Igniting Darkness (His Fair Assassin 5)
The king looks as if he has been struck with a pole. His eyes and mouth are open with surprise, but the deep scowl carved into his forehead bespeaks his displeasure at having this information revealed. “Why are you so convinced this woman is not guilty? We have been awash in bodies since her arrival.”
“On the contrary, sire, it has only been the last week.”
“How can you be so certain she has your best interests at heart?”
She smiles. “I have many reasons, but the news I will share should help convince you, although it is for your ears only at present.”
The king’s eyes gleam with both curiosity and suspicion, and he orders his men from the room. When they are gone, the queen takes a deep breath. “I am certain she is not poisoning me, because I am not dead or even ill.”
“But you have been—”
“No, my lord husband. I am not ill. I am pregnant.” Her hands drift to her belly, not yet round. “I carry the future dauphin of France, and like many women before me, suffer only from pregnancy sickness.”
This time, the king looks as if he has taken a jousting lance to his gut. Pleasure, pride, and disbelief battle for dominance on his face.
The queen ventures a step closer. “Are you not pleased, my lord?” she asks in a small voice.
The scowl clears, and he tentatively takes her hand. “I am most pleased that God has granted us such an early blessing. I only wish to have received such news under happier circumstances.”
“But what could be happier than a baby, Your Majesty?”
“Nothing, my lady. I only wish that the joy be untainted by politics.”
“It is for me.”
His face grows serious. “This is even more reason to have only the most trustworthy companions around you right now. There are two lives whose protection are of paramount importance to me.”
I am glad at least he included the queen in his magnanimous sweep of protection.
With her delicate stature, pale complexion, and enormous brown eyes liquid with emotion, she is the very picture of wifely perfection. She grips his hand, then bends to kiss it, before standing once more. “That is what I’ve been trying to tell you, my lord. It is only because of Lady Sybella that I am not wretchedly ill all the time. It is her skill with herbs and tinctures that allows me to take any nourishment at all for the babe, else I would have lost it by now.”
My hand on the pestle tightens, impressed at how easily the small lie slides off her tongue.
The king’s head rears back. “Truly?”
“Truly, my lord. As I told you earlier, she has attended to me since before dinnertime yesterday. It was only when she went to her room for supplies this morning that she learned about Monsieur Fremin. She had just returned to tell me the news herself and to fix my morning tincture.”
The king squeezes her hand. “Very well. I will speak with her before I make any judgments.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
“Now.” He gestures to Heloise and Elsibet, who have been waiting silently all this time. Fortunately, enough time has passed that they are no longer gaping. “Let’s have your women get you back to bed. It would not do to take a chill.”
As Heloise and Elsibet help her into bed, the king comes to where I am grinding herbs with the pestle. He peers down into the mortar. “What is that?”
“Naught but chamomile, my lord.”
“And what will you do with it?”
“Add it to a goblet of heated wine, along with some spices, including ginger, which shall calm the queen’s stomach.” I look up and meet his gaze for the first time. “I would be happy to take a sip while you watch.”
“That is not necessary.” He lowers his voice so that it will not carry across the room. “But know this. In spite of my lady wife’s words, I cannot help but feel you are involved in Fremin’s death in some way.”
“Only as a victim, Your Majesty.” I hold his gaze a moment longer before returning my attention to my work. “I heard a rumor that the lawyer carried a length of rope on him. Is not the simplest explanation the most likely? He meant to abduct me like he did my sisters.”
“Abduct an assassin?” His voice is incredulous.
“The lawyer—indeed, my brother—did not know that it was the convent of Saint Mortain that I was sent to. Only that I was convent trained.”
The king is quiet, observing my every movement like a hawk watches the grass next to a rabbit warren. “I do not trust your theology any more than I trust you. When she is in a less vulnerable state—”
It is all I can do not to scoff. She just lied to him as coolly as any assassin and played him like a minstrel does his mandolin.
“—?I intend to remove you from the queen’s circle.”
His words settle over me like a noose. Perhaps that is what makes me so bold. I look up from my work. “Do you dare?” I ask softly. “Are you so certain that you and your bishops know better than the Church itself? What if it is due to honoring the Nine that she is with child so quickly? What if I am the only reason this babe thrives instead of shrivels?” I lean closer to him. “I told you once that we trained not only in matters of death, but how to protect against it. How can you be so sure that I am not precisely what the queen needs right now, in her most vulnerable moment?”
“Are you threatening her?”
“Far from it, Your Majesty. I am serving her with all my skill and devotion, ensuring both her and the babe’s health. I know more about the nature of life and death than all of your bishops and philosophers and executioners combined.” I do not know where the words come from, but they pour out of me, like water from a spout. “I am an initiate of the saint God placed in charge of such matters. Is it wise to question the gifts He has given me, especially when the life of your wife and child are concerned?”
When I have finished, the king stares as if he has never seen me before, and perhaps he has not. He has only seen the palest reflection of me as I work in the shadows to dodge and spar with the queen’s enemies. But seeing the faint glimmer of awe mixed in with the fear and shock in his eyes, perhaps it is time to leave that pale reflection behind.
Chapter 25
Aeva
The wasp is grumbling again. “I don’t think you’re taking us anywhere. You’re just going to force us to ride on horses until we die.”
“Would you rather walk?” She shoots me an exasperated look, but I did not mean it in jest. “Sometimes our legs need to move.”
“I would rather ride in a litter like the grand ladies do.”
I laugh. “You wish to be carried? And what does that prove to the world? That you can be carted about like a sack of grain? That you are a burden to be borne on the shoulders of others?”
Her mouth clamps down into a flat line, a sure sign that although she is mad, the point of my words has gotten through to her. “However,” I say in a more conciliatory tone, “you will be happy to learn we will b
e reaching our destination soon.”
“What destination?” She glances around at the rocky soil and pebble-lined beaches. “There is nothing here but the sea. Whenever I ask where we are going, you say, ‘West,’ but now we are west, and there is nothing here.”
“And which way is west?”
She hesitates, then points in the correct direction.
“And east?”
She points correctly again. I have been teaching her some small navigation skills along with how to use her knife so she can care for herself in the most rudimentary ways. It gives her sharp-toothed mind something to chew on other than my ear, and while she does not yet realize it, the more skills she has, the more confident she becomes. Both the confidence and skills will make her a little safer in the world.
And prepare her for the lessons at the convent.
“And north?” I ask. It always takes her a moment to get her bearings, but she points to the right. “Correct.”
“What is north of here?” she asks.
“Not much, now that we are this far west. Brest, then east from there—”
“You mean back the way we came?”
“Yes. Is Morlaix, then Guingamp, then Saint-Brieuc.” She falls quiet, thinking, and I am pleased that I have managed to redirect her thoughts. Then, just as if the gods had planned it, Beast, who had ridden on ahead to check for armed sorties, comes trotting down the road toward us.
“All clear,” he says. He gives the wasp a smile, but as usual, she ignores him.
The road curves just then, and we find we have come nearly to the end of it, the sea spreads out before us.
“Who are those people?” the wasp asks, her voice wary.
Three figures stand on the shore, a small boat pulled up on the beach behind them. The tallest, in the middle, is wearing a black cloak, and her long blond hair is braided in the style of Arduinna.
“It is Annith, your aunt,” Beast says. “We have arrived.”
Chapter 26
Genevieve
Stay, the king ordered me, when he was called from his morning toilette by an urgent summons. As if I were some trained hound. I had feigned too much wine last night and acted as if I had fallen asleep on his couch. Out of tenderness or optimism, or possibly even embarrassment, he did not order me carried back to my own room. It is precisely what Sybella wished—for me to stay with the king the entire night. And given what the urgent summons was likely about, this is the best place for me to be.