No. I recall his steady, imploring gaze, and his insistence that I could take refuge with him should I need to. He was not simply polite.
Forcing aside my doubts, I pass the fletcher’s hut once more, walking slowly to give Maraud time to see me should he be watching out of view. Still nothing, other than a curious glance from the fletcher himself.
Am I early? Or is he late? Or has something caused a delay? Mayhap the others did not want me to join them. Or he has been detained by the guards. Or recognized.
My heart thuds into my stomach. No. There would be more of a hue and cry, a bustle of some activity if that were the case.
But perhaps someone lingered near the fletcher’s hut who could recognize him. Angoulême. Pierre d’Albret. Even General Cassel himself. The list is long. In case that is what happened, I make my way over to the smithy to see if he is waiting there.
The smith’s hammers clang loudly throughout the crisp morning air. And while a half dozen apprentices and journeymen scurry about their work, Maraud is nowhere in sight.
Chapter 55
Sybella
I heed the queen’s warning and spend the rest of the afternoon in her solar, then pass the night in her apartments along with the rest of her attendants. In the morning, however, I am required once more to present myself before the king to further discuss “certain matters,” as the understeward puts it.
Although I do not plan it so, I am the last to arrive. All but one.
“Where is he?” The king does not try to hide his exasperation.
“I am sure he is on his way, Your Majesty,” the Bishop of Albi soothes.
“One would think he would understand the folly of being late for a hearing he requested,” the king points out.
“He should be here, my lord. I am certain there is a good reason why he is not.” The faint smugness on the regent’s face disappears when she notices my arrival, replaced instead with a vague uncertainty. I cannot help but wonder what new scheme she and Pierre have devised.
“Whatever it is, I do not care.” The king turns to Captain Stuart. “Have someone fetch him at once.” Captain Stuart bows, then strides off to find my errant brother.
The regent’s face resettles into its normal inscrutable mask as she studies me. “Perhaps she had something to do with it.”
I lift one shoulder in calculated unconcern. “Or perhaps he is not here because he cannot defend his actions to the king.”
The regent smiles thinly. “Perhaps you murdered him,” she says.
That surprises a huff of laughter from me. “If I were inclined to murder him, do you not think I would have done it before he presented his claims to the king? Besides, who is to say that you are not behind his disappearance? Perhaps you wished to save yourself one hundred thousand gold crowns.” I brace myself, expecting the king to jump in and order us to stop, but he does not. When I risk a glance in his direction, he is staring thoughtfully at the regent.
Unaware of his scrutiny, she says, “Your Majesty, if he is not here, he cannot defend himself against the Lady Sybella’s accusations.”
“Perhaps not, but you can.”
His words surprise her into stillness. “I did not realize I had to,” she says at last.
“The accusations the lady made involved both of you. So while we are waiting for Lord d’Albret, I will ask you. Why are you working with him against the crown?”
Her face grows white. “Never against the crown, Your Majesty. For the crown. Always for the betterment of the crown.”
“How does paying him such a large sum of money for a false claim better the crown? From where I sit, it seems more like robbing it.”
Before she can answer, Captain Stuart returns, somewhat breathless. “He is gone, Your Majesty. Viscount d’Albret is gone.”
The regent scowls at me, as if perhaps I have murdered him after all.
“One of my men checked with the stable master. He and his entire party left early this morning, just before dawn.”
“So not murdered, then,” I murmur. The regent shoots me a look that is sharper than the point of a spear.
The king’s jaw tightens, his entire face pinched with the anger he is trying not to show. “If he is not here, his claim is forf—”
“But, Your Majesty,” the regent interjects. “Surely after all that has transpired you cannot believe that the Lady Sybella is in any way fit to serve as guardian to her sisters? Or should be left free to roam among us?”
He studies her for a long moment. “She, at least, is here. And for now, that is more than can be said of her brother.”
Deciding it is better to take the loss, the regent curtsies. “Very well, Your Majesty.”
He leans forward. “But you and I have much to discuss, because I dearly wish to hear the reasons behind both your involvement in the ambush and the reason for that payment.”
* * *
I am careful not to let a whiff of the victory humming through my veins show. I keep my face downcast and sober, taking measured steps as I leave the audience chamber. Pierre is gone. He walked away from his claim. Is that all that was ever needed—telling the truth? Or is it something more?
The regent could be behind it, I suppose. Setting him up in some way to take the fall for their conspiracies. And I did not like the way she was looking at me. But for now, the king’s wrath at her is greater than his dislike of me, and that is a true victory. I cannot wait to tell Gen and the queen. And Beast.
As I reach the foyer, General Cassel falls into step alongside me. “What have you done with your brother?”
The force of his full attention is as solid as a rock. “Nothing. It is his own poor judgment that kept him from the meeting.” Even though my face and body are relaxed, every fiber of my being is attuned to him, the rhythm of his heart, the intake of his breath, even how often he blinks. Too many times, the unconscious change in those vitals is the only warning I have gotten. If Beast’s presence is like a cheerful mountain, the general’s is all serrated edges and menacing heights. His cool, predatory gaze makes me glad of the knives hidden in my sleeves.
“I do not like or trust you.” The deep timbre of his voice holds no craggy comfort like Beast’s, only the deep rumble of threat.
My mouth twists in amusement. “Nor I you.” I do not look at him, but I feel his brief flicker of surprise. If he had hoped to intimidate me, he will have to try harder.
“Women who do not know their place and are disloyal to their families are both unpredictable and useless. That is your one duty—fealty to your family, and you cannot even manage that.”
This time I laugh outright. “And here I thought our one duty was as broodmare.”
“Once you are handed over to your husband, yes. Until then, you owe fealty to your family. To do otherwise is to be without honor.”
I look at him then, allowing my disbelief to show plainly on my face. “Honor? This from a man who prefers to win wars by throwing gold at the enemy or their potential ally.”
He stops walking, shifting the mass of his body so that it partly blocks my path. I could keep going, but I would have to brush past him to do so. “You are either remarkably foolish or dangerously overconfident.”
“Or neither.”
He leans closer. I do not back away, which also surprises him. “What you are is a rogue assassin with allegiance to no one. Not even the Nine, whom you profess to hold dear,” he spits out.
“You know me that well, do you?”
“I know that you lie.”
“Of course I lie! I am neck deep in a court full of intrigue, advisors who wish my queen ill, power plays behind every corner, and political plots hatching like spring eggs. To not lie would be a fatal mistake.”
His eyes blink, holding something akin to admiration—or it would be, if I were not a mere woman. No, I realize with disgust. That is interest. The interest of a man who thinks he has just found a new enemy he must conquer. “We will find your brother and learn what ha
s happened. You may rest assured.”
I resume walking. “You hold such scorn for the Nine. I must say I am surprised, as I would have taken you for an admirer of Saint Camulos.”
“I am an admirer of skill in war and battle. I have no need of saints.”
I smile. “Careful, they might hear you.”
He snorts in derision.
“Have you ever been to Brittany, my lord? I don’t recall your name among the generals we fought against in any of the campaigns.” If he thinks my change of subject odd, he does not say so.
“I was there once, a long time ago.” No hint of memory of his black deeds or remorse crosses his face. “The recent conflict was not important enough to pull me from my command in Flanders.”
I tilt my head. “And yet, here you are, with no skirmishes on the horizon.”
“There have been skirmishes aplenty since I arrived.”
“Touché. But surely none that require your military expertise.”
“Our king is young. He needs guidance. I will help him become the man his father wished him to be.”
“Not if I—or Gen—can help it,” I mutter to his retreating back.
Chapter 56
After my confrontation with the general, I attempt to speak with the queen and inform her of Pierre’s departure, but she is receiving one of the many illuminators who have flocked to court to ask for her patronage. I decide to seek out Gen, surprised that I did not see her in the meeting. With Pierre gone and the king now aware of the regent’s perfidy, mayhap we can finally gain ground with him. Or, more accurately, Gen can, so that we may all benefit.
But when I knock on her door, there is no answer. Surely she is not in with the queen and her illuminators? “Gen?” I call out. She has looked tired of late. Mayhap she is still abed. Finding the door unlocked, I let myself in.
The bed is empty—empty of all but the heavy silver necklace that glitters in the morning sunlight like a malevolent serpent. I cast a quick glance around the room. It feels abandoned, though when I check her cupboard, her gowns are there.
But not, I notice, her travel bag. As I survey the room, my eye lands on a small, white square nestled against her pillows. It is addressed to the king. “Gen, what have you done?” I pick the letter up and consider opening it, but decide not to in case I must deliver it to him untampered. I slip the note inside my pocket. Perhaps Father Effram will know where she is.
In the chapel, I do not find Gen, but Father Effram administering a blessing to a man kneeling at his feet. The man looks up at my arrival, a wide smile breaking across his face. Yannic.
My heart hitches in my chest—is there some dire news?—until the little man wobbles his head, then scampers away, glancing over his shoulder to be sure I am following him.
Before I do, I pause long enough to ask Father Effram, “Have you seen Gen this morning?”
“No, is something amiss?”
I run my hand along my skirt where the letter to the king hides. “I don’t know yet. Keep an eye out for her if you would.”
Once he agrees, Yannic leads me through the courtyard past the wine vendors and pie sellers and fruit stalls, past the old lady selling birds in wicker cages and an old, tired man with an equally old, tired dancing bear, toward the pungent scent of the palace stables and barns. Of course Beast would find his way to the animals.
Yannic grins, then bows as if presenting me to the queen. I have missed this man’s humor. I murmur my thanks, then, before he can scamper away, call out, “Wait.”
He pauses, sidling back to stand beside me. I fish in my pocket to look as if I am giving him a coin for his trouble. “That pebble you gave me, before I left for France.”
Yannic slides his gaze up to mine, then quickly drops it back to the ground as he nods.
“You indicated it was not from Mortain. Did it come from the Dark Mother?”
His head swings up, a wide grin on his face, and he bobs his head up and down enthusiastically. Well and so. “Thank you,” I say, meaning more than the answer he gave me.
His face sobers, and he bows, this time grasping one of my hands in his old gnarled ones and bringing his forehead to touch it, as if receiving a benediction. It makes me profoundly uncomfortable, but I do not pull away for fear of insulting him.
He smiles once more, then scuttles away like a crab toward the cow barn.
I find Beast wearing the traditional homespun tunic and hood of a peasant, mucking out one of the stalls. Although I move silently, he looks up as I reach for the latch to let myself in. He does not pause in his shoveling, but the horse—an enormous chestnut gelding—swings his head around to study me.
I glance back at Beast. “A friend of yours?”
He grins. “Animals like me.” He reaches out to scratch the gelding, his big fingers calm and soothing along the creature’s nose. It is wrong to be jealous of a horse, I remind myself.
The gelding seems to sense my thoughts and stamps his hind leg, ears twitching. “Stop that, now,” Beast tells him, and he does.
Beast returns to his shoveling. “With so many guests and nobles gathered at court, there is always need of help mucking out the stables.”
Keeping my eyes warily on the horse, I edge around the stall until I am close enough that Beast and I can speak without being overheard. He glances up, his blue eyes piercing even in the dim light of the stables. “More news?”
“Are there fish in the sea?”
“Last time I checked.” The gelding nickers impatiently, and Beast resumes his shoveling. “Best if I don’t stop. It will help cover our voices.”
“I learned who was behind the ambush.”
“Who?” His arms do not stop their work, even as his eyes bore into mine.
“Pierre and the regent. I heard them with my own ears. The regent was most irate with Pierre for even risking meeting with her. And that is the other piece of bad news. Pierre is here.”
Beast keeps his attention on his work “Is he?” It is one of his most admirable qualities—the ability to remain focused and on task no matter what else is going on around him.
“Well, he was. He did not appear before the king today, and the regent seemed most surprised. I do not know what to make of it all.”
“Well, then, that is good.” Beast seems remarkably unperturbed by this news. Else he is trying to hide the full force of his anger from me.
I fold my arms and begin to pace. “It was most unexpected. Even the regent was surprised. It is hard to believe my exposure of his dealings with the regent would have spooked him that badly.” Beast is still focused on his shoveling. “Have you heard any rumors among the grooms or stable workers?”
He shakes his head. “None. But I will be grateful for it, all the same.”
“As will I. Truly, it is as if a great weight has been lifted from my shoulders. And the king is still most irked at the regent.”
Beast grunts. “As well he should be.”
The scrape of a boot on flagstone draws my attention. That is when I realize that a cluster of heartbeats has drawn closer. Much closer.
I step away from Beast just as the stall door bursts open, surprising the gelding. He neighs and rears. Calm as a mountain, Beast gracefully avoids the flailing hooves and grabs the rope. As soon as he has the creature under control, he calls to the intruder. “Mind the horse, you fool.”
No longer needing to dodge the startled horse, I look toward the stall door.
General Cassel’s enormous bulk and glowering countenance have my heart slamming into my ribs. At Beast’s words, he draws himself up taller, making his shoulders even broader, like a bear rising up on two legs. In contrast, Beast does not need to make himself bigger, he is already larger than Cassel. Two men of the same blood and bone, so much alike and yet so wildly different. While Beast appears calm, I can feel the furious pounding of his heart as if it were inside my own chest.
Cassel takes a step closer to Beast, the group of men at his back moving with him
. “How dare you speak to me thus? Who are you?” As his savage blue gaze meets Beast’s lighter, feral one, I marvel that it is not obvious to him. I cannot decide if I am grateful for or resentful of the peasant hood that cloaks Beast’s face and casts it in shadow.
“I am captain of the queen’s guard, and I speak to anyone thus if they do not know enough to not barge in and startle a high-strung horse.”
Cassel’s nostrils flare. “There is no queen’s guard.”
“In truth, there is.” At my challenge, Cassel swings toward me like a battering ram to a new target. “The queen’s guard came with her from Brittany,” I continue. “The queen had sent them on a mission, and now they have returned. She asked me to ascertain how they fared and how quickly they could meet with her.”
“What mission is that?”
“That is the queen’s business. You shall have to ask her, as I do not have permission to speak of it, my lord.”
He studies me a long moment before turning back to Beast. “The king has said nothing of such a guard. Until he has sanctioned your presence here, you are either an intruder, a soldier who has abandoned his post, or a traitor. Seize him! Take them to the guard tower until I send further word.”
“No!”
The general’s eyes widen in surprise at my protest. He is not accustomed to being naysaid by a mere woman. “He is the queen’s man and answers to her.”
“All answer to the king.” He glowers.
“Unless you have looked at the marriage contract with your own eyes, you cannot presume to know that.”
The air in the room grows thick. At first I think it is tension, until I realize it is rage. Rage that I have dared to defy him. Rage that I have plucked at a thread of uncertainty. But I do not look away. Slowly, my eyes on his the entire time, I cross my hands to my wrists and let them rest closer to my knives, reminding him that I am not some hapless courtier he can intimidate.
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