Dark Triumph (His Fair Assassin #2)

by Robin LaFevers

  I stare into his eyes—eyes that are only part human, just as I feel only partly human. If ever there was a man who could understand—and accept—the darkness in me, it is Beast. “Who better to entrust both to than the mighty Beast of Waroch?”

  He pulls me closer, his gaze drifting down to my lips. I am surrounded by the heat from his body, can feel his heart thundering in his chest. He lowers his head until our lips are almost touching. When he hesitates, I rise up on my toes to close the distance between us and press my lips to his. Our kiss is sweet and raw and full of hunger. My hunger. His hunger. A hunger born of two lifetimes.

  It is also full of rightness. Such blessed rightness. No dark ribbon of shame unfurls inside me. No voice screams No inside my head. I do not have to close my eyes and pretend I am a hundred leagues away.

  His hand moves downward, his fingers trailing along my neck, and I savor the rough feel of his callused hand, marvel that a hand that has such a capacity for killing can also be so gentle. His other hand encircles my waist, then slowly skims up my ribs, stopping just before he reaches my breast. He rests his forehead against mine, breathing hard. “Are you certain?” he whispers.

  That is when I hear it, the faint note of disbelief in his voice. “I have rarely been more certain than I am in this moment,” I say.

  Then his mouth is back on mine and the carefully banked heat that has smoldered between us for so long erupts. Still, no darkness threatens to claim me. Instead, true desire, as uncertain and ungainly as a newborn colt, awakens in my body. My own limbs become unfamiliar, my movements uncertain. I, who have only ever been practiced and skilled. But I do not care, for all that has come before is but a distant memory. All that matters is us. Only us. This moment. His hand on my body. The mingling of our breath. Our hearts that are so close they now beat as one.

  With a dizzying swoop, he picks me up and cradles me in his arms, surprising a laugh out of me. “What are you doing?”

  He grins. “I’ve always wanted to carry a fair maid away and ravish her.”

  “Methinks you should reconsider who is ravishing whom,” I murmur, surprised at how much I enjoy the sensation of his arms around me, of being carried.

  When we reach the bed, he gently lays me down, his eyes drinking me in. And even though it is his trick, to see into my soul, in this moment I see into his—his doubts and uncertainties—and see that I want this. That I want him. I reach up and take his hand, pulling him down beside me. “If you do not know how to ravish, I will gladly teach you.”

  He laughs then, and once again I place my mouth on his, letting his laughter fill all the dark places inside me.

  And then the laughter fades, and for a brief moment, I am reminded of the charbonnerie’s stories and feel certain that it is not Amourna, or even Arduinna, who blesses our night together, but the Dark Mother Herself, with Her gift for new beginnings.

  I awake in the morning with Beast’s thick arm wrapped tightly around me. It reminds me for a moment of one of the roots of the great trees in the forest that anchor them to the earth.

  I know I should wake him, that we have an urgent, impossible task before us, but I am hungry for one more moment, wanting to savor the magic that has taken place between us. Oh, it is not the magic that the poets speak of in their love poems, but a different, far stronger magic.

  I stare down at his face. It has not grown more beautiful since I first found him, festering in the dungeon, and yet it is more dear to me than my own.

  His eyes open just then, and he catches me studying him. “What?” His early-morning voice is gruff, like two rocks being rubbed together.

  “I was wondering, since I have kissed you three times now, if you might turn into a handsome prince.”

  At the sight of his quick, easy grin, I feel my heart dance in my chest.

  “Alas, you are still stuck with a toad, my lady.”

  “Ah, but it turns out I am quite fond of toads.” I lean down and kiss his nose, surely one of the silliest things I have ever done, but I do not care. “Even toads who sleep the entire day away.” I plant one more kiss upon his face, then force myself from the bed.

  I do not even mind that he watches me dress.

  When I reach the kitchen, Lazare looks up from the knife he is sharpening, his keen eyes missing nothing, so that I feel almost naked before him.

  “Someone is happy this morning,” he smirks.

  “Someone is eager to feel the kiss of cold steel before he’s even broken his fast.”

  His smile widens, for the fact that I have not already pulled my knife on him only serves to prove him right.

  “Don’t you have a cart to fetch or something?” I ask.

  He nods toward the window. “It’s here already. Some of us didn’t laze about all morning.”

  I look outside and see three other charbonnerie and a cart full of charcoal. Our means to gain access to the city has arrived. “Well then. Let’s get going.”

  The strategy that worked so well when we traveled to Rennes serves us equally well here. In no time at all, I have tucked my hair up under a coif and smeared a thin film of coal dust over my face and hands. My altered appearance will render me nearly invisible, for guards pay little attention to lowly peasants and even less attention to the shunned charbonnerie.

  But Beast’s huge stature is far too recognizable. This time he is laid in the cart, covered with rough hempen cloth, then buried under a layer of charcoal. Lazare fashions some sort of vent through which he can breathe.

  We pass through the city gates and receive nary a second glance, and Lazare steers us directly to a blacksmith he knows, a fellow, he assures us, who will be most happy to give us aid. Even though he is not closely allied with the charbonnerie, he certainly does not bear any love for d’Albret or his occupation of the city.

  With the first part of our plan successfully behind us, it is time for me to get cleaned up so I may pay a visit to the convent of Saint Brigantia that sits just across from the palace.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  I AM SHOWN IMMEDIATELY TO the abbess’s chamber, where she waits for me at her desk. She is a large woman, nearly as tall as a man, with a high, intelligent brow and heavy-lidded eyes. I am shown in, and she motions for the novitiate to close the door on her way out, then leans back in her chair and studies me.

  “What does one of Mortain’s own daughters want from those who serve Brigantia?”

  “I do not come on official business, Reverend Mother, but to ask for your aid in rescuing two young girls. They have been taken by Count d’Albret and I fear for their welfare.”

  “As well you should,” she mutters.

  “In order to get them to safety, I must gain access to the castle. A Brigantian habit would provide a most excellent disguise and allow me to enter the palace without scrutiny.”

  “Do you plan to go alone?”

  “No, I will have assistance.”

  “Then you will need more than one.”

  Unable to help myself, I smile at the thought. “No, Reverend Mother. I will be accompanied by two men.”

  She raises one eyebrow. “And who are they?”

  “One of them is the Beast of Waroch.”

  “The same Beast of Waroch who stood so nobly before our own duchess but a few weeks ago?”

  “The very one.”

  “Then I have something else I would share with you. There is a secret passage that runs from the convent to the palace. It was built by the late duke. After he and his family narrowly avoided capture by the French when they stormed the city in one of the many skirmishes, he had his engineers build a secret escape route out of the palace so his daughters would never come that close to capture again. You can use that to free the girls.”

  It appears all the gods are in favor of this venture, and it is all I can do to keep from leaping over the desk and hugging her. “’Tis a great solution to a most vexing problem. Thank you.”

  “So it is but a rescue mission?” Her sharp
eyes study me.

  I hold her gaze. “That is the focus of our foray.”

  “Good. Although if there are other opportunities that present themselves, I hope that you will seize them. You will need to be most careful. D’Albret and his troops returned three days ago, he and his forces riding hard from Rennes. Whatever he had hoped to accomplish there did not happen, and he and his men are in a foul humor.”

  That is good news, then, for surely that must mean that his saboteurs were not able to help him gain entrance to the city.

  “That is why things are so quiet here. The townsfolk have taken to their homes and closed their shops, not wanting to come into contact with d’Albret or his men when this mood is upon them.”

  For some reason, my thoughts go to the silversmith who fashioned the key for me. “That is most wise of them.”

  She pushes herself to her feet and crosses to the window that overlooks the moat. “There is something else you should know. There are reports, reliable reports, that the French regent and a large fighting force are encamped a mere five leagues upriver.”

  So close! “Did they think to take advantage of d’Albret’s absence by invading the city while he was making war on Rennes?”

  She shakes her head. “I do not know, for messengers have been flying fast and furious between d’Albret and the French for the last fortnight. Whatever it is, they may be planning it together.”

  She turns to face me. “I do not tell you this to dissuade you but so that you will keep your eyes and ears open. If you were to catch wind of what is afoot while you are moving these girls to safety, I am sure the duchess would be most grateful. Now, go fetch your companion, and when you return, I will escort you to the passage myself.”

  The tunnel is long and dark, and the oil lantern the abbess gave us casts just enough light so that we do not trip and fall. The walls are of dank stone, dripping with damp from the nearby river and the moat overhead. The darkness swallows up most of the light from the lantern. It feels as if we have stepped into the long, murky throat of some monstrous serpent from the legends of old.

  When finally the meager light shows a stone staircase, we quicken our pace and hurry up the stairs. According to the abbess, since the duke was aware that his own chamber might well be the first taken in any hostilities, the door opens into the room the duchess and Isabeau shared as children.

  I quietly lift the latch, then slowly pull the door open—only to be met by another wall of wood. No, not a wall, but the back of a huge wooden headboard. The door is set into the wall behind the room’s bed and further hidden from view by the bed curtains. There is just enough space for a person to pass through, although Beast will have to turn himself sideways, and even then it will be a tight fit.

  Yannic will wait in the passageway armed with his slingshot and a long dagger, as we do not dare risk having our avenue of escape sealed off by our enemies.

  The bedchamber opens onto a small receiving room, and even though I sense no hearts beating in there, I pause. It is as if some invisible barrier holds me back, my mind remembering all that I have endured within these walls, even while my heart sings that it is different now. I am different now. I had been forced to disguise my true nature even from myself—for what hounds would not be terrified by the wolf that stalks among them? And even a baby wolf must be given a chance to grow. That thought allows me to step into the chamber. Beast follows silently on my heels.

  At the door, I peer out to see if there are any guards or sentries posted, but the hallway is empty. “You have to wait here,” I tell Beast. “At least until I know where they are, and how heavily guarded.” His eyes burn with frustration, for he is not used to standing idly by while others put themselves in danger, but he knows that for now, stealth is our best weapon, not brute force.

  In the hall, I am careful to keep my head down and hope the wimple I wear will shield my features from any casual passersby. The farther I move away from the door, the more it feels as if some great weight is pressing down upon me. Instead of making it hard to breathe like it once did, the force propels me forward, much like a crashing wave hurls a boat toward shore.

  I have not gone two doors down before I hear voices—the clear, high voices of children. They come from inside the third chamber. There are no guards posted, so I take a deep breath, remind myself that I am Mortain’s daughter, then rap on the open door. The voices stop.

  “Come in.” It is Tephanie, and I breathe a sigh of relief. I had half feared Madame Dinan or Julian himself would be guarding the girls. But no doubt they did not expect me to come gamboling into the lion’s den unannounced.

  I enter the room, careful to keep my eyes lowered, and slip my hands inside my sleeves to my hidden knives, in case I need them quickly. “Hello.” I pitch my voice deeper than normal. “I am Sister Widona, from the convent of Saint Brigantia, and I have been sent to see to the child they call Louise. She is said to have contracted lung fever.”

  Tephanie draws closer until I can see the tips of her plain brown shoes poking out from under her skirt. “Not lung fever, no. But she coughs all the time and her lungs seem weak. We would be very grateful for any healing skill you care to offer.”

  “But of course,” I say as I shut the door behind me and then slowly look up.

  It is Louise who recognizes me first. She leaps from the couch where she has been playing with her doll and runs forward, flinging herself at me. I pull her close, savoring the feel of her small arms wrapped around my neck. She has grown thin and frail, and her cheeks bear an unhealthy flush. Tephanie watches her with a mixture of surprise and dismay until her startled gaze moves up to my face. Her mouth drops open and her hand flies to her face. “My lady.”

  I hold my finger to my lips and pray she is loyal to me and the girls.

  Slowly, Charlotte rises from the couch, her solemn brown eyes never leaving my face. “I knew you’d come,” she says, and I open my arms to her as well. Stiffly, she walks over to me, but she does not throw herself at me like Louise. She has always been more formal, so I reach out and pull her close. Only then does she relax into my embrace.

  Tephanie glances to the door. “My lady. It is not safe for you here. They say . . . they say the most horrible things about you.”

  I smile at her. “Some of them may even be true,” I tell her. “But for now, I have come to get the girls to safety.”

  Tephanie crosses herself. “Then my prayers have not been in vain.”

  “You must come with us, Tephanie, or else you will be gravely punished for their disappearance.”

  Her earnest gaze meets mine. “My lady, I would follow you anywhere.”

  “Good. Then follow us to safety.” I set the girls from me, but Louise sways on her feet. I let go of Charlotte’s hand and pick up Louise so I may carry her in my arms. “Grab their cloaks. And boots. And any warm clothing you can find quickly. We do not have much time.”

  She nods and hurries to the chest at the far side of the room.

  I turn my attention back to the girls. “We must be very, very quiet. If anyone sees us, they will try to stop us, and we may never see one another again. Do you understand?”

  Both nod solemnly, and Tephanie returns with her arms full of garments. “Shall I dress them now, my lady?”

  “No, there will be time enough when we reach safety. Can you carry all that?”

  “Yes, but what about you? Can you carry Louise the whole way?”

  “I will not have to.” Just as we are ready to leave, there is a sound at the door. I whirl around to find Jamette staring at us.

  “You’re back? I had hoped you would never return.”

  “A minute more and I won’t,” I tell her. “The girls and I are leaving, and you will never have to see me again.”

  Indecision flits across her pretty, shallow face and I find that all the hatred I once felt for her is gone. “Come with us if you like. You do not need to stay here.”

  “No.” She all but spits the word. “
I will not betray my lord father. Or yours.”

  Suddenly, I am afraid for her, afraid the full force of our fathers’ anger will land on her silly head. “Do not be a fool, for they do not bear you the same loyalty and would wring your neck as soon as listen to your prattle. Come with us. You can have a new life, free of all this lying and deceit.”

  Bitterness flashes in her eyes and she takes a step closer to me, her hands gripping her skirts. “I do not want a new life. I have always only wanted your life. All the admiration you commanded, all the attention you garnered, all the riches heaped upon you—those would be mine if you were gone.”

  “If that is what you want, then all you must do is let us go.”

  She shakes her head. “It is not that simple, and well you know it. I will be horribly punished if I do not stop you.”

  And she is right. As she turns to go, I reach out to grab her, but Louise is heavy and I am not fast enough. Jamette steps beyond my grasp and dashes down the hallway.

  I turn to the others. “We must go. Now.”

  The hallway is still clear, but it will be only a matter of minutes before others arrive. I clasp Louise tightly, hold Charlotte’s hand, and pull them toward the bedchamber and Beast. If the guards find us before we reach safety, Beast will be our only hope.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  WHEN WE ENTER THE ROOM, he looks up, the ferocity of his expression startling even to me. Then his gaze goes unerringly to Louise. Charlotte shrinks into my skirts, but Louise studies him curiously. “Who are you?” she asks in her high, clear voice. Beast glances at me, helpless, and I see agony in his eyes.

  “Do not be afraid of him, Louise.”

  “I’m not,” she says, sounding faintly affronted.

  “Good. For he was very close to your mother and will see you to safety, no matter what happens. You, too,” I tell Charlotte. Then I turn my full attention to Beast. “We must hurry,” I warn him. “I was spotted, and Jamette has gone to raise the alarm.”