This seems to appease him somewhat. “Thank Camulos someone has the sense the gods gave a turnip.” While Beast’s anger has faded, it is replaced somewhat by hurt. As if my not telling him has wounded him in some way.
“The only reason I did not tell you,” I rush to explain, “was because I was afraid you would try to stop me.”
He stares at me, eyes beseeching me to see reason. “And I would have.”
“Tried.”
He stares at me a beat longer. “How am I supposed to face Charlotte and Louise—especially Louise—if I must tell them something happened to you? Something you did not even trust me enough to tell me you were doing?”
His words are like a bucket of cold water and make me feel small. “Nothing happened.”
“This time,” he points out. “But surely even you recognize you cannot always be so lucky.” He opens his mouth to say more, closes it again, then shakes his head and walks away.
* * *
On my way back to my room, I pause on the floor of the king’s apartments. I can see the large double doors to his bedchamber from the landing. With thoughts of Marguerite heavy in my mind, I cannot help but wonder what sort of man he must be. A confusion of chivalry and noble ideals wrapped up in a lack of confidence and a need to assert himself. But only able to truly do so with those who are on an unequal footing with him. An eleven-year-old princess. A queen he has stripped of all power. It is an unattractive collection of traits, and yet he does not feel evil or cruel. It is more that he is unsure of his own abilities, and until he becomes confident, we will all suffer.
The door to his bedchamber opens, followed by light feminine laughter and the lower rumble of a male voice. I duck back into the shadows in time to watch a woman emerge from the room. Katerine says something over her shoulder, then lifts her skirts and makes her way down the long hallway to the queen’s apartments.
Katerine from the garden, who held Brittany in such contempt. Katerine, who claimed to have no interest in the queen, yet watched her closely. Now her interest makes sense. She is having an affair with the king. Of course she would want to pay close attention to the queen’s comings and goings. And no wonder he visits the queen so infrequently.
I cannot help but feel as if the Nine themselves have all decided to piss right where I am standing.
Chapter 75
Genevieve
n spite of Maraud’s dire prediction, I manage to catch a few hours’ sleep. When I wake in the morning, Tomas and Crespin have added some of their own supplies to the remains of our pottage from last night and are heating it for breakfast.
There is little opportunity for Maraud and me to talk, but I manage to pull him aside when we go to saddle our horses. “How do we get rid of them?”
“I don’t know that we do.”
“We don’t have time to be haring off on their behalf. Every day I linger, more innocents are at risk. I will poison them. That is the only answer.”
“All of them?”
“What choice do I have?”
“We wait. We’re traveling in the same direction as they are. Once we’re out on the open road, our options will be greater. Besides,” he adds. “There is safety—”
“In numbers. Yes, you’ve said. Here.” I slap the vial of antidote in his hand. It is impossible to administer it without the others seeing.
He stares at it for a moment. “How I’ve longed to hold this very thing.” His gaze flits briefly to our captors. “And now that I finally do, it is useless to me.” He takes a quick swig, then hands it back.
“Not useless,” I point out, tucking it back into my pouch. “It still keeps you alive. You just can’t grab it and run.”
“Hurry up,” Jorn growls at us. “There’s enough light to ride by.”
“We’re ready,” Maraud calls back.
I lean in close. “If they are still holding us back once we clear Poitiers, I am poisoning the lot of them, the English crown be damned.”
“I am sure Henry the Seventh would reward you most handsomely,” Maraud says wryly.
* * *
The next two days’ travel is relatively uneventful. And Maraud is right, there is a certain sense of safety when traveling in such large numbers. We even make better time because Maraud is no longer looking over his shoulder.
We spend the second night in Poitiers at an inn just inside the city gates, and I am grateful for a true bed, even one of lumpy straw. At dinner that night, Maraud is able to convince the claimant’s party to continue northward with us for two more days. While it was four days’ ride straight to the coast from the abandoned village, to reach the coast near Nantes will take longer. By traveling north with us, then cutting over to the coast at Sainte-Maure, they will be using a much less conventional route and will therefore be better able to avoid their enemies.
After giving Maraud his antidote the following morning, I slip all of my poisons—the night whispers and the few remaining wax pearls—out of my pack and set them in the small pouch I carry at my waist. I also secure the poisoned needles up my left sleeve. I do not wish to cause these men harm. They are committed to a cause they believe in, and I admire that. But I will not allow them to divert me from a cause I believe in just as fervently.
Chapter 76
Sybella
t takes me a few days to decide how I want to handle the issue of Katerine. I could approach her directly, but there is a chance she would not heed my warning to leave. And if I do what I must to convince her, well, it would be easy enough for her to report such actions back to the regent, who would be only too glad to use such accusations against me.
Besides, the more I think upon it, the more I wonder if the regent herself isn’t behind this. If she cannot share pillow talk with her brother, what better than to have a loyal attendant fill his bed and report back to her?
It will be a most delicate conversation, one best had away from listening ears. So when the morning’s mass is over and we all begin to file out of the chapel, I linger behind, waiting for the regent and her party to pass. “Madame Regent.”
She peers down her nose as I slip into place next to her. “Lady Sybella, to what do I owe this pleasure?” Frost drips from her words.
“If it pleases you, I fear I have learned of something, and believe you are the most qualified person to guide me on the matter.”
The disbelief on the regent’s face is matched only by her curiosity. She glances over her shoulder at her maids of honor, motioning for them to precede her. “Pray with me,” she offers.
We turn back toward the front of the church. Because I hold the cards in this game for once, I decide to stir the waters a bit.
“I was surprised to hear that Princess Marguerite was within riding distance. I had assumed she would return to Austria to be with her father.”
The regent looks straight ahead. “Her father has not yet arranged for her transportation.”
“Surely he would be eager for a chance to see his daughter after so many years?”
The regent looks at me. “I am sure that he is, but the travel arrangements and logistics are complex. Now, what is this problem you wished my guidance on?”
I kneel before the altar and stare at the cross that hangs above it. With a sigh, she does the same.
I fold my hands, as if praying. “There is no way to sweeten this, so I will just say it straight out.” I turn from the cross and look directly at her. “One of your ladies in waiting is having an affair with the king.”
Her face grows immobile, as if she has just been turned to a pillar of salt. “Who?”
“Katerine.”
“That is a most serious accusation to make. Why do you think this is the case?”
“I saw her coming out of the king’s bedchamber, straightening her gown.”
The regent’s mouth purses in annoyance. “Have you been following the king?”
“Indeed no, Madame. I merely happened to be coming down the stairs while she
was emerging from his room. The door is visible from the landing,” I remind her.
She is quiet a long moment. “That is not proof.”
I shoot her a reproachful glance. “Madame, it would be enough to ensure the dismissal of any lady of court.”
She sighs then and shakes her head, as if weary. “Men have different needs, needs that a woman of your young and noble sensibilities cannot be expected to understand.”
It is hard—so hard—not to laugh outright at this. “I’m sure that is true,” I concede.
“And kings, even more so.”
I must tread carefully here. “While serving the king in any capacity is an honor, does not the queen’s honor bear some consideration?” Before she can answer, I continue. “The ladies surrounding the queen, indeed, the entire royal family, must be above reproach. Are those not the ideals you have instilled in countless young women?”
“Of course.” Her voice is terse, like a piece of ribbon pulled too tight.
“It is hard to imagine what the families of all those girls would say if they learned—”
“You have made your point. What is it you want?”
“The same thing that you want, Madame Regent. To ensure the power and legitimacy of France. I think we can all agree that the sooner the queen is with child, the better for all concerned. Surely providing an heir is the best way to ensure the pope delivers the much-needed dispensation? The pope would never allow the dauphin of France to be called a bastard.”
She stares at me a long, hard minute. “You’re right, Lady Sybella. I appreciate the discretion you exercised in bringing this to my attention. I will be certain it is addressed in an appropriate way.” She stands, taking a moment to straighten her skirts. “Does the queen know of this?”
I rise to my feet as well. “No, Madame. I felt that if the problem went away, she need never know. I see no sense in hurting her with such information.”
She looks at me, a faint glimmer of approval in her eyes. “Good. It will be taken care of. Now, if you will excuse me, I will leave you to your prayers.”
I do not think she would be so willing to leave me to my prayers if she knew how many of them involved asking for deliverance from her.
Chapter 77
Genevieve
n the afternoon of the fourth day of our travels with Shrewsbury, Maraud draws his horse to the side of the road and points. “There.” Up ahead is a crossroad marker. “The west fork leads to Brittany, the north to Tours.”
“The west, of course,” Jorn says.
As we draw nearer the fork in the road, I realize the marker is not a sign, but a cross made of ancient knobby wood, polished white with age.
The road that curves west has a steam running along the south of it. Gallopine, thirsty, makes for the water’s edge. I dismount to let her drink, and the others do the same. While the brook burbles cheerfully enough, a thick silence lies over the small valley. On the northern slope are two granite outcroppings. No. Not outcroppings, but ancient standing stones. I look back over my shoulder to the cross in the road, staring at it more carefully. It is not made of wood. The realization scuttles along my spine like a tiny spider. “What is this place?” I ask Maraud in a low voice.
He glances up to see if the others are within earshot. “One of Saint Camulos’s old shrines.” His gaze moves over the stones, the wood grove, and back to the stones. “The French might not recognize him any longer, but his shrines and old altars are still known to some. It is also why the road is less traveled. It is an old, old road from a much earlier time.”
That explains why the air feels not only heavy, but thinner as well. As if just on the other side of it, the gods sit watching. It is most unsettling, yet wondrous as well. I look back at the cross. “What sort of bones are those?”
Maraud regards me steadily. “You already know the answer to that question.”
Just then Jorn comes barging over. “How far to the coast from here?”
“Three days.”
“I don’t know how long the captain will hold our ship, so after your horses are watered, let’s move out.”
“Actually,” Maraud says, “this is where Lucinda and I part ways with you.”
Jorn takes a step closer. “That was not our agreement.” His ire draws the attention of the others.
“If you’ll remember, we never actually agreed to anything besides traveling with you as long as our roads went in the same direction. Here is where they do not.”
Jorn crosses his arms across his chest and plants his legs wide, as if he is some barrier we dare not pass. Shrewsbury hurries over, his casual arrogance giving way to dismay. “Surely you don’t mean that? Your knowledge has been invaluable to us.”
“You don’t need it anymore. I’ve saved you two days’ travel time and steered you clear of those who would follow you. That is more than enough compensation for the men you lost, especially since it was self-defense.”
Jorn glowers at Maraud. Neither man blinks. Slowly, I slip my hand into my pouch, nudging aside the vial and the wax pearls until my hand closes around the silver box. “We will make you come with us. Tie you to your horses if need be.”
Maraud laughs. “What will that gain you? Do you think I will happily call out directions while chained to my horse?”
Jorn’s face reddens with anger, but Tomas calls out. “Cease your bickering and come look at this.” He points back to the road.
In the far distance, a party of mounted knights approach. Jorn whirls on Maraud. “I told you we were not free of our enemies!”
Ignoring him, Maraud hops up on a boulder, shielding his eyes from the glare to get a better view. “I don’t think they’re after you.”
My head snaps up.
“Then who? You?” Jorn scowls. “You brought danger upon us?”
Maraud hops back down from the boulder. “Didn’t mean to. Besides, you waylaid me, remember?”
“D’Albret?” I ask under my breath.
Maraud nods, too distracted to boast that he’s been right all this time.
Shrewsbury frowns. “How many are there?”
“Twenty. And they’re approaching fast.”
“We are seven against twenty!” Shrewsbury’s voice goes high with concern. “Can we get off the road and let them pass? Surely that will be the fastest way to get rid of them.”
“Except there are no good hiding places nearby. They will see you before you reach the trees.”
“What do we do?”
“Fight or run,” Maraud says.
“This is your fight, mercenary,” Jorn says. “Not ours. We will not be dragged into it.”
Crespin says more calmly, “Our first duty is to our lord. We must protect him at all costs.”
“Then you’d best get going. These men will not care about your loyalty if you are in the way of what they want.”
“But what of you?” Tomas looks faintly uneasy.
“I’ll run. And when I can’t run any longer, I’ll fight.”
Just as I wonder what he thinks I will be doing this entire time, he shoots me a long, intense look. “But take Lucinda with you.”
“What?” I stare at him in horror.
Jorn and Tomas exchange a glance, then look to Shrewsbury, who nods his agreement.
“You hay-wit! Just because those cowards are leaving you to fight alone doesn’t mean I will.”
Maraud grabs me by the arm and walks me away from the others. “Stop it.” He gives my arm a shake. “D’Albret wants me. Not you. They may hurt me, but they’ll keep me alive because their lord wants me alive. I can’t guarantee they’ll grant you the same courtesy.”
I will not accept this. Not accept that I am powerless to help.
“Lucinda, these men are capable of terrible cruelty. You’ve seen them fight. You’ve seen how little they care for fairness or honor. I assure you, they are capable of many vile things. Things I could not bear any woman to suffer, especially not you.”
I open my mouth to argue, but Maraud tightens his grip on my arm and thrusts me at Jorn. “Take her away from here. Now.”
He strides over to his horse and vaults into the saddle. “Hurry,” he says. “They are almost at the fork. Best if they don’t see you. If they do, they might not be able to resist giving chase.”
That spurs the men to action. Jorn picks me up, carries me over to Gallopine, and dumps me in the saddle. Tomas has already mounted and draws alongside me. “You know he is right about this,” he says. “Can we trust you to come of your own accord, or must I take control of your reins?”
“I’ll come willingly,” I promise even while plotting a way to get free. Not because I am stupid—Maraud is right. I do not want to imagine the cruelty Pierre could inflict. But it is my fault he must face them at all. I may have freed him from the oubliette, but I also put him in d’Albret’s path.
He also did not ask for the antidote, which disturbs me. Does he not intend to be taken alive?
Fortunately, Shrewsbury’s men are focused on getting their lord to safety and their allegiance to Maraud is slim. A quarter mile down the road, when I turn Gallopine and head back, there is only a halfhearted protest.
Tomas alone rides after me—hoping to stop me, I think. Until he unhooks one of the crossbows from his saddle and holds it out to me. “Here. You will need this.”
As I take it from him, he gives me a nod, then turns to catch up to the others.
Chapter 78
’Albret’s troops are not yet in sight, so I steer Gallopine toward the grove of linden trees and use them to hide my approach. By the time I reach their cover, d’Albret’s men are at the fork. The bulk of their party advances down after us, but a smaller group keeps riding north. Are they heading to Tours on other business? Or planning to surround us?
Courting Darkness Page 40
