Grave Mercy (His Fair Assassin #1)

Grave Mercy (His Fair Assassin #1) Page 42

I close my hand around the heavy gold ring, savoring the solid feel of actual evidence in my hand. But the only one who would give weight to this proof is the abbess, and even that is doubtful. None of the remaining Privy Council will understand how I know this; they will not favor my word over Crunard’s.

even so, I slip the ring in my pocket. Surely flimsy evidence is better than no evidence at all.

Because I am late for the Privy Council meeting, I must suffer a scowl of disapproval from Crunard, but I smile coolly at him. Now that I know he is a traitor, I do not care what he thinks of me.

Neither Dunois nor Crunard has changed his mind during the night. As they run through their reasoning for the duchess, I study Crunard carefully, looking for any sign of a marque, but his bedamned fur collar comes up to his ears and hides any marque he might bear.

"What counsel do you have for us this morning, demoiselle?” I blink and find the duchess looking at me politely. Crunard, too, is watching me with his cold blue eyes and I realize I must play this very carefully. "Would it not be better to use this moment of time before all our enemies descend on us to get you to a more secure location? Rennes, perhaps? The people there are loyal. They have a defensible position and the troops to defend it, as well as a bishop who can see you safely crowned duchess.” Crunard regards me, his face carefully blank. "What makes

you think that Rennes is so very loyal, demoiselle?” There is a challenging tone in his voice, and I fear I have said too much or said it too baldly and have made Duval’s hand in the strategy clear to him.

I meet his gaze. “The convent has always thought highly of them, my lord chancellor.” There. Let him make of that what he will.

“That is not a bad idea,” Captain Dunois says thoughtfully.

Chancellor Crunard opens his mouth to argue, which makes me favor the idea all the more. But before he can begin his arguments, there is a knock on the door. “Yes?” he calls out, making no attempt to hide his annoyance.

De Lornay opens the door, bows low, then comes into the room. All signs of the seductive courtier are gone; he is sweat stained and travel weary. He falls to one knee before the duchess and lowers his head. “Your Grace. I beg forgiveness for interrupting your meeting, but I bring grave news that cannot wait.” The duchess’s face pales. “Go on.”

“The French taken Guingamp in the north. The city has fallen.”

Behind me, Captain Dunois swears under his breath, but de Lornay continues. “That is not the worst of it. The French army has crossed our northern and eastern borders as well. They have

taken three of our cities, Ancenis, Vitré, and Fougères.” even though we have all been awaiting this news, it is different to actually hear it. There is a long, stunned silence as we realize our country has once again been invaded.

The duchess is white as snow, but she gracefully inclines her head. “Thank you for bringing us word of these events, Baron de Lornay. Pray go refresh yourself.”

He rises to his feet and leaves the room.

Crunard speaks first. “It seems we are suddenly out of time.” The duchess looks up at Captain Dunois, her eyes wide with fear she is trying so desperately to hide. “How long can we withstand a siege if it comes to that?”

“Three weeks, four at the most.”

“Is that long enough for any of the help on the way to reach us?”

“No. It is not,” he says, his voice heavy with defeat. She gives a sharp nod. “So staying here buys us nothing, not even enough time.”

Captain Dunois starts to speak, but she silences him. “How long would it take us to reach Rennes from here?”

“Four or five days, Your Grace.”

“At best,” Chancellor Crunard points out. "We will be greatly hampered by the baggage carts and household that cannot travel by horse. Our party will be stretched out for half a mile, a ripe target for all our enemies.”

Captain Dunois nods, conceding the point. “Besides, Rennes is close to Fougères. The French could easily cut us off and might even now be marching on the city. However, these bad tidings also bring a small gift.”

The duchess frowns. “How is that, Captain?”

He spreads his hands. “Ancenis is Marshal Rieux’s own holding. If the French have seized his lands, what better rallying cry to call him back to our side? Surely he will wish to put aside this petty alliance with d’Albret in order to protect his own lands.”

A small ray of hope appears on the duchess’s face, but Crunard stares at him stonily. “Do you mean reconcile with Marshal Rieux?”

Dunois nods.

“Do you think that is possible?” the duchess asks. Dunois shrugs. “He is a good man at heart, Your Grace, and no doubt thinks he is doing what’s best for his country.”

“By holding my own city against me?” the duchess asks tartly. “By allying with the strongest of your suitors. However, now that the French are on the march, he will no doubt see the need to face them with a united front and will abandon this path he has taken.”

Her face creased in thought, the duchess begins to pace.

“How would we do this?”

"We would take a small party and ride for Nantes to parley with him.”

Crunard takes a step toward the duchess. “I do not think it is safe for you to leave the city, Your Grace.”

She glances at Captain Dunois, her arched brows raised in question.

“I think it is worth considering,” he says. "Whatever Rieux may hope to get from this rebellion of his, he will not want it at the cost of his own holding.”

The chancellor sighs heavily, as if deeply worried. “I think you are making a terrible mistake.”

But his is only one vote among three and he is overruled by both Captain Dunois and the duchess herself. And so it is decided. The duchess and her small party will ride for Nantes tomorrow.

Chapter Forty-seven

Duval is late. either that or he is not coming. I pace in front of the fire and try not to fret, but the most likely explanation is that he has become too ill to move. That he is huddled in some corner on the verge of death.

This idea so distresses me that I grab my cloak and head for the door. If the hidden tunnels and corridors run the full breadth and depth of the castle, I will need help searching them. Besides, I will not be able to carry him back by myself.

The sergeant at arms will not let me into the garrison, but he sends a lackey to fetch Beast for me. A short while later, he and de Lornay arrive. I have caught them dicing. De Lornay still holds a pair in his hand and is rubbing them together cheerfully. when they see it is me, the casual smiles and laughter drop from their faces and they hurry forward. "What is it?” Beast asks.

I glance at the nearby sergeant at arms, and Beast takes my elbow and moves us outside. when we are standing in the middle of the training yard, far from any corners or doorways that might conceal an eavesdropper, de Lornay asks, “Has something happened to Duval?”

“He was supposed to come to my room tonight and he has not. He has told you where he is staying, yes?”

Beast nods slowly.

"Well, I fear he is lying somewhere in there. Have you seen him in the last few days? He is very ill. He — ” My throat grows so tight that it is hard to get the words out. In the end, I cannot tell them I am afraid Duval is dying but say instead, “I fear he is too weak to move.”

De Lornay’s whole manner changes and his gaze sharpens. “It is not my doing,” I tell him, but I do not think he believes me.

"We will help,” Beast says before de Lornay and I can come to blows. “Show us.”

The hour is late and the court subdued, so there are few people about to see us. when we reach Duval’s apartments, I hesitate. It would not do for loyal Louyse to see me leading two men into my bedchamber. She would never forgive such a betrayal of her master.

But there is no one in the main chamber, so I motion to Beast and de Lornay and they move through the room, silent as shadows. when we reach my chamber, Duval is still not there. “The door he uses is here,” I say, showing them the wall by the fireplace. “But I do not know the mechanism that opens it.”

Neither, apparently, do they, for they poke and grunt and prod at the wall for long frustrating minutes until finally there is a solid thunk, and then the wall gives way. Beast puts his shoulder to it and shoves. Cool, dank air wafts into the room. "We’ll need light,” de Lornay says.

I hurry to the table and use the lone candle burning there to light three more tapers. I hand one to de Lornay, another to Beast. They glance at the candle I clutch in my own hand but do not try to keep me from coming.

The blackness inside the corridors is absolute, and the faint glow from my room is swallowed up in a matter of seconds. There are no windows, no doors, no openings of any kind. Just thick gray stone pressing down on us from all sides. It reminds me of the crypt at the convent, and I do not know how Duval has stood it all this time.

The main corridor branches off in many directions. Carefully and methodically we explore each one. It is slow going in the dark, with few landmarks to guide us. we do not dare call out his name for fear of being heard in the bedrooms and chambers on the other side of the walls.

The corridor twists and turns like a writhing serpent, and just when I fear we will never be able to find our way back, there is an “Oof ” from Beast, followed by a voice in the darkness: “I think I would rather die of the poison than be trampled by a great oaf like you.”

“Duval!” My breath hitches in my throat and I dart around de Lornay and Beast. Duval leans against the stone wall, his face alarmingly pale. “You are alive,” I say, and do not add, but barely. It is as witless as anything I have ever uttered, but relief sings so sharply in my veins it has chased away my wits.

“Alive,” he says, then grimaces. “But unable to move my legs.”

I turn my gaze to his lifeless legs so he cannot see my face. The poison has seeped further into his body and has begun paralyzing his limbs. Surely, his lungs and heart will soon follow.

Beast shoulders past me, shaking his head and tsking like a nursemaid. “Never could hold your drink.” De Lornay goes to the other side of Duval and I see they mean to haul him to his feet and carry him. I know he would not want me to watch, so I take the men’s candles from them and turn back toward the corridor, ready to light the way once they have a solid hold on him.

I use the moment to compose myself. why have I not heard from Annith? Could it be that the abbess has intercepted my note? Or is my request so contrary to the teachings of the convent that Annith will not honor it? A note of hysterical laughter comes close to escaping. I, a mistress of poison, am willing to trade my soul for an antidote, if only I could find one.

Now that we have located Duval, I find the passageway does not seem so impossibly long or hopelessly dark. In a matter of minutes we are back in my chamber. I set the candles down and busy myself with stoking the fire, giving Beast and de Lornay a chance to settle Duval on the bed.

The men murmur softly among themselves as I take a pot of broth from the hearth. I am close to throwing myself on Duval’s ruined body and weeping. Instead, I square my shoulders, put the warm broth on a tray, and carry it to the bed. “There is much news,” I tell him.

He tries to push the tray away, but I glare at him. “And I will not tell you a word of it unless you eat something.”

He exchanges a glance with Beast, and in that glance I see he thinks it a pointless exercise. He accepts that he is dying. Not only accepts it, but prefers it. He does not want to be carried like a scarecrow for the rest of his days. But I do not accept it, so I hand him the spoon.

“Tell me,” he says, lifting it to his mouth.

“The French have crossed the border into Brittany and taken Ancenis, Fougères, and Vitré.”

The spoon stops in midair. “Marshal Rieux’s own holding?” “Aye,” I say.

Off to my side, Beast whistles.

“Keep eating.” when he puts another spoonful of broth into his mouth, I continue. “Captain Dunois thinks we have a chance of using this to reconcile with Marshal Rieux.”

“She must not reconcile with Rieux,” Duval says, his voice fierce. “She must demand that he come to her to beg forgiveness; she must not go to him.”

I cannot help but wonder if this is the poison talking, for surely the duchess is in no position to demand anything. “As much as I detest Marshal Rieux and what he has done, if there is a chance to reclaim an ally, mustn’t she at least consider it?”

“How do they propose to effect this reconciliation?” he asks.

“They will ride to Nantes and attempt to persuade him to return to Anne’s side so he can lead her armies against the French.”

"What does Crunard say?” Duval asks around a bite of bread.

“He wants to keep her safe in Guérande, but Dunois and the duchess overruled him.”

"When do they leave?”

“At daybreak tomorrow,” I tell him. “They want to get under way before word of their plan leaks to Nantes or the French regent.”

Duval swears a black oath. “Do they not realize they are most likely riding directly into a trap?”

“Not to mention that the French are inside our border, and there is no way of knowing how many scouts or sorties they have sent out,” Beast adds. “How large a company will they be taking?”

“A small one. Not more than twenty.”

"Easily overpowered by a large scouting party then,” Beast says.

Duval drops his head back against the wall in frustration. The loud thud makes me wince but he barely even registers the blow. “By the Five wounds of Christ, this is a wretched time to be poisoned.”