Courting Darkness (His Fair Assassin 4)
Instead of completing their circuit around the park, the king walks the queen back the way they have come, the winter rose she had been holding now dangling listlessly from her fingers. My heart dips at the wooden expression on the king’s face, and the poorly hidden distress on the queen’s. When the king reaches us, he bows. “My ladies, I hope you enjoy your time in the garden. I am afraid I have pressing matters I must attend to now.” And with that, he takes his leave, the queen doing her best to blink back tears.
Fortunately, the other attendants are so absorbed in their own gossip and enjoyment of the day that I am able to quickly step to the queen’s side, take her arm, and begin walking in a direction away from the king. “What happened? It seemed that everything was going so nicely.”
She stares straight ahead, a pleasant expression pasted on her face. “It was. It was going so well that I felt comfortable with him. As if we were truly a husband and wife come together to talk of our mutual interests. He mentioned something about Brittany, which I said reminded me that I had been meaning to ask him about his appointment of Lord Rohan as chancellor, as Chancellor Montauban was doing a fine job in that role.”
“And what did he say to that?”
She looks down at her hand, her face bleak. “That matters of government were his prerogative and he did not wish to discuss them. And then he left.”
It is her worst fear made real. He has no intention—?if ever he had—?of relinquishing any power to her or even allowing her to govern Brittany. I feel sick, both for her and my sisters.
She shoves the flower at me as if she can no longer bear to hold it. But it is too delicate to withstand yet another human touch. As I take it from her, the petals separate and the winter rose comes apart in my hand.
* * *
Later that afternoon, with my heart heavy in my chest, I slowly climb the five flights of stairs to my room. When I reach the landing, I see that the door to our chamber stands open. Concern prickling along my scalp, I pick up my skirts and hurry the rest of the way.
Drawing closer, I hear voices coming from inside. When I reach the door, the sight that greets me brings me to a stop.
The regent sits in a chair by the fire. Louise is on the floor at her feet, looking up at her. Charlotte sits perched on a second chair, wearing her most polite and attentive expression.
“Lady Sybella!” The regent’s voice is warm and welcoming.
“Madame Regent.” I dip into a deep curtsy.
“I was just getting to know your sisters.”
Her words are friendly, but my heart begins to thud hollowly in my chest. “So I see, Madame.”
She smiles down at Louise as she rises. When she is standing, she lifts her gaze to mine. “They are charming girls.” There is no malice in her words or on her face, nor even the hint of a threat, but I can feel it all the same.
“Be well,” she says, and takes her leave.
It is all I can do not to slam the door and bolt it shut. I try to reassure myself that she would never harm two young girls. Then I think of the queen, and know that is a lie. There are infinite ways to hurt someone, and the regent is more resourceful than most.
Chapter 55
Genevieve
hen I reach the oubliette, I throw back the bolt on the latch, not caring how loudly it echoes through the stone corridor, then heave the grill up so hard that I nearly wrench my shoulder.
Not bothering with a greeting, I toss the rope down into the hole. “Hurry,” I call down to Maraud.
His head appears in the opening. He eyes me warily, taking in the metal breastplate I wear, the vambraces and chausses. “I thought you were leaving?”
I ignore his question. “You once said the gods would not roll the dice in your favor again. What if I told you they were?”
“You would have my complete attention.”
“Are you of a mind to bet on them today?”
His gaze latches on to mine with the force of a lance blow. “Yes.”
Good. He knows it is only a chance I offer him, and that there is risk involved. “Then you are coming with me. And we are leaving now.”
There is risk for me as well. By bringing him along, there will be no turning back. I could lie my way out of the faked death (I wondered where I had left my cloak!) or even claim to have been overtaken by a fit of melancholy. But by freeing a prisoner I should not even know about—?who should by rights be dead by now—?I have not only shut the door behind me but burned the bridge that leads to it as well. “You have until the count of ten. One . . .”
He scrambles out of the hole that has been his home for months. When he reaches the landing, he regards me quizzically. “I thought I had lost your trust.”
“You have.”
“But something caused you to change your mind.”
“For the moment at least. You must do exactly as I say. No questions asked. Will you swear it?”
Our gazes clash as he tries to peer past my face into my very head and untangle the convoluted web he knows I have woven. “If it is one step closer to freedom than where I currently sit, I will swear it.”
But of course, that is not enough.
I have thought long and hard about how to ensure his cooperation on our travels. While his honor once proved impressive, I am not sure how well it will hold up once true freedom is within his grasp. “Good. But just to be sure, I need you to drink this.” I hand him a small vial.
He stares at it. “What’s in it?”
“Poison. If you wish to be free of this place, you must drink it.” It is his first test. If he cannot obey, he cannot come.
Maraud gapes at me, an unreadable expression on his face. “You already poisoned me.”
“That was something else altogether. This poison is different. It is slow acting and has an antidote. An antidote that I will feed to you each morning. As long as you take that, the poison will not harm you.”
“But I gave you my word.” His voice is accusing, almost hurt.
“And we all know how well that turned out,” I say dryly. “I can leave nothing to chance. This is the way it must be.”
He lifts the small glass bottle to his nose and sniffs. “Of all the ways I dreamed of my release from this place, it never came with a dose of poison.” His gaze lifts to mine. “Before I drink, will you at least tell me who you are? If I am to place this much trust in you, I have a right to know.”
If he places that much trust in me, he is a fool. But it is as good a time to tell him as any, and may help ensure his continued cooperation. “I am an initiate of Saint Mortain. I was sired by Him, taken to His convent, and trained in His arts.”
The reaction dawns slowly, and if I were not in such a hurry to be gone from this place, nor so conflicted about bringing him with me, the emotions that flit across his face would be amusing. “You are one of Death’s daughters?” His voice is filled with caution and reverence and a tiny bit of disbelief.
“Yes.”
“But what are you doing here in Cogn—”
“We do not have time to discuss this. You wished to know who I am and I told you. Quit bleating like a nervous sheep and drink the poison. Or not. But I am leaving either way.”
He tosses the contents into his mouth. “Now what?” he asks.
“Now we get you ready.” He returns the vial, and I tuck it into the pouch at my waist as I motion for him to go in front of me. “Take the fifth door on the right.”
He pauses in the doorway. “This is a storage room.”
“Your wit is as sharp as ever. It holds the clothes you will need. But if you continue to drag your feet, I will toss you back in your cell and leave without you.”