Courting Darkness (His Fair Assassin 4)

There are ten—?no, fifteen men crawling up the sides of the bridge. Their absolute silence sends prickles down my spine.

I use Lannion’s last bolts to take out the two closest to the bridge. Aeva draws up alongside me and fires her bow at the next two. “I am out of arrows,” I tell her.

“It is a good thing we have knives.” The grin she gives me is nearly as feral as any of Beast’s. Together we charge toward the blockade.

However, if we are to use knives, we will need to get closer. When we reach the bridge, we quickly dismount.

My knife greets the first man over the railing. As Aeva’s long curved blade meets the second, an arrow flies out of the litter, catching the third man in the chest and knocking him off the bridge.

Thunderous hooves clatter along the stone shore of the river, followed by a furious splash as Beast plunges into the water. The attackers are strung along the bridge railing like so many rats climbing a wall. Rising up in his stirrups, Beast begins hacking with his ax. Within seconds, the water is churning with blood and bodies.

Six have gained the bridge, safe from Beast’s attack. But not safe from me. I smile. As I’d hoped, it unnerves them. Then I stop thinking and simply launch forward, giving myself over to the dark instincts that flow through my limbs as strong and sure as the river below. Every move is swift and sure, not requiring conscious thought but simply doing what I was fashioned by my god to do. That I can still feel his grace in this fills me with joy.

When the cool darkness finally pulls back, I become aware that it is quiet now, except for the rushing sound of the water beneath the bridge and the beating of hearts. I blink. All the attackers are dead, strewn about like broken dolls. Beast stands nearby, breathing hard, ax still in his hand. The river has washed away most of the blood that covered him.

Around us, burghers and courtiers, soldiers and baggage handlers, stare, their eyes wide, mouths agape. One man crosses himself, and another. Some fall to their knees, hands clasped before them, heads bowed.

Uncomfortable with their thanks, I turn my attention to Beast. “How badly are you hurt?” It is all I can do not to go to him and begin tending his wounds.

He frowns at the arrow protruding from his thigh before plucking it out and tossing it into the river. “Naught but a pinprick.” He grins, then sobers. “And you?”

I hold out my arms from my sides so he may see. “I am fine.”

“Good. I must check on my men to see to the wounded and claim my dead.”

“Do we know who they were?”

He shakes his head. “Not yet.”

As he heads toward the main group, I wipe my face with the hem of my underskirt, then pick my way among the fallen to the litter.

Inside, Charlotte and Louise are on the floor with Tephanie lying on top of them like a shield. Tola holds her bow, cocked and ready to fire, scanning the horizon for any stragglers. The duchess’s attendant, Heloise, grimly faces the other window, a knife in each hand. When she sees it is only me, she lowers her weapons. “Is it over?”

“Yes,” I tell her. “The attack has been repelled and the last of the stragglers rounded up.”

She nods. “If you don’t mind, I would like to go see if I can help with our wounded.”

It takes me a moment to remember she serves Brigantia. “I am certain they will be glad of your help.”

When Tola hears my report, she lowers her bow and grins. “Well, that was a lot of excitement for one day.”

For one brief moment, her fierce joy in the thrill of the fight causes me to forget the pain of Captain Dunois before it closes over me again like a wave over a drowning man.

“Yes, it was. Tephanie?” I ask softly. “Are you all right?”

She looks up, her face sagging in relief. “Is it over, my lady?”

“Yes, sweet Tephanie. It is. You and the girls are safe.” When she still seems afraid to move, I continue, “And you may stop sitting on the girls as if they were eggs to be hatched.”

That surprises a smile out of her. As she pulls herself up onto the seat, I reach out and grasp her in a fierce hug. “Thank you,” I whisper in her ear. “For protecting them with your life.”

Blushing, she straightens her cap and skirts. “Louise? Charlotte?” My voice is gentle, coaxing. “It is all right. You may come out now.”

Charlotte springs up quickly, straightening her gown and scowling at Tephanie. “You were squashing me.”

“She was shielding you with her own body to keep you safe.” I motion toward one of the many arrows embedded in the side of the litter. “You owe her your life and your thanks.”

Charlotte stares at me a moment, before sighing. “Thank you, Lady Tephanie, for protecting me. Although next time, perhaps you could avoid having stones for breakfast so you will not be so heavy.”

My hand itches to slap her. Instead, I pull the arrow from the wall of the litter and hand it to her. “Here. Keep this in remembrance of the woman who loved you enough to save your life, even when you gave her so little reason to do so.” I am pleased to see her cheeks redden with shame. Pleased to know she can still feel it. “Now, if you will have a seat over there, I would like to see to Louise.”

The younger girl is still hugging the floor, her eyes tightly closed. “Louise, sweeting. I am here. Everything is all right now.”

She says nothing but rocks harder and hums louder.

“Louise, come here.” I reach into the awkward space and try to pull her up.

“Are you certain they are gone?” Her words, directed at the floor of the litter, come out high-pitched and wobbly.

“Yes, dearest. I am sure.” I manage to get a solid enough hold on her that I can pull her up into my lap. Once there, she wraps her arms around my neck and presses her face against me. I rock her back and forth, murmuring comforting words in her ear. After a long while, she finally pulls back and looks at me. “Tola is very good with her bow,” she says.

“She is.”

Louise is quiet for another long moment. “And Tephanie was very brave.”

“I knew she would be.”

“Even so,” Louise continues, “I think I should like to learn how to use a bow too.”

“I think that would be a most excellent idea.” I laugh and hug her tight. “Now that I know you all are safe, I have duties I must see to. Not all were as fortunate as us, and I must see what I can do to help.”

As is often the way with children, they recover their equanimity quickly, due in large part to Tephanie and Tola’s staunch presence.

With another round of hugs and kisses from Louise, and a grudging allowance of a hug from Charlotte, I clamber out of the litter and return to my horse. Our men have lowered the barricade blocking the bridge, and one of them hands me my reins.

With souls lingering in the air like a swarm of drunken butterflies, I decide I might as well see if I can use them to learn who was behind the ambush. I plant my feet firmly in the ground, then open the floodgate.

It is like being ambushed all over again. I am assailed by dozens upon dozens of images and sensations. Pain. So much pain. And anger. And surprise that they have fallen. The next wave is of memories, final thoughts, and regrets. All the small sad stories these men carried with them into battle. A brief remembered pleasure of last night’s tupping. Regret over an argument with a friend. A lost dicing game. A wine jug not finished. Some fleeting image catches my attention and I turn my head, trying to better focus on it. A gloved hand holding out a thin sack of coins. A brief flash of the gold and blue of the house d’Albret, and then it is gone.

My eyes jerk open, and I stare out at the field, wondering which fallen soldier these memories come from. But there are dozens of them. The sun is dipping low in the sky, and there is not time to comb through every soul that still lingers. Further, how can I be certain it is a recent memory rather than one from a year ago, when most of these men were likely being paid by Brittany and her allies to fend off the French? It could well

be a coincidence—?for even Pierre would not risk incurring the wrath of the king of France.

Even so, my hands are shaking and I feel sick inside as I carefully re-erect my mental shields once more.

Chapter 31

Genevieve

hen I arrive for our first sparring session, I do not call out a greeting, but let the glow of the torch and the sliding of the bolt announce my presence. With a sack over one shoulder and my knife within my reach, I begin lowering myself down the rope. I descend more cautiously than the first time, mindful of how glibly the prisoner discussed overpowering me, not wanting to give him any such openings.

In the dim light thrown down by the burning torch, I see him waiting a respectful distance away, hands easy at his sides. Good. He is aware of the trust I am placing in him and wants me to know he respects it. “I have brought food and practice weapons.” My voice is gruff. “Which would you prefer first?”

“The weapons.” His hunger is no small thing, and I cannot help but be impressed by his discipline.

“Very well.” I set the bag of food on the floor against the wall behind me, remove the two swords strapped to my back, and hand the wooden one to him. “I have chosen short swords, given the confines of our practice area.”

The prisoner balances the wooden sword on his palm, testing the weight and heft of it. Without warning, he grabs the hilt and thrusts it at me, a sharp, quick lunge that I only barely block in time. But block it I do. In spite of my irritation, my heart sings. He has not been imprisoned for so long that he will not be of any use to me. “That was unfair.”

He tugs his sleeves down. “But a good way to test your reflexes. You have used a sword before.”