Courting Darkness (His Fair Assassin 4)
I remain where I am. “What is that place, truly?”
“Camulos’s Cup.” He plucks a strand of grass from where it grows in the crevice of the rock. “It’s not only one of his old shrines, but a place where a few can take on many. And win.”
From this vantage point, it is clear to see. “The entire valley is the altar, and the dead you leave there are his offering.”
He runs the grass through his fingers. “Trust one of Mortain’s daughters to recognize the stark truth of it.”
“So if d’Albret’s men hadn’t come along, was Shrewsbury’s party to be the sacrifice? Or me?” I don’t truly believe that, but this whole day has turned my beliefs upside down.
“Saints, no! Why would you even think such a thing?”
“Because you clearly planned this. Planned for them to meet us here. You arranged it back in Ransle.”
“Yes, but not so I could sacrifi—”
“You betrayed me!” No worse than I have planned to betray him, a small voice reminds me.
“No! I sent the others on ahead because I was afraid d’Albret would pursue us. And I was right.”
Some of my anger leaves me. “I think that you planned this all along so you could overpower me and make your escape.”
He stares at me a long moment, not certain he has heard me. “I was hoping I could persuade you to let me—?let us—?help you, but I would not have forced you.”
In that moment, something stirs within my chest. Something as nebulous and fragile as the blade of grass he holds in his fingers. As small and tentative as it is, it terrifies me. “You can’t help. Only one is required for what I must do.”
“God’s teeth! Even assassins need help sometimes—?and you do. I can tell by how it gnaws at you.”
“You couldn’t be more wrong. Don’t you get it? I never needed your help. I only needed something to trade. I was going to hand you over . . .”
“Hand me over to whom?”
I look down over the ridge toward the valley. “I hadn’t figured that out yet. There are still too many unknowns. Especially given the matter of your identity.” My voice softens. I have started this boulder rolling downhill, but I have no wish to flatten him with it. “You are Crunard’s son, and there is a reason he is no longer the chancellor of Brittany.”
Beside me, Maraud grows very still. “What are you saying?”
“I am saying that your father betrayed his country.” I lift my gaze back to his. “He very nearly delivered the duchess into the hands of the French.”
Instead of showing shock or anger, Maraud smiles bitterly. “I know.”
His confession takes a moment to sink in. “You knew?”
“The guards at my first prison told me, wanting to be certain I suffered as much as possible.”
“Did they tell you why?”
“That he threw aside his honor—?his family’s honor—?for the one who has always been a thorn in his side? Yes, they told me.” The piece of grass now lies shredded in his palm.
“The regent coerced him. He was not the only one she got to. Many of the duchess’s most trusted advisors were being paid by her.” Annoyed that I am comforting him, I return to the matter at hand. “Regardless, I never required an escort for my safety. I was never rescuing you. From the moment I first threw back the grate on the oubliette and told you to come with me, I have only ever had one purpose in mind. And that was to take you directly to court and trade your freedom for that of others.”
His face remains impassive, only the tightening around his eyes showing my words have stung. “Tell me of these innocents you need to save.”
“It is official convent business, which I am forbidden to speak of.”
“I will happily exchange myself for those innocents, if I can bring Cassel to justice first.”
I gape in disbelief. “Why would you do that?”
“Because my father’s actions are a stain on my name and honor as well as my family’s. One of us must shoulder that burden and I am the only one left. Besides, I told you I seek justice for the crime I witnessed on the battlefield. What better place to find answers about the king’s general than with the king himself?”
As I stare into his determined eyes, a faint sense of panic fills me. “This is not your sin. You shouldn’t have to pay for it.”
Maraud’s face grows hard. “It is a wrong my family committed. That is how honor works. But there was also a wrong committed against my family, and I would avenge that first.”
“What wrong?”
His lips flatten, and he returns his gaze to the valley below us. “Remember the nobles I saw slain? One of them . . . one of them was my brother. Ives.”
The ghost, I realize. The one that he spoke of back in the oubliette.
“I had been fighting beside him when he was taken—?the pikeman knocked me to the ground before I could reach him. I started to get up, to go after him, but Ives motioned me to stay silent. He knew, I think, what a weapon my name could be in their hands. But in the end, when the sword swung down on his neck, I couldn’t help myself. I called out. That’s when they realized I was still alive, and who I was.”
“And you were taken.”
His eyes—?normally so full of good humor or keen wit—?are haunted before he quickly shutters them. “And I was taken.”
It doesn’t matter. I will not hand him over to the king to answer for his family’s crimes. Only my life, my body, is mine to trade. I realize now that some part of me decided this a long time ago, the same part that understood that if I did that, I was no different than the abbess handing me over to Count Angoulême to do with what he would. Making that sort of bargain, no matter how well I come out of it, feels like I lose something more important than I am willing to pay.
“Yes,” I tell him. “You must see to justice for Ives. And your father.”
“My father?” He shakes his head, disgust plain on his face.
“It would be a poor father who was not tempted by the offer to save his only son,” I point out. “It was the regent who dangled that in front of him. It was the regent who ordered you thrown into the oubliette. There is vengeance to be had there, and you must see to your family’s justice. I will see to mine.”
“But how? You won’t have me to trade?”
I laugh. “That was only one of my plans. I have many options up my sleeve. Have no worry on that account.”
“I don’t like this.” His voice is edged with an anger I do not fully understand.
“I don’t care.”
After a long moment he looks back over the valley, the entire landscape varying shades of gray in the feeble moonlight. W
hile his face is impassive, I can feel the turbulence of his emotions, shifting the night air as surely as a breeze. It is hard, but I give him time to come to terms with all that I have just told him. Time to realize he is not coming with me.
When he turns back, his face is impassive. “And what of the poison?”
And there it is. He has just given me the perfect weapon with which to drive him away. There is even a story they tell in the new Church, of one of the Christ’s disciples denying him three times. “What poison?”
Maraud glowers at me, his face harder than the granite at his back. “The one you’ve been feeding me the antidote to for the last ten days.”
I reach for the pouch at my belt, pluck the small vial from its depths. “You mean this antidote?” As he nods, I remove the cork and dump the contents on the ground.
Reflexively, he lunges forward, then stops himself. He looks from the damp spot on the ground back to me, his jaw clenched.
“There is no poison. And no antidote. It was nothing but a ploy. Water flavored with bitter herbs to make you believe it was real. I have never poisoned you. I only needed a way to ensure your cooperation.”
He reaches out and grabs my chin, forcing my gaze to his. The look of utter betrayal in his eyes guts me. Good. That will make this easier. I jerk out of his grasp, but do not look away.
“I gave you my word.” He is angry. Angry that I doubted him. Angry that I questioned his honor.
“And I didn’t trust you.” But I did. I have. In so many other things. “You yourself said it was my weakness.”
He grits his teeth in frustration. “I will not let you face this alone. Just like you would not let me face d’Albret alone.”
“Don’t put too much importance on that. It was simply guilt. After all, I was the one who put you in his path to begin with.”
“That was sheer bad luck! You are also the one who freed me.”
“So I could turn you in.”
“And yet,” he says softly, “now you are now telling me I am free to go.”
Frustration roils inside me, nearly choking back all the words I need to say. “Very well.” I nod brusquely. “You are right. It is your choice, after all.”