Courting Darkness (His Fair Assassin 4)

Maraud considers this. “Will the count’s stable master not think you are stealing his horses?”

I send him a scathing look. “No. They bear the convent’s brand, proving they are not his.”

“Yes, but will that be enough for him to let you take them?”

“I do not intend to ask permission,” I mutter.

“This isn’t Brittany.” Maraud’s voice is gentle. “Not everyone even knows of the Nine or Mortain, other than as something from stories long ago. I think we should find horses another way.”

“How? Do you have a bag of gold on you that you have not told me about?”

He shrugs. “I have a few coins from our performances.”

“As have I, but not enough to buy decent horses.”

His face brightens. “I could find a dicing game. I’m good with dice.”

“Good enough to turn a handful of coppers into the funds needed to buy two healthy palfreys or rouncies?”

“Given a day or two, yes.”

“We don’t have a day or two. We have tonight and tomorrow, then we must leave. Besides, do d’Albret’s men not frequent taverns and gaming houses?”

Maraud’s face falls. “Yes. And their games of dice often turn to much worse.”

“As you said earlier, there are no fairs with horses for sale or marketplaces for such.” I gesture at the city around me. “Where do you propose we buy them?”

He rubs his hands over his face. “So we steal them.”

“If we are caught in the act, we will hang,” I remind him.

“So we do not let ourselves get caught.”

I shoot him a look. “I am not a thief.”

“But you are an assassin,” he points out.

“That is entirely different.” While I have been light-fingered in the past, I have always taken from those who had plenty—?or who helped themselves to things that didn’t belong to them. “Stealing a horse from someone like Herbin or Jacques could easily threaten their livelihood. The only one who can afford the loss of two horses is the count. And since I already have two in his stables, there is no need to steal from him.

“Truly, my plan is as sturdy as a three-legged stool,” I tell him. “No one at the palace knows or has ever seen you. I have only been there for one brief night over a year ago, dressed in finery at the countess’s side. No one will know us. There is no disadvantage to stealing from the palace, except that it is not stealing.”

“Except for the palace guards. And d’Albret.”

“But d’Albret will never see you! We won’t be performing. Even if we were, you’d have your mask on the entire time.”

Recognizing the superiority of my plan, he sighs and changes the subject. “How will we get out of the city gate?”

“I was planning on using the sally port in the east wall.”

“Isn’t it guarded?”

I shrug. “By only two men, not an entire gatehouse full.”

* * *

The first leg of my plan crumbles just as we enter the city. The guards greet us cheerfully as Rollo has already plied them with japes and jests. He himself waits for us just inside the gates, motioning us to gather around. “There has been a change in plans.” Maraud shoots me a dark look. “We will not be staying at the palace.” As my heart plummets to my stomach, Rollo reassures us. “They have given us the guild hall. It is much nicer than the one in Jarnac.”

I should keep quiet, but staying in the stables is such a core part of my plan that I cannot. “But why?”

Rollo shrugs. “The knights that nearly ran us down have called upon the castle’s hospitality, and they have granted it.”

“Clearly,” Maraud says grimly as Rollo walks away, “they know better than to refuse.”

Chapter 64

Sybella

hree days after my midnight run-in with the king, the queen and her attendants received an invitation to go hawking with him.

The queen’s hand shook with relief as she wondered how on earth she was to breach the wall that had sprung up between them.

Dressed in scarlet and gold and green, our gay party mills eagerly in the courtyard. The horses stamp their feet, impatient to be on their way, their breath visible in the early morning air. I search among the crowd for the regent, but unless she has altered her appearance significantly, I do not see her. Not even when the horn is blown and we all mount up.

As I settle myself in my saddle, Beast approaches. “My lady, I do not think your girth strap is tight enough.”

“If you would be so kind as to tighten it, sir, I would be most appreciative.”

He comes closer and takes the leather strap in his hands. “What are you looking for?” he asks under his breath.

“The regent,” I mutter. “It makes me uneasy when I can’t see her.”

My saddle now secure enough to satisfy him, he flashes me a grin. “She isn’t coming. I heard the king tell the grooms when they were readying the horses.”

“Well, that is most welcome news. Although now I find myself wondering why.” What trap is she setting for us back at the palace? What new humiliation is she plotting for the queen? And other innocents. I have not been able to get the image of her sitting with my sisters out of my head.

* * *

While the others may be hunting for pheasant, I will be hunting for a mole. Three possibilities remain, two of whom are on today’s hunt. Symone has caught my eye due to the jewelry she wears. Her heavy gold cuff reminds me very much of my own garrote bracelet. Furthermore, she sports two rings, one on each hand, with stones large enough to conceal a hidden compartment. While nearly all of the ladies have fine jewelry, none wear any similar to this.

But she seldom leaves the others’ sides, and today may present a chance to speak with her alone.

The other attendant I have my hopes set on is Perrette. She is more athletic than the others and appears indifferent to the queen, which would be a good way to keep her true intentions hidden. She is also, I note as we ride, an excellent horsewoman.

The huntsman leads us through the woods surrounding the castle, and I give myself over to the pleasure of being out of doors with a hawk on my arm. It has been over a year since I have gone hawking, and along with hunting, it has always been my favorite sport.

When we reach the designated spot, the beaters move forward into the bush, thrashing their sticks and making noise. It does not take long. There is a deafening flapping of wings as a bevy of pheasant take flight. I release my hawk, admiring her as she soars into the air. She picks a target, and plummets back to the ground, intent on her prey.

But another hawk gets there first, Perrette’s. My falcon screeches in protest, but Perrette’s hawk hunkers over the pheasant, spreading its wings wide to defend its catch.

I whistle, but the frustrated hawk ignores me and climbs back into the sky. She circles once, twice, then a third time before something catches her notice and she plummets toward the ground again. Merde. Has Father Effram trained this bird? Keeping my eye on the spot where she disappeared into the trees, I steer my horse in that direction.

As my mount picks his way through the underbrush toward the stream, I spy my hawk on the bank, squatting over her prey and hissing at something.

Except, her prey is not a pheasant flushed from the underbrush, but a deer with its stomach lying open. Gored by a boar, perhaps. The overwhelming scent of it must have attracted my hawk. But when I am closer, I see it is no ragged gouge, but a clean slice to the creature’s belly.

A man did this. And not a poacher. If a poacher had been stupid enough to enter the king’s forest, he would not leave his prize behind. A chill breeze scuttles along my neck. I reach for the small crossbow concealed by my skirts.

That is when I feel a heartbeat somewhere behind me. I whistle once more to the hawk, but it is feasting and ignores me. Using my knees to guide the horse, I slowly turn it toward the direction of the heartbeat.

I cannot see anyone through the

thick trees, but I can feel them, and the beating of their heart is growing louder as they draw near. Something deep inside me screams Trap! even as my mind insists I have interrupted a sloppy poacher before he could remove himself and his prey.

“I know you are there.” My voice is calm, conversational even, as if I am coaxing a lover who is playing hide-and-seek.