“Next time send better men if you want to win.”

A new voice speaks up, trying to smooth over the growing animosity between Maraud and the other man. His voice is young, his words shaped differently. English, I think. “Those men carried a huge weight on their shoulders. They could not risk divulging their purpose to you.”

“They did not have to divulge anything. They simply needed to leave us alone.”

One of the men in the back growls. “Watch your manners around his lordship. You are in no position to demand answers from him.”

“Gentlemen,” I interrupt. “Surely fighting over shelter in an entire village full of empty houses is a waste of everyone’s time and energy.”

Maraud frowns. “Unless you are the reason it is empty in the first place.”

I can feel rather than see the other man’s scowl. “It was deserted when we first came upon it.”

“Then why are we fighting to the death over it?”

Silence follows and the men exchange glances. “We have only your word that you simply seek shelter.” His voice is less certain than it was before.

“What else would we be doing in this godsforsaken place?”

The tall man’s chest thrusts out like a rooster’s. “Following us. Noting our movements and reporting back to others.”

“His lordship” steps forward to place a restraining hand on the taller man’s arm. “Perhaps some explanation is in order.”

“Perhaps,” Maraud agrees.

“Tomas, go stoke up the fire so we may have some light. I think everyone would be more at ease if we could see each other.”

One of the men steps over us to the hearth and kneels down. Moments later, flames spring to life, casting a bit more light into the room. “Are there candles?” his lordship asks.

“None that we could find,” I tell him. He nods to the man on his left, who slips outside, then quickly returns with two torches, and dips them into the fire.

With enough light to see by, I experience a hard jolt of surprise. I recognize his lordship from my brush with the souls of the men we killed. “This is Jorn,” he says, indicating the one acting like an angered cockerel. He is shaped like a barrel and sports a bushy beard. “On his right is Crespin, and to his left is Brion. And you know Tomas over there by the fire.”

Maraud pulls his knees up and rests his arms on them. “I am Maraud. She is Lucinda.”

The man eyes me curiously, still discomfited that I am a woman. He is younger than the others, and dressed more finely, wearing English boots and a Burgundian cape. The other four are taller and broader, clearly the muscle of whatever operation this is.

“Now,” his lordship rubs his hands as if warming them. “Let us start at the beginning. We are on a mission of critical importance. A mission many wish to keep us from. When so many are after us, it is easy enough to presume everyone is. Safer, as well.”

Maraud scoots back far enough to lean against the wall. Not for warmth, I think, but so he cannot be surrounded. “You will be relieved to know that neither of us has any idea who you are or where you are going.” I think of Valine and Jaspar’s talk at Ransle and realize that is not completely true. I have a suspicion.

Jorn shrugs. “We have only your word on that.”

“So you’ll run us through right now just in case we might tell someone something that we don’t even know?” I try to catch Maraud’s eye, uncertain what his strategy is here.

“Forgive Jorn,” the leader says. “He has served my family a long time and his loyalty often overtakes him.”

Jorn speaks again, his gaze never wavering. “I think instead of running you through, we shall take you with us. You have cost us men. We need to replace them. That is how you can repay us for their deaths.”

Two of the others exchange a glance, and Maraud laughs outright, which while satisfying, seems unwise. “You would force us to travel with you in the hopes that we would fight for you? What makes you think that we will not simply turn our swords against you instead?”

Jorn takes a menacing step forward, looming over us. “Because we outnumber you more than two to one.”

“Perhaps we should say ‘persuade,’ rather than force,” his lordship murmurs.

“Ah, now. Persuasion is something I well understand,” Maraud says. “I am a mercenary and not so very hard to persuade. As long as the price is right.”

“We must get to Brittany as soon as possible.” Jorn’s words are stiff, as if it pains him to give even that much of an explanation. “My lord has a ship to catch.”

“Oho!” Maraud’s voice is so full of glee that even I believe he is happy to hear this. “Now we are talking. That is where I am from. Where in Brittany?”

Jorn crosses his arms. “Why do you want to know?”

“Because I have traveled between here and there more times than I can count. If you wish to avoid other travelers, I can direct you to the least-used roads.” He could not have dangled sweeter bait.

Jorn’s eyes sharpen with interest. “Do you know how far it is to the coast at Nantes?”

Maraud tilts his head. “Four days’ hard ride with good weather and no washed-out roads. Five or six if you run into bad weather or a big storm.”

“Or more soldiers,” Tomas mutters.

“Or more soldiers,” Maraud agrees. “Why do you think soldiers are following you?”

This time when his lordship speaks, there is an unmistakable hauteur in his voice. “I am a person of some importance—?Richard of Shrewsbury.” He pauses, waiting for some response from us, but his name means nothing. At least to me.

Or Maraud. “And I am very pleased to meet you, Richard of Shrewsbury, but I’ll need more than that if you’re expecting me to go eight days out of my way to help you.”

“I thought you said you were from Brittany?”

“I did, and I am, but I am here in France for reasons other than your convenience.”

Shrewsbury rises up on his toes slightly. “I am the rightful claimant to the throne of England.”

My mouth gapes open, as does Maraud’s, though he recovers first. “I believe Henry the Seventh sits comfortably on that throne.”

“But it is not his,” Shrewsbury says vehemently. He begins pacing. “You have heard the story of the princes in the Tower, yes? How their evil uncle Richard had both of them put to death so they could not claim the throne?”

We nod.

“Well, they were successful in murdering my brother, Edward, but a loyal guard smuggled me out of the tower before they could kill me. I am on my way to Ireland to meet with those who would support my bid for the crown.”

After a few moments of stunned silence, I finally speak. “My lord, we both wish you well in your endeavor, and we are truly sorry for the misunderstanding with your men over the cottage. But we have urgent business of our own—?matters that affect a number of lives—?and cannot be turned from our course.”

“You said you were mercenaries. We could hire you. Not only for your knowledge of the roads, but because you are good in a fight.”

“That is a tempting offer,” Maraud concedes. “But we have pressing business of our own.” When Jorn puts his hand back on his sword, Mara

ud continues. “However, since our road goes in the same direction for the next two days, we could travel together for greater safety and discuss it further.”

Shrewsbury looks at Jorn, who nods. “We’d like that very much. Now we will all get some much-needed rest before resuming our travels tomorrow. Tomas will take the first watch. You have my word you will not be harmed tonight.”

“Yes, that will allow us to sleep well,” Maraud grumbles.

Chapter 74

Sybella

n the way home, my disappointment draws around me like a shroud. They are gone. There is no one from the convent to help us.

There is no one to give us insight into the regent or the king. We are on our own. That was always a possibility. The truth is, I allowed myself to believe I would find them because I wanted to. It was a weakness. An indulgence. Like telling Louise she is perfectly safe, when she lives in a world that is not.

Merde.

Not only have I lost hope of finding help at court, but I’ve learned that whoever wishes me dead has more allies there than I do.

* * *

We are just leaving the stable after tending to the horses when Beast steps out of the shadows. “Where have you been?” The only reason I do not jump is that I felt his heartbeat while we were still rubbing down the horses. Aeva does not so much as twitch in surprise. She must have nerves of iron.

“I went to pay Princess Marguerite a visit.”

“You did what?”

“You see? That look right there? That is precisely why I did not tell you.”

His eyes flame blue before he closes them and takes a deep breath. When he opens them again, he appears more in control. “Sybella. How can I keep you safe if you will not even tell me where you are going?”

Aeva keeps walking, pausing only long enough to reach out and pat Beast’s cheek. “Don’t worry, Angry One. I insisted on going with her, and she was perfectly safe.”

Tags: Robin LaFevers His Fair Assassin Fantasy
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