I rein Gallopine in, slip silently from her back, and tie her to a nearby trunk. Taking Tomas’s crossbow and my sword, I use the trees to conceal my movements and work my way back to where I last saw Maraud. He did not stand still as we rode away, but turned off onto the verge and headed north, making for the granite stones. Best to face one’s enemies with something solid at your back. Or mayhap he knows it is a strategy of theirs to attempt to surround their quarry and thought to neutralize that possibility.
I pick a spot well hidden among the trees, drop to the ground, and remove the four bolts attached to the crossbow’s frame. Opening the pouch at my waist, I grab a handful of the wax pearls. I am a good enough shot with a bow, but it takes an excellent shot and a good dose of luck to make every shot a killing one. It will not hurt to increase my odds.
I stab a pearl onto the point of one of the bolts, then smear it over the tip, careful to avoid getting any on my fingers. When I glance up, d’Albret’s men have reached our watering spot and Maraud’s trail. I hastily grab three more pearls, smear the rest of the crossbow bolts, then snap them back in place.
Over a dozen hoofbeats thud along the dirt. Under the cover of their noise, I leap to my feet, crossbow cocked and ready, and weave my way toward the clearing.
With a suddenness that is so unexpected it feels shocking, the churning hooves come to a stop. Thick silence follows.
“Gentlemen.” Maraud’s jaunty voice cuts through the menacing silence. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“He said you’d be expecting us.”
“He was wrong.”
As they talk, I resume my creeping. I am nearly in position. And once I can see them, I can shoot them.
“He also said there’d be a girl with you.”
“She and I parted ways back in Poitiers.”
“And yet you rode out from Poitiers with a party of six.”
Figs! They’ve been tailing us that long.
“How brave of you to make your move when I am alone.”
At last I reach the second row of trees before the valley. Maraud and Mogge are up against the granite drop with twelve—no, fifteen—mounted soldiers in front of him. They are in a V-shaped formation, with three men facing him and the rest lined up behind them.
“It is only you our lord wants. You should feel flattered.”
“As a rabbit feels flattered when surrounded by a pack of jackals.”
“Watch your tongue.”
What is Maraud’s strategy? He must have one in mind rather than simply inflaming their tempers.
“Can you tell me what this job of your lord’s entails? I’ve many offers for work and would like to weigh them all carefully.”
As the leader opens his mouth to answer, Maraud draws his sword and charges, catching the knights off-guard.
But I am ready. Using the distraction of his charge, I fire the first bolt, aiming for the man closest to me. It catches him in the shoulder. Not a killing blow—except for the poison.
I get a second shot off, this time hitting my target in the chest. The fall from his horse calls the attention of the others from the fight in front of them to the downed knights.
My third shot pierces a soldier’s thigh and someone calls out a warning. Nearly out of time, I fire my fourth bolt, striking one of the men in the arm. He plucks it out and turns his horse toward me before the poison takes hold.
I must leave. Now. I have increased Maraud’s chances—it is only one against eleven—no nine, he has already killed two himself—instead of one against fifteen.
Three of the soldiers break out of formation and head for the trees behind me, trying to cut off my escape route. I quickly calculate how long it will take to reach Gallopine—too long. I swear in annoyance and draw my sword and dagger.
The first of d’Albret’s soldiers is upon me. He raises his sword, then stiffens, falling to the ground, a crossbow bolt protruding from his back. A second bolt embeds itself in the next closest man. I only have time to wonder if Shrewsbury and his men returned before a third bolt finishes off the last of the men headed my way. That shot is followed by a jubilant whoop as four soldiers emerge from the stone—no, not the stone but a narrow passageway—brandishing swords and pikes like the furies of the gods.
“What took you so long?” Maraud calls out, then it erupts into a melee—churning horses, shouts, and cries, and the nearly deafening sound of sword against sword.
And heartbeats. So many hearts are beating within my chest that I must press my hand over it and sit down for fear it will explode.
The pounding of my heart continues to grow and multiply as those around me draw close to death, but the sounds of battle begins to fade. Forcing myself to my feet, and keeping one hand tightly on my sword, I creep back to the clearing. Someone—a woman?—drives a sword into a fallen man’s chest. It is the last of d’Albret’s soldiers. The rest lie dead or wounded, their blood staining the floor of the small valley.
The first of the souls leaves its body just then, a whoosh like a bat swooping down from the sky. It is followed by another and another until the entire valley is awash in souls—vile souls with fleeting images of deeds and thoughts that almost make me retch.
Utter stillness follows as the last of them dies, and once again, it is only my own heart beating in my chest.
Finally able to look up, I see Maraud grinning at Jaspar and Valine. Tassin and Andry are slowly making their way toward the others.
“What in the name of Camulos’s teeth took you so long?” Maraud swipes his forearm across his brow. He is wounded, but doesn’t seem to notice.
“We thought they were planning to surround you, so we went to head them off. Turns out they simply had someplace else to go.”
I stare in stunned silence. Maraud was expecting them?
There is only one meaning I can glean from this, and I do not like it at all.
Maraud sees me just then, the humor leaching from his face, leaving it gray and haggard. “What are you doing here? You were supposed to be safe.”
Is that concern he is feeling? Or dismay that his plans have been discovered?
“I returned to help.”
Valine claps a hand on Maraud’s shoulder. “It’s a good thing she did. She picked off four waiting for their turn to get to you. Not even you could have taken on nine men at once.”
“You were supposed to be safe with the others,” he repeats stubbornly.
“And you were supposed to be taken by d’Albret’s men. Not all goes according to plan.”
He struggles with whatever emotion he is feeling—anger? fear? regret?—then casts it aside and grins. His smile is so wide and inviting and full of joy that it is all I can do not to forgive him everything there on the spot. “Well, you are safe, and you saved my hide, so I can’t help but be glad.”
But his smile does not reach the cold place in my heart. The place that realizes he arranged for this—all of this, as far back as Ransle. He told his friends to meet him here. Whether because he was certain of d’Albret’s pursuit or because he always intended to overpower me, I do not know. Not yet, anyway.
Chapter 79
he horses and weapons will fetch a pretty penny,” Andry says. I cannot place what is different about him—ah! He is smiling. The first time I have ever seen him do so. “We’ll get more for them than we’d have gotten fighting for d’Albret.”
“Those we won’t want to keep for ourselves,” Tassin grunts.
Maraud slaps Andry on the back. “You may both stand here and count your stacks of coin if you wish, but I’d like to make camp before nightfall.”
“Where?” I ask, having no desire to sleep in this valley tonight.
“Up there.” Maraud points to the small ridge behind the granite outcroppings that overlook the valley. “But first, I need to wash some of this blood off in that stream.”
* * *
By the time we have collected all the
horses and Andry and Tassin have retrieved everything of value, we must scramble to make camp and secure the animals in the quickly fading light. But these soldiers are old hands at it, made even more efficient by their many years together.
I do not say much, allowing the occasional chatter of the others to swirl around me like sparks from the campfire. Everyone is quieter tonight, far more so than when we were in Ransle. Whether it is due to the bodies we left behind or some other reason, I don’t know. Maraud volunteers for first watch.
As he disappears down the path toward the watch post, Tassin casts me an unreadable sideways glance. “You came back for him.”
“I did,” I say simply.
He nods his head and grunts in approval.
* * *
Some time later, I find Maraud leaning against a boulder, his long legs stretched out in front of him, looking down over the valley even though it is too dark for him to see. His hair is still damp from his dip in the stream.
“You’re supposed to be on watch.”
He glances over at me and grins. “That is the beauty of the high ground. I can sit in comfort and survey everything below me.”
“Not many would consider cuddling up to a boulder to be comfortable.”
“Try it.” He shifts to the side, making room for me to stand beside him.
I remain where I am. “What is that place, truly?”
“Camulos’s Cup.” He plucks a strand of grass from where it grows in the crevice of the rock. “It’s not only one of his old shrines, but a place where a few can take on many. And win.”
From this vantage point, it is clear to see. “The entire valley is the altar, and the dead you leave there are his offering.”
He runs the grass through his fingers. “Trust one of Mortain’s daughters to recognize the stark truth of it.”
“So if d’Albret’s men hadn’t come along, was Shrewsbury’s party to be the sacrifice? Or me?” I don’t truly believe that, but this whole day has turned my beliefs upside down.
“Saints, no! Why would you even think such a thing?”
“Because you clearly planned this. Planned for them to meet us here. You arranged it back in Ransle.”
“Yes, but not so I could sacrifi—”
“You betrayed me!” No worse than I have planned to betray him, a small voice reminds me.
“No! I sent the others on ahead because I was afraid d’Albret would pursue us. And I was right.”
Some of my anger leaves me. “I think that you planned this all along so you could overpower me and make your escape.”
He stares at me a long moment, not certain he has heard me. “I was hoping I could persuade you to let me—let us—help you, but I would not have forced you.”
In that moment, something stirs within my chest. Something as nebulous and fragile as the blade of grass he holds in his fingers. As small and tentative as it is, it terrifies me. “You can’t help. Only one is required for what I must do.”
“God’s teeth! Even assassins need help sometimes—and you do. I can tell by how it gnaws at you.”
“You couldn’t be more wrong. Don’t you get it? I never needed your help. I only needed something to trade. I was going to hand you over . . .”
“Hand me over to whom?”
I look down over the ridge toward the valley. “I hadn’t figured that out yet. There are still too many unknowns. Especially given the matter of your identity.” My voice softens. I have started this boulder rolling downhill, but I have no wish to flatten him with it. “You are Crunard’s son, and there is a reason he is no longer the chancellor of Brittany.”
Beside me, Maraud grows very still. “What are you saying?”
“I am saying that your father betrayed his country.” I lift my gaze back to his. “He very nearly delivered the duchess into the hands of the French.”
Instead of showing shock or anger, Maraud smiles bitterly. “I know.”
His confession takes a moment to sink in. “You knew?”
“The guards at my first prison told me, wanting to be certain I suffered as much as possible.”
“Did they tell you why?”
“That he threw aside his honor—his family’s honor—for the one who has always been a thorn in his side? Yes, they told me.” The piece of grass now lies shredded in his palm.
“The regent coerced him. He was not the only one she got to. Many of the duchess’s most trusted advisors were being paid by her.” Annoyed that I am comforting him, I return to the matter at hand. “Regardless, I never required an escort for my safety. I was never rescuing you. From the moment I first threw back the grate on the oubliette and told you to come with me, I have only ever had one purpose in mind. And that was to take you directly to court and trade your freedom for that of others.”
His face remains impassive, only the tightening around his eyes showing my words have stung. “Tell me of these innocents you need to save.”
“It is official convent business, which I am forbidden to speak of.”
“I will happily exchange myself for those innocents, if I can bring Cassel to justice first.”
I gape in disbelief. “Why would you do that?”
“Because my father’s actions are a stain on my name and honor as well as my family’s. One of us must shoulder that burden and I am the only one left. Besides, I told you I seek justice for the crime I witnessed on the battlefield. What better place to find answers about the king’s general than with the king himself?”
As I stare into his determined eyes, a faint sense of panic fills me. “This is not your sin. You shouldn’t have to pay for it.”
Maraud’s face grows hard. “It is a wrong my family committed. That is how honor works. But there was also a wrong committed against my family, and I would avenge that first.”
“What wrong?”
His lips flatten, and he returns his gaze to the valley below us. “Remember the nobles I saw slain? One of them . . . one of them was my brother. Ives.”
The ghost, I realize. The one that he spoke of back in the oubliette.
“I had been fighting beside him when he was taken—the pikeman knocked me to the ground before I could reach him. I started to get up, to go after him, but Ives motioned me to stay silent. He knew, I think, what a weapon my name could be in their hands. But in the end, when the sword swung down on his neck, I couldn’t help myself. I called out. That’s when they realized I was still alive, and who I was.”
“And you were taken.”
His eyes—normally so full of good humor or keen wit—are haunted before he quickly shutters them. “And I was taken.”
It doesn’t matter. I will not hand him over to the king to answer for his family’s crimes. Only my life, my body, is mine to trade. I realize now that some part of me decided this a long time ago, the same part that understood that if I did that, I was no different than the abbess handing me over to Count Angoulême to do with what he would. Making that sort of bargain, no matter how well I come out of it, feels like I lose something more important than I am willing to pay.
“Yes,” I tell him. “You must see to justice for Ives. And your father.”
“My father?” He shakes his head, disgust plain on his face.
“It would be a poor father who was not tempted by the offer to save his only son,” I point out. “It was the regent who dangled that in front of him. It was the regent who ordered you thrown into the oubliette. There is vengeance to be had there, and you must see to your family’s justice. I will see to mine.”
“But how? You won’t have me to trade?”
I laugh. “That was only one of my plans. I have many options up my sleeve. Have no worry on that account.”
“I don’t like this.” His voice is edged with an anger I do not fully understand.
“I don’t care.”
After a long moment he looks back over the valley, the entire landscape varying shades of gray in the feeble moonlight. W
hile his face is impassive, I can feel the turbulence of his emotions, shifting the night air as surely as a breeze. It is hard, but I give him time to come to terms with all that I have just told him. Time to realize he is not coming with me.
When he turns back, his face is impassive. “And what of the poison?”
And there it is. He has just given me the perfect weapon with which to drive him away. There is even a story they tell in the new Church, of one of the Christ’s disciples denying him three times. “What poison?”
Maraud glowers at me, his face harder than the granite at his back. “The one you’ve been feeding me the antidote to for the last ten days.”
I reach for the pouch at my belt, pluck the small vial from its depths. “You mean this antidote?” As he nods, I remove the cork and dump the contents on the ground.
Reflexively, he lunges forward, then stops himself. He looks from the damp spot on the ground back to me, his jaw clenched.
“There is no poison. And no antidote. It was nothing but a ploy. Water flavored with bitter herbs to make you believe it was real. I have never poisoned you. I only needed a way to ensure your cooperation.”
He reaches out and grabs my chin, forcing my gaze to his. The look of utter betrayal in his eyes guts me. Good. That will make this easier. I jerk out of his grasp, but do not look away.
“I gave you my word.” He is angry. Angry that I doubted him. Angry that I questioned his honor.
“And I didn’t trust you.” But I did. I have. In so many other things. “You yourself said it was my weakness.”
He grits his teeth in frustration. “I will not let you face this alone. Just like you would not let me face d’Albret alone.”
“Don’t put too much importance on that. It was simply guilt. After all, I was the one who put you in his path to begin with.”
“That was sheer bad luck! You are also the one who freed me.”
“So I could turn you in.”
“And yet,” he says softly, “now you are now telling me I am free to go.”
Frustration roils inside me, nearly choking back all the words I need to say. “Very well.” I nod brusquely. “You are right. It is your choice, after all.”
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