Igniting Darkness

by Robin LaFevers

  “That may be so, but it doesn’t explain why he has hundreds of his troops encamped within miles of each of the queen’s advisors’ holdings.” Beast speaks again, his eyes fixed on Cassel.

  Cassel takes a step toward him. “Perhaps he has reason to believe they hold conflicting loyalties. After all, the truce was sudden, the marriage recent. It is not unwise to ensure everyone’s loyalty.”

  “Those men, those most honorable men,” the queen says, “witnessed the contract themselves. They would never betray me or their honor in such a manner.”

  “But, Your Majesty,” the regent coos. “Can you truly be so very certain of your advisors?” She may as well have picked up a knife and stabbed the queen in the heart with it.

  “You mean the very men and women you bribed with France’s gold? No, I do not trust those people anymore. They are your creatures now.”

  The king glowers at his sister, reminded of the dishonorable victory she secured in his name. But the regent is an expert in diversion tactics. “Your Majesty, this is a waste of time and effort. The captain is making this up to cover for his depraved abduction of those girls.”

  I can stand it no more. I glance first to the queen, who gives an imperceptible nod, then at Beast—to ask for permission or give warning—but his burning gaze is fixed on General Cassel.

  “What if both are true?” I say.

  All eyes turn toward me, but it is Beast’s that I feel the most. “Your Majesty, it is true that Captain Waroch took the girls—not to abduct them, but to get them to safety.”

  At the name Waroch, General Cassel takes another step toward Beast and yanks the peasant hood from his head. His nostrils flare, the recognition instantaneous. “Who are you?”

  “Benebic de Waroch,” Beast says softly. Then, softer still, “Your judgment day.”

  “Your Majesty,” I say in desperation. “This man, Sir Waroch, would have no reason to harm those girls. Indeed, one of them was his own sister’s daughter. He simply went searching for them. And once he found them, he took them to safety.”

  “Where did you take them?” Cassel demands.

  “Where they will be safe.”

  “How dare you suggest the king cannot be trusted.”

  “It is not the king I am concerned with. As I understand it, the regent is working closely with Pierre d’Albret.”

  The regent steps toward Beast. “The girls are his property.”

  Beast does not back down. “They are not safe in his custody.”

  “And you think we will believe they are safe in yours?” Cassel’s eyes sweep over him, taking in every muscle, every scar, every bit of ugliness that adorns Beast’s face.

  Beast does not look away. “In this case, the apple has fallen far from the tree. I do not rape women. Especially not little—”

  General Cassel strikes him across the mouth, the loud crack halting his words as Beast’s head snaps back. A lesser man would have been felled like a tree, but Beast simply shakes it off and stares silently at the general, blood pouring from his nose and mouth.

  The king glances briefly at the queen’s pale hand on his arm, then says, “Enough, General. Captain Waroch, explain this accusation.”

  His eyes never leaving the general, Beast begins. “General Cassel raped my mother during the War of the Public Good. He occupied the holding, then raped her, using her for the entire length of his stay—a fortnight—then rode away leaving her weeping and praying for death. God did not grant her wish. He gave her me instead.”

  Silence permeates the chamber. Shaken, the king looks to the general. “Is this true?”

  General Cassel starts to deny it, but the king cuts him off. “Do not lie to me. All the proof I need is in the face of the man who stands next to you.”

  Cassel shrugs his heavy shoulders. “It was war, sire. It was twenty-four years ago, and I was young. The fighting heated my blood. It was a youthful indiscretion. I would never do anything so dishonorable now. Do we all not temper and mellow with age?”

  The king studies him, his disgust plain on his face. But he is torn as well, eager to accept the justification the general has offered that will allow him to dismiss the entire abhorrent situation. That will allow him to avoid having to examine his own choice of advisors. He nods briefly. When he speaks to Beast, his voice less cold and more polite.

  “I am sorry for the injustices suffered by your mother. As you can see, General Cassel is remorseful and has given his word that it did not happen again. Now I will ask you to tell us where the girls are so we may fetch them.”

  “No, Your Majesty. Not until I have ensured they will not be returned to their brother.”

  The king’s hands grasp the arms of his chair. “They belong to him.”

  “Perhaps they should not.”

  Any sympathy the king felt toward Beast disappears. “Then you leave me no choice but to imprison you until you trust us with this information.”

  Cassel steps forward, eyes gleaming. “I will get the truth from him.”

  “No!” The king’s voice rings out. “No coercion. I feel certain Sir Waroch will come to trust us soon enough.”

  The general’s rationale has not worked as well as he’d hoped, for there is still faint revulsion in the king’s eyes as he looks at Cassel. It is the faintest spark of hope in an otherwise disastrous meeting.

   Chapter 60

  Genevieve

  As the meeting breaks up, I slip out of the audience chamber and head back to my room. Sybella and the queen have enough disasters to wrestle with at the moment. They do not need my additional problem added to their load. I will find a solution myself.

  Somehow.

  But answers remain elusive, and I ache with the sense of an impending disaster like old Solange’s joints used to ache before a storm.

  I let myself into my room, relieved there are no longer guards to watch my every step. As I move to shut the door behind me, a hand reaches out to stop it.

  “You’re back.” Sybella’s eyes are unreadable as they search my face.

  “I didn’t realize you knew I had left.” She holds the note to the king in her hand. “Have you read it?”

  “No, I’ve not had time. It has been a most eventful morning.” Her entire face is drawn tight, her eyes clouded with agitation.

  “I left one for you as well. It’s under the mattress.”

  She fully enters the room and closes the door behind her. “Where were you going?”

  “The letter explains it.”

  She folds her arms. “Well, you are here now, so why don’t you explain it and save me the trouble of heaving your furniture around.”

  When I hesitate, she says, “Am I to assume you still want this delivered to the king?”

  “No!” I reach to snag it from her, but as fast and unexpected as I am, she is faster. We stare at each other a long moment. “You don’t have time for this,” I tell her. “Surely Beast is a higher priority.”

  Her casual shrug is one of the more artful lies I have ever seen told, as I know what she must be feeling right now. “He is not going anywhere. And I will not be able to sneak in to see him until they have gotten him properly settled in whatever section of the dungeon they choose.” A note of bleakness creeps into her voice. “So actually, this is a welcome distraction.”

  “You won’t think so for long,” I mutter.

  “Come.” She sits on the edge of the bed and pats the space beside her. “Tell me what has happened.”

  “The regent approached me last night. Apparently when she came upon you and me talking just before we left Plessis, she heard our entire conversation.”

  Sybella closes her eyes. “Of course she did. And of course she would hold such a card close until it could do the most damage.”

  “It was foolish of me to think otherwise. Anyway, she has given me an ultimatum. I must do as she asks or she will expose not just me to the council, but the king’s knowledge of what I’ve done and who I am. She will us
e it to undermine his ability to rule and force him to give back some of the power she had as regent.”

  Sybella swears colorfully. “What does she want in exchange?” She speaks softly, and I cannot tell if it is in sympathy or carefully banked anger.

  “You. She wants me to ensure the king hands you over to Pierre’s custody.”

  Her eyes widen in surprise. “I did not realize I had gotten quite so deeply under her skin,” she murmurs.

  “And if that does not work, she suggests I kill you. Either way, you must be Pierre’s by the end of the week or she will expose the king.”

  “When did she speak to you?”

  “Late last night. After midnight. Why?”

  She begins tapping the note on her chin. “Because Pierre did not appear at the hearing this morning. When the king sent someone to check, it was discovered that he and his party had left before dawn. It was as much a surprise to the regent as any of us.”

  “He is gone?”

  She nods, still thinking.

  “Well, that is welcome news, but I am not certain it solves my problem.”

  Her lips curve in a faint smile. “You do not wish to kill me?”

  “Not at the moment, no.”

  She laughs, then grows sober. “Were you just going to run away? Into the city? Hide yourself among the masses? Alone?”

  “I had a plan.”

  She arches a brow. “Given how your plans have gone in the past, you will forgive me if I ask you to elaborate.”

  Even though it is deserved, I wince. “I’ve done it before.”

  “Yes, but according to you, there was an imposing prisoner traveling at your side.”

  It is all I can do not to squirm. “Odd that you should mention that. He was going to accompany me this time as well.”

  “He followed you to the palace?”

  “No. He has other business here.”

  Her eyes narrow. “What other business? I think it is time you tell me all that you know about this prisoner of yours.”

  Of yours. The words pinch at my heart. With no other options before me, I tell her about Maraud. The reason he was in the dungeon, Cassel’s killing of his brother, and his vow of vengeance against the general as well as his desire to make his crimes known to the king. In truth, it feels good to free myself of these secrets. I did not intend or wish to keep them from her, but there has been no time to speak of it since I knew she could be trusted. By the time I am finished, Sybella is staring at me with an odd expression on her face.

  “Does this prisoner have a name, by any chance?”

  “His name is Anton Crunard. He is the son of the former chancellor of Brittany.”

  Sybella stares at me, then closes her eyes before muttering, “Merde.”

  “Has the queen been looking for him? She needs to know that none of this was his fault. He had no idea that his father would betray the country for him. Indeed, they are estranged and have been for years.”

  Sybella’s eyes fly open. “Estranged, you say?”

  “Yes. He was the prodigal son.”

  The letter begins tapping furiously at her chin again so that I want to jump up, snatch it from her hand, and toss it into the fireplace. “What? What are you thinking?”

  “Not so much thinking as remembering. Just before the queen left for France, Crunard senior attempted to escape his imprisonment. He told us the reason was to go look for his son. He did not trust the queen to do it, even though she had promised she would. When we arrived in France, we received word that he had made a second attempt to escape and succeeded.”

  “Why would she promise a traitor she would look for his son?”

  “The promise was not made to the father, but to Maraud’s half sister.”

  I gape at her. “A half sister he does not yet know that he has,” she amends.

  I can scarce wrap my mind around this. Know that Maraud will scarcely be able to wrap his mind around this. He is not the sole remaining child, after all.

  “I think that will come as a great relief to him,” I say softly.

  She runs her fingers along the edge of the letter. “There is something else you should know about this half sister of his. Her name is Annith. From the convent.”

  This revelation leaves me well and truly speechless. “Annith?”

  “Remember I told you she was the abbess’s daughter and not one of Mortain’s? Well, Crunard was her father.”

  My mind churns as all the implications of this spread out before me like a giant web.

  “That is the hold that he had over her as abbess,” Sybella continues. “The chancellors of Brittany have often acted as liaisons with the convent on behalf of the sovereign, so this was no different. Except that when he wished her to look the other way or apply pressure here instead of there, as he wove the rope he was hoping to hang us with, she had no choice but to agree lest he expose her secret.”

  “My heart holds no forgiveness for her. She had a choice.”

  “I agree, and she chose poorly. But I am gathering that you and Anton were—are—close, and I want you to know how he came to have a sister.”

  “Well,” I say, unwilling to address the question in her voice. “What am I to do regarding the regent’s demands?”

  “You are to remain calm and stay in your chamber as much as possible.”

  “What if the king summons me?”

  “You will have to go. And say nothing of the ultimatum. Not yet anyway. We have a week. That is enough time to come up with a countermove.”

  “While you’re thinking on it, may I please have the letter to throw in the fire and burn before somebody else sees it?”

  As she hands me the letter, she tilts her head to stare at the fire in the hearth, her eyes taking on a faraway look. “Why did you not tell me about the regent’s ultimatum before deciding to leave?”

  There were so many reasons. “I was afraid you would try to protect me rather than stay focused on the longer view of the king and his struggle against the regent. I was afraid you might confront the regent. Or go after Pierre. Or confess to Fremin’s murder. Every option I saw you choosing might ease the pressure on me, but would make things worse for yourself.”

  “So you did not trust me.”

  “I trusted you too much. I have seen how you thrust yourself between those you care about and the troubles that plague them.”

  She arches one of her elegant brows. “You think I care about you?”

  I shrug, embarrassed now. “You had seemed determined to act the older sister before we left Plessis. I didn’t know how long that impulse would last.”

  “You will be happy to know that I still have that impulse. Which is why I will not let you leave like you want to. We are the daughters of a god, Genevieve. We were not meant to move in this world as pale reflections of ourselves. It is not how we serve the gods who made us.”

  “But Mortain is no longer.”

  “He is not the only god.” Her eyes gleam faintly. “It is time for you to meet the Dark Mother.”

  I draw in a sharp breath. The Dark Matrona is rarely spoken of, a dark goddess of death and destruction. “But only the charbonnerie worship her.”

  Her hand slips inside her pocket, and she smiles faintly. “They are not the only ones.” For some reason, a shiver goes down my spine.

  When Sybella speaks again, her voice is firm. “You have wallowed in the ashes of your remorse long enough. It is time to rise.”

  Even though her words make no sense, they spark a small ember of hope—of anticipation—inside my chest. “And how am I to do that?”

  Her eyes never leave mine. “You simply choose. When it feels like there is no other alternative before you, you decide to rise.” She stands, then reaches for my hand.

  “You don’t understand,” I whisper. “That is how I came to be in this mess in the first place. I allowed myself to believe I was an instrument of the gods.”

  “That was your mistake.”

  “Bu
t now you are telling me to do that very thing again!”

  “This time I’m reminding you that you are already part god. The time for hiding from that is over. You have been stripped bare of your pretenses.” Her gaze dips down to my neck. “You gave up any thoughts of grandeur or glory long ago, else you would never have allowed that collar around your neck. You are no longer acting because you feel a need within yourself, but because it needs to be done. I do not know how the Dark Mother works, only that when she offers us hope, we do well to take it.” Her eyes glow with both ferocity and love, and it is like nothing I have ever seen.

  Still not fully understanding, I take hold of her hand and rise to my feet.

   Chapter 61

  “You sent for me, Your Majesty?” He is as agitated as I have ever seen him, pacing back and forth before the enormous fireplace. In truth, it is so large he could pace inside it.

  He whirls on me then, nearly shaking with rage. “Have you learned what happened yesterday? Do you know that your queen has been operating behind my back? Lying to me? All of them—the queen, Lady Sybella, my sister, even General Cassel—lying to me.”

  I open my mouth to answer, but he has no interest in hearing whatever I have to say.

  “My council was right. The queen cannot serve two masters. As long as the queen honors the Nine, her devotion to them puts her at odds with me. We must be rid of them. Not just have the queen renounce them, but eliminate them all.” He pins me with a scathing glare, wanting the words to hurt, as well as shock. I say nothing and allow his anger to wash over me like a sudden storm. Once it passes, I can hope to restore order.

  “Do the other Nine have convents like yours? Are they all fostering traitors and rebels inside their walls?”

  “Not to my knowledge, Your Majesty. There are the Brigantian convents, with which France is already intimately acquainted. Indeed, I believe there are one or two here, as well as in Brittany. And the convent of Saint Mortain, of which there is only one, and our numbers are small. Saint Amourna and Saint Camulos are removed from this world, their followers simply honoring them, as they do the Church’s other saints. Saint Salonius and Saint Cissonius have few followers, all of them old men.”