster my sisters. But that very oath of loyalty I swore to her now puts her at risk. How in the name of the Nine do I thread that needle?

The king, I remind myself. He is the missing piece in all of this. Pierre would not dare move against the king. In truth, the king’s protection could likely be the only thing that will deter my brother. And it is the duchess who has access to that.

The war is over. France and Brittany are now allies. Even better, the regent is widely known to keep a veritable stable of young noblewomen, girls sent to her at a tender age so she could train and shape them into womanhood. Surely two more young girls can easily hide among their numbers.

Indeed, I know that two girls can.

Remembering the news I bring for the council eases some of the coiled tension from my body. That same news also reminds me that I do not embark on this adventure empty-handed. I have additional protection to offer the duchess. And my sisters.

I shift my attention back to the conversation. The duchess is speaking. “Is there any word on what Rohan wants?” the duchess asks.

“Not yet,” Duval admits, “but he claims he is here on the king’s business, and I cannot imagine it will be to our advantage.”

Chancellor Montauban shakes his head. “Could the French simply have sent him to offer his support and congratulations?”

Duval, Dunois, and Châlons all exchange knowing glances, but say nothing.

The chancellor looks at them in exasperation. “You are a suspicious lot.”

“We have been enemies for a long time now, and are more accustomed to suspicion than trust,” the duchess says. “Old history will not be forgotten so quickly.”

I lean forward. “Speaking of matters of suspicion and trust, Your Grace, we may have some additional assistance in that area.”

The chancellor frowns at me, clearly not wishing to encourage that line of thought. “The convent of Saint Mortain has hidden two of their initiates deep within the French court. Their orders were to burrow like little moles until they were under the nose of the regent and the king himself. They have been in position for years, waiting to be called into service. They could prove excellent guides as we try to navigate this complex, unfamiliar terrain of being allies with the French.”

Duval visibly brightens. “This is most welcome news, Lady Sybella.”

They will also be two more able-bodied and skilled assassins I may call upon to protect my sisters against any future moves Pierre might make.

Chapter 13

Genevieve

ne of Margot’s waiting women opens the door, motions me inside, then quickly shuts it behind me so a draft does not follow me in.

My eyes take a moment to adjust to the darkness. The curtains block out any hint of daylight for fear it will harm the mother’s or babe’s eyes. Cloth has been draped from the ceiling in great poufs and swathes, softening the room and making it feel far smaller than it is. The only light comes from the roaring fire and two candles. As is intended, the room is as warm and close as a womb.

When I was five, my aunt Bertine found herself with child. She was already round and ripe of figure, so it was easy enough for her to hide it from her clients. But there were other men, more than a few, who enjoyed lying with a woman heavy with child, her lush fullness causing their own virility to stir. She worked up until the eighth month. Noblewomen, however, are confined to their rooms several weeks before the babe is due. It is nearly suffocating, and I do not know how Margot can stand it.

“Gen? Is that you?” Margot’s voice comes from behind the bed’s rich curtains.

“It is.” As I approach, the waiting woman draws back.

“Leave us,” Margot commands.

“But, my lady! You should not be alone—”

“I am not alone. Genevieve is here. Now go.”

Tsking in disapproval, the woman leaves the room and closes the door quietly behind her.

“Well? Did you do it?” she asks.

“I said I would, and I did. Here.” I reach out and give her a piece of the silver birch bark from the ground beneath the tree, knowing she will not rest until she has proof.

Once, my word would have been proof enough.

She grabs the bark, closes her eyes, then brings it to her lips. “Thank you.” Like quicksilver, t

he expression on her face changes from relief to suspicion. “Why did you not come sooner? It is past noon.”

Instead of shaking her for her ingratitude, I pull up the waiting woman’s stool and sit down. “There has been news of the duchess.”

Margot flops back onto her mound of pillows. “Oh.”

I lean forward. “The duchess and the king of France are betrothed. There will not be a war, but a wedding, instead.”

She blinks sleepily. “Well, that’s good. I suspect everyone is tired of war.”

“But, Margot, think of what this means for us. It is possible the duchess was forced into the marriage against her will. Even if she wasn’t, the political action has moved from Brittany to France, where we are conveniently placed just as the convent planned. They will need us, Margot. I am certain the convent will be contacting us any day with instructions. Perhaps we will be needed to forestall the marriage. At the very least, we can tell the duchess all that we have learned of the regent’s moves against her so that she will know just how little the woman is to be trusted.”

Margot’s head lolls to the side as she considers me. “We, Gen? What do you think I will do with this news? Leap up from my birthing bed, grab a horse, and ride with you to the French court, waving our daggers to fend off all who would naysay the queen?” She laughs, three high, brittle notes. “There is no we in this game of yours. There is only you.”

“This is no game, Margot. The duchess will be at the French court in less than a fortnight.”

Margot leans forward. “But that is no guarantee the convent will call you. You are like some poor dog that does not know when to quit begging for scraps.”

“Very well.” My voice is stiff, guarded. “What would you like me to tell them when they do contact us?”

“Tell them?”