Courting Darkness

by Robin LaFevers

  He shrugs. “I am the queen’s confessor.”

  I blink, wondering what else she may have told him. I start walking again. “You’re wrong, Father,” I say softly. “It wasn’t to protect—​or not only to protect—​her, but also to stop my own pain at watching her endure that.”

  The old priest reaches out to pat my hand. “Even better, my lady. It shows how deeply your compassion flows. You act not from some vague notion of chivalry”—​my mind goes immediately to the king—​“but because you feel others’ pain as if it were your own. I can assure you none of the d’Albrets have ever felt that. Indeed, far too few people experience such solicitude.” He sighs. “The world would be a far better place if they did.”

  I start to answer, but he wags a finger at me.

  “Nor are you only Mortain’s justice, meting out punishment and vengeance. If that were the case, you would simply wait until the vile deeds had been done, then exact justice. You work far too hard to save the innocent from such wrong-doing in the first place.” His old blue eyes are vivid in their intensity, as if willing me to feel the truth of his words. “When you act from that place, there is no risk you are dark or evil. You merely understand that to fight evil things—​to truly fight them and protect others—​you must sometimes use those same methods. Ah, I see that we have reached the chapel.”

  I glance in surprise at the door to the servants’ chapel.

  “I shall leave you to your prayers, my dear.”

  He bows before disappearing down the hall while I am left standing at the door to a chapel I had no intention of visiting. “Father Effram!” I call out.

  He pauses at the end of the hall and looks over his shoulder.

  “Thank you.”

  He smiles, knowing full well I do not mean for leaving me to my prayers.

  In truth, his words feel as if they have turned me inside out so that I must look at all the parts of myself anew. This is as good a place as any for that.

  * * *

  When I step into the chapel, I realize I am not alone. Someone else sits quietly in the front bench. I nearly turn around and slip back out, then recognize the woman whom I saw leaving the regent’s office yesterday. Curious now, I step behind one of the stone columns and observe her more closely. Her head is bent, the curve of her slender neck graceful. She does not wear a fancy headdress like those favored here at court, but a simple coif.

  My interest sharpens. But someone else approaches—​a page. I pull back behind my column as he glances around the chapel, his gaze finally landing on the other woman. He hurries down the aisle, bearing a message in his hands. “My lady?”

  “Yes?” she says.

  He hands her the sealed parchment and waits for her to read it. When she does not, he shifts impatiently. “Do you not wish me to carry back a reply, my lady?”

  “No. When I have one ready, I shall find someone to deliver it. You are dismissed.”

  Once the page has left, she rises and approaches the bank of lit candles that sit in front of the chancel. When she reaches them, she holds the message out over the flames.

  It takes a moment for the flame to catch, but eventually it does. When her fingers are in danger of being singed, she finally drops the last of it into the burning wick.

  She heads to the left side of the chancel, where nine niches are carved into the wall. I am surprised to see that they hold nine burning candles. Has Father Effram placed them there?

  She pauses at the first one—​Mortain’s niche—​raises her hand to it, then bows her bead briefly. When she has finished her short prayer, she turns on her heel and walks away. Her steps are not hurried or lingering, but carefully measured. The sort that do not call attention. As she passes by my hiding place, I am able to see her more clearly. Her cheekbones are sharp, her lips full, her chin determined. And then she is gone.

  I wait a handful of moments before approaching the small alcove.

  A single red holly berry rests against the white candle. My heart gives a leap of hope.

  I reach for the pouch at my waist and the crow feather I have carried for weeks. I pat futilely for a moment before realizing I did not attach it to my belt this morning as I dressed for my audience with the king.

  Even so, she is from the convent. I am certain of it.

  * * *

  When I arrive at the queen’s solar, it is obvious at once that the queen is not there. The ladies sit in a circle amongst themselves, heads bent, whispering. At my approach, they stop talking and resume their needlework.

  I ignore their clumsy attempts at subtlety. “Where is the queen?”

  “She has returned to bed as she did not feel well. Elsibet and Heloise are with her.”

  “Thank you.” I lift my skirts and head for the queen’s chambers. When I knock, Elsibet opens the door. “Oh, Lady Sybella. We were hoping it was you. The queen is not up for visitors.”

  “Your Majesty?” I say softly as I approach the bed. Her face is pale, a fine sheen of perspiration on her forehead and upper lip. Her eyes flutter open, and without thinking to ask for permission, I reach out and take her wrist, laying my fingers over her pulse.

  It is strong, not weak or fluttery.

  She smiles faintly. “Lady Sybella. How did your audience with the king go?”

  I kneel beside the bed. “Your Majesty, we can speak of that later. Right now I am more concerned for you. How are you feeling?”

  “Tired. And weak.” She grimaces. “And no wonder, as I have been unable to eat anything all day.”

  “Indeed,” Heloise pipes in. “Just thinking of food makes her turn green about the gills.”

  I frown. “What was the last thing you ate?”

  “Supper last night. What we all had. Venison, pheasant, eel pie.”

  “I have warned you about eel pie.” I keep my voice light as I examine her eyes. Her pupils are a little large, but not alarmingly so. “Eels are notoriously dubious.”

  “Believe me, I will remember your warning next time they are offered.”

  “Very good.” The regent would not poison her, would she? No. But Pierre might. I think of the Mouse and how easily he can slip through cracks unnoticed. I rub my fingers along the palm of her hand, then once her eyes flutter closed again, bring them to my nose and sniff.

  There is no smell to indicate any of the poisons I am familiar with, but I am not reassured.

  “I know of something that might help. Let me tell Heloise to have it prepared for you.”

  “Thank you,” she whispers without opening her eyes.

  “What do you think is wrong with her?” I ask Heloise.

  “I truly think the eels did not agree with her, my lady. Why?” Her gaze sharpens. “Do you sense something amiss?”

  “No, but I am trained to look for the darkest answers to such questions. Do you think a tisane of comfrey and ginger might help? The pois—​herbal mistress at the convent used that on occasion.”

  “I do think it could help. I will go to the kitchen and prepare one immediately.”

  “Good. Hopefully that will provide her some relief.”

  When she has left, I turn to Elsibet. “Has there been any news among the regent’s attendants of a new lady joining their ranks?”

  “Why, yes, Lady Sybella! That is all they have talked about since yesterday. Apparently her name is Genevieve, and she used to be one of the regent’s pupils.” She leans in close and lowers her voice. “The king developed a tendre for her, and she was sent away to Cognac.”

  I blink at her in surprise. “They told you all that?”

  “Oh no, my lady. But I am small and easily overlooked.”

  “Only by fools,” I mutter.

   Chapter 91

  he next morning, I am ordered to return to the king’s chambers to hear his decision. It has come more quickly than I expected.

  My plans to seek out Genevieve hastily put aside, I dress carefully, in my most somber and responsible-looking gown. Holding my hea
d high, I look neither to the right nor the left as I follow my escort to the king’s chambers. My stomach feels as if it holds a nest of newly hatched serpents, all writhing and struggling to get out.

  As my feet carry me closer to the king’s decision, I am fiercely glad the girls are far away from here. With them out of harm’s way, no matter what else happens in the meeting, I will have won.

  A guard opens one of the large double doors, then steps aside for me to enter. The king sits in a large chair at his desk, the regent standing behind his right shoulder. She does not look at me, and I don’t know if that is a good sign or a bad one.

  Monsieur de Fremin is already there, barely making an effort to contain his impatience. While it is irksome that he arrived before me, his open impatience will not sit well with the king. I cannot decide if he is a stupid man or merely an overconfident one.

  The king sets aside the document he is reading to give us his full attention. “I have given this matter much thought and many hours of prayer,” he says without preamble. “The law is clearly on the side of Lord d’Albret having custody of his sisters so that he may provide them with good marriages.” Fremin visibly puffs up at this encouraging announcement. I keep my face as still as stone.

  “However,” the king continues, “matters of honor and oaths are involved. My own lady queen has sworn to oversee the d’Albret girls’ safety and well-being, and I do not wish to force her to forsake her word. There is no honor in that for anyone.”

  A tiny leaf of hope unfurls in my breast.

  “I have decided that for now, the girls will remain in the queen’s care. Surely Lord d’Albret will agree that there is no better custodian for his sisters than the queen of France?”

  The lawyer wants—​desperately—​to argue with this. “But, Your Majesty, the girls must be married—”

  The king holds up a hand, stopping his words. “Of course they must. But as his liege, their marriages have to be approved by the crown, do they not?”

  While this is true, it is often a mere formality. The lawyer cannot risk pointing this out. “Of course, Your Majesty, which he would duly obtain, but—”

  “So for now, the sisters d’Albret will be privileged to serve the queen until such time as marriages can be arranged for them. We ourselves will give these unions some thought, and of course, if Lord d’Albret has marriages in mind, we will be happy to consider those unions as well.”

  I do not dare to let myself react. I did not expect for him to grant me outright custody—​there is no legal precedent for that. This is the very best I could have hoped for.

  The lawyer opens his mouth to argue again, then stops it when he sees the king scowl with displeasure. I briefly wonder if Fremin has been threatened with some dire punishment, should he fail in this task. Before he can do anything to sour the king’s mood, I curtsy deeply. “Thank you, Your Majesty. I can think of no greater honor for you to bestow upon the house d’Albret than to allow me to serve your queen and grant us your protection and guidance in these matters.”

  That pleases him, and he settles back in his chair. “You are welcome, Lady Sybella. And you, Lord Fremin. You may take this decision back to your liege.”

  “If I may, sire . . .”

  Astounded that he is questioning his dismissal, we all turn to stare at him.

  “Would it be possible for me to see the girls before I take my leave, so that I may assure my lord as to their good health and well-being?”

  His words confirm my biggest fear. He is looking for an opportunity to snatch them from me. I turn and give him a horrified blink. “Are you suggesting the queen has in some way threatened their well-being?”

  “No! Of course not. But . . . my lord has messages of affection he would have me pass along, lest they forget how much he cares for them.”

  I nearly laugh out loud at that. “Ah, you may tell them to me, and I will share them with my sisters. I am afraid both have taken a fever with the recent winter storm, and it is best that they not have visitors right now.”

  The look the lawyer shoots me tells me that in his mind, this is far from over. And he is right. I just don’t think it will end the way he expects it to.

   Chapter 92

  Genevieve

  s I am dressing for supper, the king’s summons arrives, delivered by the chamberlain himself.

  He waits outside while I finish my preparations. I don’t have much to choose from, but even so, I take care with my appearance. Not in an attempt to appear prettier, for that part of the game has already been won. But the more care I take with my appearance, the more he will feel I am honoring him.

  When I am finally ready, the chamberlain glances at me with approval, then escorts me in silence to the king’s apartments. When we arrive at a pair of thick double doors, one of the guards steps forward to open it for me. I cannot help but wonder what my mother and aunts would think of one of their own sleeping with the king of France himself. I give a regal nod of thanks and smooth my skirts before stepping into the private bedchamber.

  The room is huge and made welcoming with rich oak paneling and exquisitely rendered Flemish tapestries hung on the walls. There are two fireplaces, a fire roaring in each one. Along the farthest wall is an enormous canopied bed with deep blue velvet curtains embroidered with gold fleur-de-lis.

  The king himself rises from a couch covered in the same blue velvet. He is but a young man, only a handful of years older than I. Even though he is king, I am struck by how vulnerable he looks without his retainers and the trappings of state. “Genevieve! You came.”

  I curtsy. “But of course, Your Majesty. I said that I would.”

  When he reaches me, there is an almost palpable uncertainty lurking behind his regalness, and I realize that I am well suited to this task. Desire is my mother’s stock in trade, and surely I am my mother’s daughter as well as my father’s.

  He smiles shyly and takes my hand. I squeeze his fingers lightly. “Your Majesty, I am honored to be here.”

  It is not a lie. It feels as if my entire life has prepared me for this moment. It is the same feeling I had in the abandoned village when Maraud was attacked by outlaws—​I knew what to do and that the moment I had practiced and trained for was finally at hand.

  He tugs gently at my hand. “Come sit by the fire and let me pour you some wine.”

  I raise my brows slightly. Kings do not dress themselves or wash themselves or put on their own shoes, so I did not expect him to pour his own wine. But it appears that he has dismissed all his attendants, and for that I am glad. What will pass between us is not something that is meant to be witnessed by others.

  “Your rooms are magnificent, Your Majesty. I did not know such finery existed in all the world. And so many books! Have you read them all?”

  He smiles with shy pride and turns to his collection, a stark hunger shining in his eyes. He is as consumed by lust for them—​for the knowledge they hold—​as he is by the lust for a woman’s body. “Not yet.”

  I take a sip of my wine. “The court was all abuzz with your ruling today.”

  He looks away from his books, surprised. “Were they? I did not think news would have traveled so quickly.”

  “This is the French court, Your Majesty,” I tease.

  “True.” His mouth twists into a grin that holds more pathos than humor.

  “They say it was a most generous and noble decision,” I tell him gently. “And that your protection of those under your care is in keeping with your chivalrous nature.”

  The crease between his brows disappears. “They say that, do they?”

  “Well, some do.” I set my goblet down. “I do.”

  “Many of my lords are displeased, fearing it calls into question their rights over their own daughters and sisters.”

  “Do you have any intention of exercising such rights over them?”

  He looks taken aback. “No.”

  I smile. “Then their worries will prove unfounded.” I all
ow myself to grow more serious. “Your Majesty, it was a well-thought decision. You protected innocent lives as well as spared their liege any censure or embarrassment, granting them the honor of serving in your queen’s household. And,” I add, slipping off the bench so that I am kneeling in front of him, “you gave full support to your queen. If that is not both wise and chivalrous, I do not know what is.”

  If I were to lean forward, I could press my body against his knees, but I do not wish to appear too brazen. Instead, I reach for his hand. “May I?”

  He looks puzzled, before realizing I am asking permission. “Of course.”

  I take his hand in mine. “Your Majesty, if I can ease the burdens you carry, even just for a handful of hours, and bring you joy—​you who have the weight of so many others on your shoulders—​I will count myself honored to be of some small value to you.”

  His face shifts imperceptibly, and I can see that I have touched him.

  Good. For I do not lie. He is a kind man and tries to be just and generous.

  To my surprise, he gently pulls me back up so that I am half on the couch and half in his lap. “It is you who have honored me with the pleasure of your company. To be simply a man for an hour or two, albeit a very lucky one.” Without looking away, he draws closer, pressing his lips to mine.

  His mouth is eager and warm and as soft as an overripe pear. His tongue thrusts too rapidly, like a maid with a butter churn. One hand leaves my shoulders to caress my arm, then moves to my rib cage and upward until he is cupping my breast. His fingers begin squeezing and kneading so forcefully that I am reminded of a farmer milking his cow.

  He pulls away, his eyes heavy lidded with desire. “There is a more comfortable place to do this,” he murmurs. He stands and pulls me up alongside him, then leads me to the huge canopied bed. It is cooler here, away from the fire, and I shiver.

  He smiles. “Do I make you shiver, dear Gen?”

  He is so very hopeful that I must cast my eyes down. “Yes, Your Majesty.”