Mortal Heart (His Fair Assassin #3)

Mortal Heart (His Fair Assassin #3) Page 37

There is a whisper of movement to my left as I feel Balthazaar unfold himself from the shadows, and I wonder how long he has been there. He leans close enough to whisper in my ear. “Let me have him.”

Scowling, I turn my arrow on him. “He is mine.”

Balthazaar holds his hands up in a placating gesture and slips back into the shadows. I return my attention to Crunard and watch as he pulls off his doublet, then unlaces his linen shirt and pulls it over his head. His chest is still broad with muscle, even though the hair upon it has gone white. But there is no marque.

Before I can respond to that stark fact, the hellequin grabs my arm and pulls me aside, out of Crunard’s hearing. “Do you see a marque on him?”

“No,” I admit, making no effort to hide my disgust. Hopefully, his accursedly sharp hearing will not pick up on the despair I feel—that even with the Tears, I do not possess this most basic of skills.

“Have you seen all you need to see?” Crunard’s dry voice cuts through my thoughts. “For it is cold and damp and I would rather not catch a fever and die that way. Better for you to simply kill me with your arrow now. It would be a far more merciful death.”

“You assume that you deserve mercy,” I snap, “when I am sure of no such thing. And yes, you may put your clothes back on.”

While he dresses, I ponder my options.

I cannot say with utter certainty that Crunard is meant to die. If Mortain Himself or the duchess’s justice demands it, that would be one thing, but I do not trust the abbess’s word that he must die. Especially with the unsubtle insinuations Crunard is throwing around.

I huff out a sigh. “Very well.” At Balthazaar’s eager look, I give him a shove, releasing some of that frustration on him. “No, you will not hunt him,” I say. “But I will take him back to Rennes to face the duchess’s justice, and she can decide his fate. Unless Mortain marques him on the way. Then I will kill him.”

The hellequin studies me a moment and then gives a single nod. “So be it,” he says.

My mind spins furiously, devising a plan. It will be easy enough to get Crunard free of his prison. Harder to get him out of the city. I turn to Crunard, who is watching us both with hungry eyes. “As you heard, you will be coming with us. But if you make one noise when you should not, make any attempt to escape, I will cheerfully kill you, then drag your body back to the abbess and the duchess. Is that clear?”

He nods. “Most clear, demoiselle.”

In the end, I decide that moving quickly is better than sitting around devising the perfect plan. I slip back out to the antechamber and the two drugged guards, remove the key from the jailor’s belt, then return to Crunard’s cell. As I fit the key into the lock, I pause, for some reason reminded of the old tale of the girl whose curiosity drove her to open a box that let loose all sorts of evils upon the world. I too feel as if I am on the brink of answers, answers that have the power to move through my life like a storm surge. I cannot help but wonder what will be left when I am on the other side.

“Come along,” I tell him, slipping one of my knives into my hand where he can see it. “And quietly.”

He nods, then steps out of his prison slowly, as if unable to believe I will not slam the door in his face. I turn to Balthazaar. “Tie his hands behind his back.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Crunard reluctantly turns around. As the hellequin tends to that, I close the door, lock it, then toss the keys inside. At his raised eyebrow, I shrug. “It will give them something to puzzle over.” Then I grab Crunard’s arm and shove him in front of me. Balthazaar falls into step behind us like a sinister shadow.

Crunard spares one glance at the two guards slumped over the table, their dice on the floor. “Did you kill them?” he asks.

“Yes,” I lie, hoping he will think me ruthless and therefore be less inclined to attempt escape. “Now, hush and act the contrite prisoner, or I will kill you as well.”

My plan, such as it is, is to pretend we have been charged with transferring the prisoner to Rennes, where he is to stand trial for his crimes. All the lessons on subterfuge and lying that have served me so well at the convent will serve me equally well here. Or so I hope.

As we reach the landing, I pause, listening for the sentries. Still only two, I think. Very well. I glance over at the hellequin. “You are my escort, provided to me by the duchess herself.”

He raises one darkly arched brow, then nods. I draw a deep breath, straighten my shoulders, lift my chin, then step outside.

At once, the two sentries spring to attention, raising their weapons in spite of their surprise. “Halt!” the taller one cries, his eyes widening when he recognizes Crunard.

I scowl at them, letting the men know just how much they annoy me. “Delay us at your own risk,” I warn.

They glance at each other.

“We are sent to bring the prisoner to Rennes to stand trial for his crimes. If you detain us, you are delaying the duchess’s own business.”

Finally, unable to help himself, the taller one asks, “How did you get in there?”

I meet his gaze, unflinching. “We walked right past you, and you can be certain your lack of attention to your duties will not go unmentioned.”

The shorter one glances down at my hand—the one that does not hold the knife. “Do you have orders of some kind?” It may be my imagination, but I think I detect a new note of respect in his voice.

I shove Crunard a short distance from me so they can see my attire. “Do you dare to question one of Mortain’s own?”

The taller guard crosses himself, the superstitious gesture grating on me, but the shorter guard gives a small bow.

“Besides, the guards below had no problem letting us through. Perhaps you should consult with them.”

They pause a long moment, then finally relent. “Very well, demoiselle,” the taller one says. “You may be on your way. I have no wish to keep this traitor from his rightful punishment.”

I nod regally. “In the name of Mortain, I thank you.”

As we step out of earshot of the guards, I feel the hellequin lean in close. “You take great pleasure in throwing that name around, don’t you?”

I swat at him, disappointed when I miss hitting his long nose. “You may go now. I have no more need of your services.”

“Not a chance,” he says, and I fear I can hear amusement in his voice. “Besides, you will need assistance getting him back to Rennes. In truth, you will need assistance getting him out of the city, no?”

And though I wish to argue and tell him he is wrong, I am not willing to jeopardize my prisoner for my pride. “I could manage on my own, but if you insist on hanging about, then you’d best make yourself useful. Return to the inn and collect my saddlebag from my room and then get our horses. If you could find a third horse, that would be most beneficial.”

“And you? What will you do?”

“I am going to get him out of the city gates. We will meet on the outside, near the copse of trees just in sight of the bridge.”

Balthazaar does not even hesitate, simply nods his agreement, and I am reluctantly impressed. Getting two horses, much less three, through the city gates at this hour will be no small feat. I have the far easier task with Crunard.

Once the hellequin has disappeared down the street, I turn to Crunard. “What is the easiest way to get out of the city when the main gate is closed?”

“There is a sally port near the north tower. It is usually only guarded by one man and will be our best chance.”

I stare into his face, trying to determine if he is telling the truth or sending me into a trap.

“It is no lie I tell you, demoiselle. You are my only hope for freedom, and I will not jeopardize it.”

In the end, I have no choice but to trust him, and I am rewarded by the truth of his words. There is but one lone guard on duty. Even better, he is dozing. I glance at Crunard. “Truly, this city’s security is lacking.”

He shrugs. “The duchess is not here. There is no one worth guarding. And they have never particularly cared who got out. It was always preventing someone from getting in that they focused on.”

“Are they not worried that the French will attempt to take the town?”

“I do not know,” he says, his eyes glittering with something sharp. “They no longer include me in their counsel.”

We are fortunate that there is enough moonlight from the crescent moon for us to make our way to the copse of trees without stumbling or breaking an ankle. As we walk, I try to assess Crunard’s movement and determine how old he is and how much his imprisonment has sapped his strength. He does not appear to be ill treated or half starved, which is a relief, as he will not hinder our travel that way.

When we reach the agreed-upon meeting place, I am unsurprised to find Balthazaar already there astride his demon spawn of a horse, holding Fortuna’s reins as well as those of another horse I have never seen. It even sports a fine saddle. I almost ask how he acquired it, then think better of it. “I do not expect to be pursued—at least, not until the guards learn that I was not officially sent, but we should be well behind the gates of Rennes by then, so I am not overly concerned. Even so, I think it best if we put a few hours’ ride between us and the city immediately.” I glance over at Crunard. He is old, but he has also had weeks of rest in his prison and surely he is as eager as I to put some distance between himself and the city. He gives a nod of assent, then turns and motions with his arms that I should untie him.

“Surely a seasoned soldier such as yourself is able to ride a horse with your hands tied.”

He glances at me over his shoulder. “Ride, yes. Mount one, no.”

Unfortunately, he is right. I glance at Balthazaar. “Draw your sword.”

He gives a mock bow in his saddle. “With pleasure, my lady.” The ring of steel being unsheathed sounds loud in the quiet darkness. “What would you have me do with it?”

“Be certain he does not try to escape once I untie him.”

“You do not mean to give him free rein?”

“Only long enough to get on his horse.” Drawing my knife, I step forward and use the tip of it to loosen the knots of the rope that binds Crunard’s wrists, careful to avoid nicking his flesh. When I am done, I keep the knife pointed at him. “Get up. Then once you are settled, bring your wrists in front of you and lean down so that I may reach them.”

He stares at me a long moment. “What if I gave you my word that I will not attempt to escape? I am just as eager to be gone from this city as you are.”

“Gone from this city, yes, but I am not at all convinced you wish to face the duchess’s justice. Besides, why would I trust the word of a confirmed traitor?”

After another moment of hesitation, he does what I ask. I hope he will not argue every step of the way, else it will be a most tedious journey. Perhaps I shall have to gag him.

Once he is settled and retied, I mount Fortuna, glad to have her solid, friendly bulk beneath me once more. I hold out my hand to the hellequin so that I may take my own reins and Crunard’s as well. He hands me mine but does not release Crunard’s. “Let me lead him,” he says, sounding surprisingly like Aveline when she is eager for some task that she knows will be denied her.

I bark out a laugh. “I think not.”

“I would not toy with him. Much,” the hellequin grumbles.

“No.” I hold my hand out, and with great reluctance, he gives the reins to me.

I secure Crunard’s reins to my saddle, then nudge Fortuna to the open road.

“So how do you know of the marques?” I finally ask when we have been traveling a while. “That is a well-guarded secret of Mortain’s.”

“As the liaison between the convent and the Breton court, I have worked closely with the abbess for many years. Of a necessity, we have had to share information with each other so that we could ensure no mistakes were made.”