* * *
With nearly an hour before the meeting starts, I turn toward the garden where Beast saw my sisters playing. It is a rare opportunity to spend a few quiet moments in their company. While they are more precious to me than life itself, my duties to the convent and the duchess have left me little time for them. It does not help matters that my temperament is not well suited to tending to young girls.
The garden is nearly empty this time of year, the heavy clouds keeping most of the courtiers inside close to the roaring fires. Tephanie sits on a stone bench, poking dutifully at the linen in her embroidery hoop. She keeps one eye on the girls, who are searching the bushes for the last remaining flowers before the next storm comes. When my foot crunches on the gravel path, Tephanie’s head snaps up, face alert. Good. She has put aside some of her timidity. As one of the few who has lived in my family’s household, one of the few who has seen firsthand the cruelties they are capable of, she knows the dangers that await those who let down their guard.
“My lady!” She hops to her feet and bobs a curtsy, holding her hoop close to her chest. Her furtive gesture has me longing to peer over and see what she is working on, but I refrain. She is loyal beyond measure, stood by me when others did not, and has followed me into my new life with no questions asked. The least she deserves is her privacy. “How are the girls this morning?”
“They are well. With so many new guests and the bustle of preparations for the upcoming trip, they seem to prefer the gardens.” She smiles shyly. “I cannot say that I blame them.”
“Nor I. You may sit back down,” I tell her. “I only came to visit with the girls for a short time before I must meet with the council.”
“They will be happy to see you.”
Even though there is no censure in her words, they poke at me like her needle does at her linen. When I spend more than an hour with them, I grow as restless as a caged animal.
“Since you are here, do you mind if I fetch some fresh embroidering silk? I have used up all my red.”
“Of course. Take your time. I do not need to be anywhere for nearly an hour. And you might want to get a fresh needle,” I add. “I think the one you’re using has grown dull.”
She blushes, as if I have scolded her.
“Tephanie.” I reach out and briefly touch her arm. “It was not an order, merely a suggestion. It looked as if you were having to force it through, which was causing your thread to snarl.”
She takes a deep breath. “Of course, my lady.” She bobs a curtsy, sets her hoop face-down on the bench, then hurries inside.
My glance lingers briefly on the hidden embroidery before I turn and make my way along the stone path to my sisters. Louise watches a lone thrush, perched on a bare branch, warbling his sad winter song. Charlotte is crouched over a bush, her face creased in concentration. Intrigued, I head first in her direction. She glances up as I draw closer. Realizing it is only me, she returns her gaze to the bush without saying a word. Her lack of greeting pinches my heart, but I do my best to ignore it. She is always thus—feeling no need to make idle conversation or greeting. “What have you there?”
“A spider.”
A huge spider’s web spreads across half the bush. While its corners are securely fastened, the stiff breeze causes the threads to flutter delicately, like fine lace. “Webs are beautiful, are they not?” I ask.
“Yes.” The word comes out almost breathlessly. That is when I see she is not staring at the web, but at the spider itself. It is big and fat and nearly as large as her thumb.
“Louise!” she calls out. “Come see this!”
“It is only a spider,” I tell her, knowing Louise will not enjoy it nearly as much.
“Yes,” she says impatiently. “But look what it’s doing.”
I peer closer at the web. The creature scuttles across the fine silk to a large fly trapped in one of the sticky strands and begins spooling out web, using it to bind the fly. I look again at the intent expression on Charlotte’s face, and a trickle of apprehension runs down my spine.
Louise arrives just then. “What is it?”
“A spider,” Charlotte tells her. “Hunting a fly. Watch.”
Impatiently pushing a strand of her hair away from her face, Louise peers closer, then leaps back abruptly and grabs my hand. “It’s killing it! Make it stop!”
I squeeze her hand. “I can’t, sweeting. That is how they eat and feed their young.”
“I don’t like it.” Her voice becomes shaky, and she turns her face into my skirts.
“Don’t be such a baby,” Charlotte scolds as she scoots even closer to watch.
She has always been a curious child, I try to tell myself. Has always been inquisitive, snooping and sneaking, collecting details about the world around her like a miser collects coin. And who can blame her? In our household, the more one knew, the better one could avoid deviously set traps. She has also lived among our family for ten years now, long enough to be touched by their darker impulses.
Which is why she must never return to them. That and her own personal safety, although she is, thankfully, too young to realize that.
“Uh, my lady?”
Tephanie’s voice is a welcome distraction. Not only is she better at comforting Louise, but I can ask if she has noticed this type of behavior with Charlotte. When I turn to greet her, my world tilts, like a crystal goblet that teeters on the edge of a table before shattering.
A heavily muscled man holds her close, a long hunting knife pressed firmly against her throat. His face is one I know well, from both my nightmares and my childhood. Indeed, his looks favor his father’s so much that it is like twisting a dull, rusty blade in an old wound.
Bitter acid of fear and anticipation floods my body, drawing my skin tight over my bones, my muscles tensing with readiness.
Mortain has been gone from my life for less than a week, and already the family that raised me has found a way back in.
Chapter 10
he sight of my brother Pierre sends me reeling down a deep hole full of ugly memories and heartbreak and death. So much death. My mother, Pierre’s mother, Charlotte’s and Louise’s mothers. Our brother Julian. Even my own death, narrowly escaped.
The man who raised me and committed those atrocities, gutted with a knife.
Pierre is one of that man’s children who eagerly embraces his legacy of cruelty.
Mayhap this is the reason Mortain bid me live—to protect my sisters from the horrors visited upon me.
Two men stand on either side of Pierre. Like him, they are dressed in red and yellow tabards. The man on the right is tall and wide-shouldered. A beard covers most of his face, and his eyes are as hard as flint. His height and long limbs mean he will be fast, with a long reach.
The other man is shorter, but thicker through the shoulders and chest. He holds himself with a careless strength that bespeaks a seasoned soldier. However, it is his eyes that disturb me most, for they are flat, as if no soul or heart or anything decent lives within.
I shift my focus to the scar on my brother’s left eyebrow, the one I gave to him when I was ten years old and he tried to kiss me a second time. I am older now, and far more deadly. “Pierre.”
At our brother’s name, Charlotte looks up from the bush and slowly stands before taking one careful step away from me. Whether to give herself room to run or to disassociate from me, I do not know.
“This is convenient. I come looking for one sister and find all three. I knew your pet would prove useful.” His casual grip on the knife at Tephanie’s throat sends a shard of ice through my gut. He doesn’t care if he kills her or not. He grins, a cruel twist of his lips that has haunted my dreams for as long as I can remember. “You didn’t think I’d forgotten you?”
I force my own lips to curve in a mocking smile. “Of course not.” I had, however, hoped he would not remember until we were safely in France. “But I did think you had returned to Périgord for the winter.” I fill my voice with
arch amusement. The scent of fear would only embolden him further.
“What I want could not be found in Périgord. If you and the girls come easily, I will not have to hurt this sow you seem to have grown so fond of.”
Terror tries to chase all the breath from my lungs, but I rein it back in. “Is this some newfound brotherly responsibility you are feeling toward our sisters?” As I talk, I pull Louise nearer so she is tucked close against me, shielded by my skirts. “You are not a nursemaid, and the girls mean nothing to you.”
“They belong to me now and are the bargaining chips I will use to form new alliances and rebuild our family’s influence. Now bring them here, or I will be forced to do something you will regret.”
Even though I can feel Tephanie’s eyes on me like a frightened calf, I do not dare look at her. “Kill her or not, I don’t care.”
Louise gasps. I squeeze her hand, trying to reassure her it is naught but a lie. “And you may take the girls as well. I have grown weary of them.”
Pierre smiles, pleased at his easy victory. Overconfidence has always been his great weakness. “Ah, but I will not leave you behind. You are still of marriageable age and hold some value. Besides, you have much to answer for.” His eyes glint darkly, hinting at the malevolent punishments he has in mind.
Ignoring the cold fear that trickles along my skin, I keep my voice light. “Dear Pierre. I forget you were never the clever one in our family. Let us talk this through. Surely I will serve you better by waiting upon the duchess. My presence here could do much to repair the damage our family has done to her.”
“Not clever, eh? How do you suppose I got in here undetected?”
“By wearing Viscount Rohan’s colors, which is practically cheating.”
The vein in his forehead throbs as he takes a step forward, dragging the forgotten Tephanie with him. “Cheating? This is not some game of cards we are playing.” He stops and cocks his head like a curious vulture. “Or is it? I’d forgotten how you could make anything into a game.” His eyes gleam with a spark of admiration, and I fear I will be sick. If there is anything about me he admires, I must cut it out like rotting fruit. “Tell me, was it a game when our brother Julian died? Did you enjoy luring him to his death?”
“No!”
“You may as well have swung the sword yourself. And our father’s death was by your hand.”
Charlotte jerks her gaze from Pierre to stare at me, and Louise shoves her face into my skirt.
“He is not dead,” I say coolly.
Pierre’s eyes bore into mine, alight with cold fury. “You left him lying in a pool of his own viscera. Even when the surgeons stitched him back together, he did not regain consciousness. He is as good as dead. Do not fool yourself, Sybella. You are no more suited to the duchess’s court than a wolf is to a lapdog. You are a d’Albret. You lie like one. You kill like one.” He takes a step closer. “Heartlessness and cruelty are your weapons of choice. Your d’Albret blood is thicker than your desire to be a lady in waiting to some mewling queen.”
The need to scream at him that I am not of his blood is so strong, I fear it will burst from my throat. But I can feel Louise trembling beside me. See Charlotte watching Pierre and me carefully. With all the death and upheaval they have gone through, I cannot tell them we do not share the same blood.
Besides, to admit that is to hand Pierre a weapon. A weapon he will be quick to use as we struggle over custody, and I will not give them up. Not to him. Not to the d’Albret family.
“I think you underestimate the toll these last months have taken on me. I want nothing more than to lead a simple life, with simple pleasures. To serve my queen and to guide my sisters to womanhood so that they may make suitable marriages.” I will take the one on the left first. He looks faster than Pierre or the other man.
Pierre snorts. “And how will you do that? You can offer them nothing. You have no lands, no husband, nothing you can call your own. You cannot sign a betrothal contract to ensure your own future, let alone theirs. You will live in a room at the beck and call of a fickle young girl. That is no kind of security to offer anyone.”
Compared to what the d’Albret family has to offer, it is paradise on earth.
“Perhaps that is so,” I say, as if flirting with some admirer. “But I cannot just pick up and leave the duchess’s side with no explanation. I must obtain her permission.” As we talk, I continue to pull on Louise’s arm until she is all but hidden behind me. To Pierre, it will merely look as if I am shielding the younger girl from him, which I am.
But I am also freeing up my throwing hand.
Thankfully, he does not see me as much of a threat. “She is our sovereign and, as you yourself noted, soon to be queen of France. To slight her could set the family honor and fortunes even farther back. Besides, you cannot provide better marriages for our sisters than the duchess can arrange once she is queen.”
He laughs. “She will put the crown’s interest first, while I will see to my own interests. Very different things.”
I shake my head in disbelief. “You don’t truly expect the three of us to simply prance out of the palace, with no one trying to stop us, do you?” The man on the left is slapping his knife against his thigh, waiting impatiently. The one on the right has a crossbow, but it is strapped to his back, leaving both hands free to snag the girls. Fools. I curl my fingers up until they make contact with the tiny catch at the base of my wrist sheaths.
“They would not dare to try to stop me. You all belong to me. Even if someone were stupid enough to try, with our blades at your throats, they would not risk interfering.”
Neither Pierre nor his men bear Mortain’s marque. I cannot help but feel as if I stand on the edge of a precipice. They intend to take us alive, and I don’t know if killing them is considered self-defense.
But it will allow me to save my sisters. I press against the catch on the sheath, and the hilt of my knife slips down into my palm, then I shrug, as if bored by the conversation. “As I said, you are welcome to the girls. And the maid.” Behind me, Louise’s small body grows rigid with betrayal and shock. “There, now. Go to him.” I release her hand and lean down to nudge her forward, whispering, “Drop to the ground when I say ‘spider.’ Blink twice if you understand.”
Her solemn eyes blink once, twice. As those worried, frightened eyes stare up at me, I realize I cannot kill Pierre in front of her.
Charlotte glances over at me, her face clear and unafraid. I cannot tell if she heard my instructions to Louise or not. “Go on, sweeting. Go to Pierre.” I speak loud enough for my brother to hear. “He will take care of you.”
Charlotte lifts her skirts and begins picking a slow, careful path forward. “I wondered when you’d arrive.” Her young voice is clear, high, and utterly steady. “To be honest, I thought you’d be here weeks ago.”
She manages to inject a faint element of disdain into her words. Clever girl. That will further enrage him, which will make him even more careless.
“Enough!” he snaps. “Be silent and do as you are told.” As he scolds her, I inch my fingers along the knife until I have the tip grasped firmly in my fingers. To disable and not kill is a far more difficult throw. I will have only one chance. It must be quick, and it must be true.
As Louise slowly walks toward our brother, she starts to cry. Pierre scowls, his face flushing in anger. “Make her be quiet! Someone will hear.”
“Spider!” I shout.
As I launch my dagger, both of my sisters drop to the ground. My blade hurls through the air, a darting flash of silver, before slicing across the back of Pierre’s hand.
He bellows in pain as he drops his knife. There is a second yelp of pain as Tephanie stabs him with something, and he loosens his grip on her long enough that she can break free.
A moment of stunned silence follows as what has just happened registers with Pierre’s men. Slow, I think to myself. Just like him.
They reach for their weapons, but too late. I have
already pulled Ismae’s crossbow from the folds of my overskirt and am slapping a bolt into place. I let it fly, aiming for the man drawing his sword. I do not wait to see where the bolt lands, but reload while turning toward the second man. The bolt pierces his wrist, hopefully shattering it. At the very least, he will be unable to use his own bow anytime soon.
Reloading again, I glance back at the first man, swearing when I see my aim was off and I caught him in the throat. He holds a hand up to his neck, trying to stop the flow of blood. He is not dead now, but will be shortly.
Cradling his injured hand, Pierre glares at me. The malevolent loathing in his eyes has the weight of a physical blow.
“Leave,” I tell him. When he hesitates, I say it again, louder. “Leave! I have two more bolts and six knives. You are finished here. Besides, your friend is gravely wounded. Best you get him somewhere he can die in peace.”
I can feel Louise’s and Charlotte’s eyes on me, wondering who this creature is who has taken over their sister’s body.
Pierre grits his teeth, lips white with pain. “I will have what is rightfully mine by birth. And I will crush you in the process. The law is on my side.”
“Mayhap, but the duchess is on mine.”
The taller henchman is propping up the one bleeding from his throat. “Sir?” the man says gruffly. Pierre turns on him so savagely that I fear he will strike the injured man. Instead he swears, and strides for the garden gate, leaving his two wounded companions to struggle after him.
When they reach the gate, Charlotte rises to her knees, her cool gaze moving from Pierre to me, then back to Pierre again. For one heart-stopping moment, I do not know if she will follow him or remain with me. In the end, she stays where she is.
When Pierre and his men finally disappear from view, I drop the crossbow and race forward. I reach Louise first, grab her up into my arms, and hold her close, petting her head. “I was lying, sweeting. It was all lies to keep you safe. Do you hear me? None of it was true.”
Courting Darkness Page 6
