My mouth drops open, and every word I know leaves my head.
“We were victorious, else we would not be here with the duchess, now the queen, but our losses were great. Including Mortain.”
“But he is a god. Surely he cannot die.”
“He can if he inserts himself into the affairs of man. And so he did. While he did it because it was what was best for his people, I think it was also because of Annith.”
“He did it for one of his daughters?”
She cuts me a sideways glance. “That is one of the things about Annith you do not know. She is not one of Death’s daughters. That was a subterfuge her mother pulled in order to find a safe home for her.”
So many questions crowd onto my tongue that I do not know where to begin. “How did they not find out? Surely the nuns would know. The abbess?”
“Ah, well, you see. That was the clever part. Her mother was the abbess.”
My head is well and truly spinning now. I sit down on the bed.
“But that is not the point of what I am telling you. The point is that Mortain died on the battlefield that day. The god Mortain,” she corrects herself. “For as we learned then, the gods’ first death results in them becoming human, their second is when they truly die.”
My head cannot contain the enormity of what she has just said. I close my eyes, willing the world to make sense again.
“So you see, your mistake was just one in a long line of mistakes and random turns of events. If the abbess had been a true abbess and not someone focused on keeping her own daughter safe, she would likely have not let you and Margot slip from her memory. If the Arduinnites had not offered up their last arrow to avert war, you would not have been surprised by a marriage you believed would never take place. If Mortain had not altered the very warp of his existence, he might have better answered your prayers.”
My body is so full—full of surprise and anger and disappointment. I’ve been trying to honor a convent whose god no longer even exists. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“I had to know if I could trust you first. Besides, it wasn’t a scrap of news I could just toss in your lap and be done with. If you are at all like me, the news will shift your entire world and there needed to be the time and space for that sort of telling.”
My sense of despair, of utter futility, must show on my face, for she suddenly leans close. “None of that, now. You believed in yourself long before the convent came along.”
“That was easier when I thought I was special, sired by Mortain.”
“You still are. Because he has changed, does not mean that we have. As Father Effram pointed out to me, the blood of gods still flows in our veins.”
“Is that why you were able to do that with Fremin’s body? Make his soul disappear like that?”
She tilts her head, thinking. “I don’t know. I don’t know if that is a power I’ve always had or something new now that he is gone from this world. But no matter the king’s opinion or the regent’s or that of the other lickspittles of the court, you are the daughter of a god, and no one can take that away from you.
“Remember that when you feel close to despair. It is what I am trying to do.”
Those are not words I expected to hear from her. She is so skilled, so artful, so coolly competent. “Does it work?”
She slides me a glance. “I’ll let you know.”
Chapter 36
Maraud
They’d been in Flanders for three days and had spent every waking hour tramping through the mud-clogged streets—some with water still running up over their boots. At first they’d thought they would simply follow the flow of French soldiers, but that proved harder than expected. The constant rain didn’t help, but neither did the overall confusion and lack of organization. French soldiers mingled with Flemish soldiers, along with a heap of Germans. The Flemish claimed the Germans were in charge—often with a snicker—and the Germans were distrustful of anything even remotely French, no matter how many times they explained they were simply mercenaries.
It took three days to find out where the frontline was. They’d had to stop in every tavern. Ply untold soldiers with gallons of wine, and eavesdrop until their ears shriveled. They’d finally found a sergeant who was so thoroughly disgusted by everyone that he no longer took sides. And now this.
Maraud shook his head, trying to dislodge some of the rain from his ears. “What did you say?”
“I said he ain’t ’ere. Was called back to court by ’is king.”
Before he knew what he was doing, Maraud’s hand snaked out and grabbed the sergeant by the throat. He felt a hand on his shoulder. Heard Jaspar’s voice. “Steady there, Your Lordship.”
Slowly, Maraud let go of the man, but the mud was slippery. The man windmilled his arms to try to keep his balance, but the mud won.
They all watched as he scrambled back to his feet, then retreated, tossing insults at them over his shoulder. Realizing that was the only satisfaction he was going to get, Maraud turned on his heel and walked away.
“That’ll cost us,” Andry muttered.
“How many of his friends d’you think he’ll come back with?”
“Half dozen at least. Maybe twice that.”
“They’ll still end up on their asses in the mud.”
“Yeah, but we’ll have to go to a lot of work to get them there.”
“Since when are you afraid of a little work?”
“Unpaid work always terrifies me.”
Maraud ignored Andry and Tassin’s bickering. Frustration seethed through him, lengthening his stride and making his fists clench. So close! Only to have it snatched away. Jaspar fell into place beside him. “It’s not like you—to not have a plan. To not have a plan within a plan within yet another plan.”
“Saints,” Valine said from his other side, giving this the distinct feel of an ambush. “Maraud’s plans have plans, who then go off and have little plan babes, until before you know it, we’re knee-deep in plans. Your judgment is clouded.”
He glared at her. “Like hell it is.” Though maybe he should have spent a little less time thinking about Lucinda on the way here. “I told you I was going to get justice for my family. I also told you that you didn’t need to come.”
“It’s not your need for justice or vengeance that’s causing your judgment to be off. Or at least, it’s not the only thing clouding your judgment.” Valine’s voice grew gentle, and a gentle Valine unnerved him. Maraud hunched his shoulders and kept walking.
“It’s your grief.”
He stopped walking so suddenly that Andry and Tassin bumped into him. “My what?”
“You heard me.”
He shook his head and resumed walking. “You’re daft. I’m not feeling grief, just a hunger for vengeance.”
“You’re still mourning your brother.”
Saints take her! Why did she have to go and say it? Because now the pain was back, throbbing as if his arm had been hacked off. Only worse. Deeper. “Ives has been dead over a year,” he said woodenly.
“It’s not just your brother, but your father as well.”
Maraud kept his gaze determinedly forward, anger sizzling deep in his belly. “Why would I grieve that traitorous bastard?”
Valine’s voice was soft with understanding. “You’re mourning the man you thought he was.”
Sometimes the death of those we hate is harder to bear than that of those we love.
His own words, spoken to someone whose grief was fresh and raw came rushing back at him. “You’re daft,” he said again, but the words lacked conviction.
After a few moments of awkward silence, Jaspar said, “So, where to now?”
“To the French court,” Maraud replied without hesitation.
“Court,” Tassin grunted. “Isn’t that where Lucinda said she was going?”
Maraud tried to make his shrug as indifferent as possible. “She’s probably long gone by now.” But if not, he could kill two birds with o
ne stone. Because once he was done with Cassel, he was going to find Lucinda. The two of them weren’t done. Not even close.
Chapter 37