Courting Darkness (His Fair Assassin 4)

He pretends he does not notice my

unrelenting scowl, but I can feel his heart begin to beat faster. Good. He is unnerved by my attention. He gestures to his second in command, who steps forward and holds out a scroll. Duval takes it from him and begins to read.

The duchess’s face is impassive. “I have placed the duchy under the guidance of Chancellor Montauban. The king did not object nor put forth any other names when we last spoke of it. Not even yours.”

Rohan tries to shrug as if he is indulging a child, but the movement is too calculated to be truly careless.

“Where do you plan to reside?” the duchess asks coolly. “You cannot spend nearly so much time at your French holdings as you have this last year.”

I smile at the veiled rebuke of his collusion with the French. Rohan’s glance flickers in my direction before bowing in acknowledgment of the reprimand, his arrogance wilting somewhat along the edges. “I shall take up residence at my main holding in Josselin.”

Duval finishes reading, his mouth curving disgust. “The letter does seem to claim Rohan is to be governor of Brittany. It is signed by the king and bears his seal.”

Duval’s confirmation further inflames my temper. The king promised the duchess one thing, yet within days he has already changed his mind. I cannot help but wonder what other promises will be broken, what other wishes will not be honored. My sisters and I may have the duchess’s protection, but will the king allow her to honor that?

It feels as if my staunch bastion against Pierre has sustained a crack in its foundation.

“We shall see,” the duchess says brusquely. “Once I am in France and can discuss this with the king, you can be certain this misunderstanding will be put to rights.”

Her words are sure and confident, and for a moment Rohan looks nonplussed. Pressing her advantage, the duchess leans forward in her chair. “Remember this. My people have been through much while you were safely retired to your lands in France. You will treat them with a gentle hand and allow them to rebuild their lives, or I myself will ride back at the head of an army to oust you from this office. Do you understand?”

Rohan forces his features back into their casual arrogance. “But of course, Your Grace.” He must raise his voice to be heard over a rustle of movement toward the back of the room. “My only wish is to serve the interests of you and the king to the best of my ability.”

Courtiers begin ducking and stepping aside as a small black shape flaps toward the front of the chamber. Still unaware of the disturbance behind him, Rohan gives a shallow bow. “You have nothing to fear from me.”

That is when the bird attacks him.

With a rushing of wings and a rather desperate caw, a wild-eyed crow with a viciously sharp beak descends upon Rohan. Perfect. The viscount ducks in surprise, the men around him drawing their swords.

“Stop!” My voice rings out, cutting through the disarray as I step off the dais.

Rohan tries to maintain his dignity while dodging the wings and beak of the unsettled bird attempting to land on his shoulder. For that is what’s happening, I realize. The crow is exhausted and looking for a place to land. “The creature is attacking me!” Rohan waves his arms to fend it off.

I step closer, ignoring the drawn swords. “Hold very still, monsieur.” My voice is low and urgent. “This is no ordinary crow, but one sent by the convent of Saint Mortain.”

Rohan pales and grows motionless. Even though he has spent the last year in France, he is Breton enough to tremble at that name.

With Rohan no longer waving at him, the crow alights on the man’s shoulder, clinging precariously to the silver fox collar of his doublet.

Rohan flinches as I take a step closer. “Let’s hope the bird is not an ill omen of this new venture of yours, a warning to turn back.” Suspicion and alarm battle for control of the viscount’s features. “Or worse. He could be a harbinger of your own death.” I whisper the words as lovingly I would as an endearment.

Rohan is mine now. “Get him off of me!” He means for it to come out as an order, but it sounds more like a plea.

I am so close now that it looks like Rohan and I are partnering in a dance. His widened eyes follow my hand as I place the back of it on his shoulder.

The crow eyes me with disdain, as if doubting my wits to think he will fall for such a trick. However, it is not his wits I am counting on, but his hunger. For the last three days I have carried a bit of dried venison in my pocket, waiting for a messenger from Annith. That he happened to arrive during Rohan’s audience with the duchess is the saints’ own luck.

The crow catches the scent of the treat. When he lunges for it, I clasp his feathered body between my hands, his heart beating frantically as I remove him from Rohan’s shoulder. When I step away, I twist my fingers to give him his treat. He jabs, capturing it in his beak with a triumphant look in his black eyes.

“You’d best be careful for the next few days,” I warn the viscount. “One never knows what such a messenger can portend.”

As I leave the room with the crow safely cradled in my hands, I can only hope Rohan was as discomfited by my performance as I was by the news he brought.

Chapter 21

hile Ismae escorts the fuming duchess to the solar, I hurry to the chamber that used to serve as office to the abbess when she was in residence. It will be the best place to retrieve the message and read it away from prying eyes.

I have not set foot inside the room since the former abbess of Saint Mortain was banished. Was it truly only two weeks ago? While it is empty, some faint echo of her presence still remains. Or perhaps it is simply my own animosity toward her and her callous disregard for me or my well-being.

Nervous and impatient, the crow squawks. I tuck him safely in one of the three empty cages behind the abbess’s desk and trade him another treat from the nearby jar for my message. I march over to the chair and plop myself into it, then stretch my feet up and rest them on the desk. If any remnant of the abbess remains, let us see how she likes that.

The door opens, and Ismae pokes her head in. Her eyes widen as she takes in the location of my boots, but she says nothing. Wise girl.

“The duchess said I may come see what Annith had to say.”

I wave her over, unroll the message, and begin reading.

Dearest Sybella (and Ismae, who I imagine is reading over your shoulder),

I cannot help it, I laugh. Ismae nudges me with her elbow. “As if you wouldn’t be reading over my shoulder if it were addressed to me.”

We arrived at the convent three days ago. As you can imagine, Balthazaar’s appearance has thrown everything into chaos. Truly, it is as if a cat has landed among a flock of pigeons. Sister Beatriz fainted when he was introduced! The older sisters, while less flamboyant, were equally dramatic. Both Sister Vereda and Sister Claude cried openly when they came face-to-face with him.

The younger girls (and nuns) seem to take his presence more in stride. Aveline and Sarra appear bored by the whole development. Yet when they think no one is watching, I find them staring at him with hungry, resentful eyes. I do not know what it means for their relationship with him, but we will have our hands full while this is all sorted out.

However, you are leaving for France soon, and I wanted to get this information to you as quickly as I could. The two novitiates I told you about left the convent almost a year before either of you arrived. They were near my age, although I’m afraid I wasn’t close with them—?I was too focused on my training at the time.

I have spent hours poring through the convent registry, and there is only the smallest reference made to the girls’ departure. I include it below:

September 1484. Margot and Genevieve left for France today. They are to pose as nieces to one of Duke Francis’s allies, and as such will be tutored at the French court. They will be in position to feed us critical information in a timely manner, and will be available to us should we need to move against the crown. Although we shall do nothing for at least a year or two until they are well and truly est

ablished and beyond suspicion.

There is no mention made of who the ally was or where he lived. Further, I have found no evidence of any communications of theirs ever being received by the convent, nor any correspondence from us, either directing them to act or giving them instructions.

There was so little written about them I broke down and asked Sisters Claude and Vereda how the girls were to be contacted, should their services be needed. The answer was most unsatisfactory. When hidden initiates of Mortain are to be called into duty, they are given a crow feather, either by a messenger from the convent or by letter.

How we are to do that, when we do not know where they are, is unclear to me. I asked Sister Vereda if she has Seen either one of them, but she gave me such a garbled answer that I am certain Balthazaar’s arrival has temporarily deprived her of her wits. The entire strategy is so weak and flawed that we may as well have set the girls adrift on a raft in the open ocean. I fear that they have burrowed deep into the court awaiting instructions that never came. Yet one more thing to lay on the reverend mother’s long list of crimes.

I do not know how helpful my memories of them will be. Margot had red hair, brown eyes, and freckles. She promised to grow into a woman of great beauty. What I remember most about her was that her gifts from Mortain had not yet appeared—?even at twelve. Since it was the same with me, I took great comfort in that. However, that is not helpful to you.

Genevieve stands out even less vividly in my mind. Her hair was too light to be brown, but too dark to be blond. She was of average height and well muscled, for she threw herself into her training here. Her face was thin and somewhat fox-shaped, her eyes brown. But that was five years ago. Appearances change so much in those five years between twelve and adulthood! They could now be fat or thin, their hair darker, their faces rounder. There is a good chance they may even have grown taller, since many girls have not reached their full height by that age.