Igniting Darkness (His Fair Assassin 5)
“A normal man, maybe. Not him.” Maraud needed to believe that. “It’ll just piss him off even more.” It was late afternoon, and they’d been following Cassel’s party for three days. The poxy bastard of a general carried Beast in a rutting cart. Trussed up like a goose. In a chain.
Of course, there was no way else they could have dragged him anywhere unwillingly, but still it rankled Maraud.
“Have you figured out where they’re going yet?” Valine asked.
“Near as I can figure, it’s got to be Cassel’s holding near Luçon. Unless he’s got more I don’t know about.” Which was entirely possible. He’d been imprisoned for over a year—who knew how handsomely the general had been rewarded during that time.
An hour later when they came around the next bend in the road, a single stone tower thrust up into the sky like an obscene gesture. A scattering of buildings clustered nearby, but not too near, as if they didn’t want to get any closer than absolutely necessary.
“Jaspar, you stay with me. The rest of you, hit the village and see what the locals think of the lord returning. Also see what you can find in way of lodgings.”
“We’re not going to just sleep on the road tonight?”
Maraud glanced around at the empty fields. “We’ll be too easily spotted if they post any kind of lookout at the keep. And an inn in the village will be the most likely place to hear word of when Gen and the others arrive.”
There is a long moment of silence. “You think the king is still going to be with them?”
“Unless he gave up halfway and went home, he’ll be here.” But of course, the king wouldn’t give up. Not with Gen there. He wouldn’t want to do anything that might weaken him in her eyes.
Maraud still couldn’t believe she’d stood straight and proud, looked the king in the eye, then admitted they were lovers. The woman had stones, he’d give her that. And apparently, the king had some as well if he was willing to accept her challenge.
The road forked here, one stretch ambling down toward the village and the other leading to the keep. Maraud slowed his horse and lifted a hand in farewell as the others headed for the village.
“We’d best not come in too close on their tails,” he told Jaspar.
Jaspar slowed his pace. Maraud wished there was a scrap of forest or a tree or two alongside the road to skulk among, but there wasn’t. “We’ll go as far on horseback as that last copse of trees, then tie the horses up there and go the rest of the way on foot.”
Much to his regret, it turned out to be their bellies. They were simply too easily spotted otherwise. After crawling half a mile through rye grass and weeds, they were finally in position to see the main gate. Cassel and his party had just reached it.
A lone figure came scurrying out, bowing and scraping, then another long delay as he returned to the gate tower to raise the portcullis.
“Not expected, then,” Jaspar said.
“No. Looks to be mostly empty. Wonder how long since he’s stayed here.” It was a lesser holding. Once it had held strategic importance, but that was three hundred years ago, when it was first built and long before the ocean waters that had lapped at its base had receded.
Once the general, his men, and the cart hauling Beast had gone inside, Maraud said, “Let’s go see just how secure this holding is.”
Chapter 115
Genevieve
“Did Maraud tell you where to meet him?” Sybella stares at General Cassel’s keep in front of us so intently that I wonder if she is trying to burn a hole through it. For all that she holds her body relaxed, I can feel the tension in her thrumming like a plucked bowstring.
“We didn’t have time enough to make those plans. Nor, I think, did he know what to expect.”
“Will he have charged in ahead of our arrival?”
I lift my shoulders. “It is possible, but he is only one day ahead of us, and all is quiet. Hard to believe that if he’d already acted, there wouldn’t be more activity.” Or dead bodies hanging from the battlements.
Sybella glances down at Charlotte, asleep in the saddle in front of her. “I would be glad if she could pass the night at an inn. She’s been through much and is exhausted. Do you think we dare risk it?”
I survey the village spread out around the keep like a thin petticoat. “I don’t see why not.” I lower my voice. “No doubt the king would not mind some more comfortable accommodations.”
Just then a young boy darts into our path, and I must rein in my horse to avoid trampling him. “What in the name of the saints do you think you’re doing?” I shout.
He doffs his cap, then flexes his knee. “Beg pardon, m’lady. I’m to tell you that—” He screws up his face as if trying to remember the words he was told to memorize. “That Rollo’s wolf is waiting for you at the White Hart Inn.” His face relaxes. “Can’t miss it. It’s the only one in the village.” He bobs again, then turns and scampers away.
Sybella shoots me an amused glance. “It appears your friend has posted a lookout for us, which is most considerate of him. Let us go avail ourselves of the White Hart’s hospitality. And see if we can find this—Rollo’s wolf.”
* * *
It turns out we do not need to look for him at all—he is seated in the great room of the inn, along with a number of familiar faces.
“You made good time,” Maraud says.
I glance at Sybella. “It was mostly over before we got there.”
“Except for the me-getting-out-alive part,” she says wryly.
Her praise—for that is what such words coming from her amount to—makes me squirm, and I turn the conversation back to Maraud. “How do you propose we get in? It’s as solid a fortress as I’ve ever seen, and the general does not scrimp on security.”
“You’ve had a chance to observe the layout?” Lazare asks.
“Yes.” Maraud proceeds to tell us all that he has learned about Cassel’s holding. “And we had to kill two guards to get that much,” he says under his breath when the king’s attention is elsewhere.
Sybella studies the lines he’s drawn on the table. “How many portcullises did you say there were?”
“Three. One at the main gate, then each of the postern gates has one as well.”
It is hard not to get discouraged, but I keep my face neutral. “How like the general to be so mistrustful.”
Sybella taps her finger on the left side of the drawing. “In this case, that works to our advantage.”
“How?” Maraud asks. Andry and Tassin look at her like she is daft. No, I realize, they have simply lost possession of their wits around her.
“It is made of wood, yes?”
“True, but solid beams, and not something we could hack our way through. Not before calling the attention of the guards.”
When she smiles, it is both beautiful and terrifying. “So we burn it.”
The king looks up sharply. “You can’t mean to simply march around the country burning down everything in your path?”
Sybella does not flinch. “If I need to.”
The king looks away first. “We could just announce our presence. Tell him that their king is here.”
I wince and try to remember he means well. Before I can intervene, Maraud snorts. “And give Cassel a chance to kill Beast and destroy the evidence of what he’s done or slip out one of the back gates?”
Affronted, the king opens his mouth. “He would not—” He stops.
Mayhap because the king is here at my invitation, I feel obligated to cover for him. “It need only be a small fire, correct?” I glance at Sybella, who does little to hide her amusement.
“But of course. Just a small fire.”
Maraud warms to the idea. “One that would cause a distraction and call the guards from the other gates long enough for us to sneak in.”
“And create a way out that isn’t through eight feet of solid stone,” Andry says.
Sybella looks over at Lazare, who sits off by himself, leaning against the w
all. “Well?”
In one smooth movement, he rises to his feet. “In the time it took you all to argue about it, I got it all planned out.”
“Who will stay with the girl?” Maraud’s question stops us cold.
Before Sybella can answer, Charlotte asks, “Why can’t I go too?”
Sybella hurries over to kneel before her so they are eye to eye. “Because it will be very dangerous. These men are every bit as cruel and brutal as Pierre, but you will not have Pierre’s protection here.”
“Will you be safe?” Her calm composed face does not hide the faint note of fear.