Courting Darkness (His Fair Assassin 4)
“Sybella,” he whispers against my mouth.
“Here.” I pull my lips from his and slide along the wall to a door. My hand fumbles a moment, then opens it.
Beast blinks at the room behind us, his brows raised.
“It is no accident that I waited for you here against the wall of the tack room.” I take his hand, pull him inside, and close the door behind us.
* * *
Later, as we rest upon a pile of saddle blankets, I run my fingers along his chest, tracing every scar, every muscle, every rib, as if they hold the key to this man and his generous heart. “So tell me. What happened? Why were you gone so long?”
He settles his head more comfortably on the saddle he is using as a pillow. “There was a swarm of Rohan’s men just outside the city. It was impossible to find Pierre, at first. It wasn’t until he left his dead retainer where he fell that I was able to see where he’d been. But he had a fair head start. By the number of hoof marks in the ground, he had nearly a dozen men waiting for him.”
I prop my head up on my elbow. “And you went after them—?alone?”
“Of course not. I had help.”
“Who?”
He grins. “The charbonnerie camp was not too far from there, so I collected six of Graelon’s men, and we settled in to follow.”
“Why not just return once they were free of the city?”
“I wanted to track them long enough to be sure they would not simply lie in wait, ready to attack us again when we leave for France.”
I tap him lightly on the chest. “Smart man. Where did they go?”
“South, beyond Nantes. They demanded hospitality from the local lords on the first and second nights. When they got past Nantes, I thought we’d finally be able to move against them, but they reached their own holding and were joined by a battalion of men before picking up the road to Gascony the next morning. That is when I decided they would not be doubling back.” He captures my hand in his, holding it still. “I am sorry he got away.”
“Do not apologize. Even you cannot take on an entire battalion of men.”
He lifts my hand and kisses it. “For you I would take on the entire world.”
And he would. I can see it so clearly in my mind—?with a battalion full upon him, wading his way through them like a farmer scything wheat. I shiver.
“But,” he continues, “I am not that foolish.” He sighs. “It was easier. Before I met you. Before I knew Louise. It is harder now to find my courage.”
“That is called wisdom, and well that you should acquire some.” I am silent a moment as the weight of the confrontation with Pierre presses down on me once more. “I should have killed him.”
Beast studies me for a long moment. “Did he bear a marque?”
“No. But neither did the guards involved in Crunard’s escape attempt. It appears that marques are no more.”
Hearing the despair in my voice, he leans down to kiss the crown of my head.
An old familiar wave of shame washes over me. Unable to meet his eyes, I look down and pluck at one of his chest hairs. “I wanted to kill him,” I whisper. “I wanted to with all my heart, marque or no. The only thing stopping me was Charlotte and Louise.” I look up at him. “It was one thing to have those impulses when Mortain was guiding my hand, but that is no longer the case. Surely being so quick to kill makes me just like Pierre.”
He tightens both arms around me, as if trying to squeeze such thoughts from my head. “No.” The word is quick and certain. “You were sired by Mortain, not d’Albret.”
“I have done horrible things and caused untold damage long before I came to serve Mortain. I hold darkness inside me like an acorn holds a seed.”
“You are wrong,” he whispers against my hair.
I am quiet for a moment, unable to accept the comfort he offers. “At the convent, we used to soak apricots in poisoned honey, for the sweetness disguised the poison. And while the fruit itself is not toxic, a lifetime spent soaking in the poison made it so.” I pull away from him so I may see his face. “What if I am that apricot? No matter that I was born of Mortain, if I have spent my whole life steeped in the d’Albret poison, how can it not have tainted me?”
Beast brings his hands up to cradle my face, his eyes fierce with certainty. “You are not an apricot. You are a blade that has been brutally forged, painfully hammered, and wickedly honed. You are steel, not poison. You are deadly, not depraved. They are very different things, Sybella.”
His words soothe something in my heart. I want so desperately to believe him. At the very least, no matter how far I fear I have gone, how beyond salvation I have ventured, he will always accompany me on that road.
Chapter 24
n the morning of our departure for France, Ismae and I wait for the duchess near her chamber door, the silence between us thick with all the last-minute things we wish to say, the farewell we have no choice but to make. Instead, Ismae shoots a disgruntled glare at Tola and Aeva, who wait farther away from the door, just beyond hearing. “I do not see why the Arduinnites get to go when I must stay here.”
Her grousing nearly causes me to smile. “It is their magic that brought this miracle into being. When their leader offered their services, the duchess thought it impolitic to refuse. Besides, with Rohan’s arrival, I am guessing you will have more intrigue and scheming than you had planned for.”
Her face brightens, but before she can respond, the duchess appears at our side, resplendent in a black satin traveling gown complete with a fur-lined cloak.
“Your Grace.” We both sink into deep curtsies.
Her face is pale, her head held high. “If you will come with me,” she murmurs, “I have one stop I must make before we depart.”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
It is but a short walk to the cathedral. At the wide ornate doors, the duchess pauses. “I must say goodbye to Isabeau.” Her voice falters only slightly.
Duval emerges from inside the vestibule where he has been waiting. She turns gratefully to him. “Thank you for meeting me.”
He takes her hand in his and gives it a bracing squeeze.
“Wait here, if you please,” she tells us. Duval looks once at Ismae, his gray eyes the exact same color as the walls of the mausoleum. It is easy to forget that Isabeau was his sister as well. Indeed, it is easy to forget that they were all a close-knit family rather than a political dynasty. Duval has served his sister since she was born, making it his duty to see to her safety and well-being. And now they will be parted. Duval can likely count on two hands the number of times he will see her again. If that.
I do not mean to listen, but the cathedral is as quiet as a grave, and its high open ceilings allow sound to echo freely. “You will see that candles are lit for her daily?” the duchess asks.
“I will.”
“I knew when I married—?whoever it would be—?I would have to leave Isabeau behind.” Her voice breaks. “But I did not want it to be like this.”
Duval reaches out and pulls her into his arms. “There is naught you could have done. She was always plagued with ill health.”
“While that is true, I always wonder how much the constant worry of war and a lifetime of intrigues hastened her death.”
“You protected her from it as much as you could.”
“As you protected me. I cannot thank you enough for everything you have done, Gavriel. I would have given up a hundred times if not for you and your determination—”
“Hush. It will not change now. I will simply do it from afar.”
Her composure crumbles, and she allows herself to lean against his chest. “I do not know if I can live in the midst of those who have been our enemy for so long.”
His arms tighten around her. “Ah, but I know that you can. If not for you, we would be a conquered people with a new overlord. You found a way to win the king’s heart. You wrested victory from defeat. It is your child who will inherit the French crown. The woman who did that will easily me
et whatever the French court may throw her way.”
She pulls away, wiping at her eyes. “If I was strong, it was because you were the iron at my back. So have a care for yourself. Do not plot too hard. Do not let Rohan unsettle you too much. I will speak to the king immediately and see that he is removed and returns to his lands in France.”
The smile Duval gives her is bright, but even through the dim light of the cathedral I can see the faint melancholy that tugs at its corners. “All will be well,” he assures her.
The sound of a distant trumpet drifts in through the cathedral’s door. “Now,” he says more briskly, “the traveling party is assembled, the baggage train is loaded. All they are waiting for is you.”