Igniting Darkness

by Robin LaFevers

  The queen’s plan is both brilliant in its audacity and terrifying in its risks, and my admiration for her has only grown.

  She squares her shoulders and lifts her chin. “I trust you two can find a way to make that happen?”

  * * *

  “I think it’s best if you leave the palace now,” I tell Gen once we are back in her room.

  “Tonight?”

  “Yes. Collect your things. There is a good chance you will not see them again otherwise.”

  Gen looks as if she is being punished. “This is for your own safety,” I gently point out. “I do not trust the regent to give you the full week. Do you still have your letter?”

  “Yes.”

  “Give it to me, and I will see that it is delivered to the king, although not by my hand.” When she has done that, I lead her outside to the servants’ chapel. She sends me a questioning glance.

  “It will be easier to get Beast out of the dungeon if we have people inside the palace. Father Effram can hide you for the next day or two until we are ready to make our move.”

  As we step inside the chapel, Father Effram is there, as if waiting for us. The smile he gives Gen is warm and full of compassion, although by the tilt of her chin, I am guessing she is refusing to accept either of those. I must fold my arms across my middle to avoid giving Gen a quick hug, and I cannot even say why. “I’ll see you soon.”

  She nods, then follows Father Effram toward the south wall. For some reason I am put in mind of her arrival at the convent, when she was but seven years old. Instead of turning to leave, I wait. Just before she slips out of sight, she looks back over her shoulder. I give her my most confident grin. A flicker of surprise crosses her face, then she returns the smile before following Father Effram out of sight.

   Chapter 66

  Maraud

  It wasn’t until the fifth day on the road, when the rage had cooled to a simmering boil rather than a seething one, that Maraud asked where they were going.

  Pierre d’Albret cut him a sly glance. “In good time, Crunard. In good time.”

  “And just who is this person you think I am so eager to see?”

  “Also in good time.”

  Maraud gritted his teeth and considered whether or not he could kill d’Albret before being taken down by his men.

  Luckily for d’Albret, Maraud heard a seventh thrush call just then, and the birds simply weren’t that plentiful this time of year. Which meant that his friends were behind him.

  That night, instead of imposing on the hospitality of a castle—there were none nearby—they spent the night in a town. It was small, and there were nearly fifty of them, filling the three inns to overflowing.

  D’Albret made it a point to ensure that he—and six of his most brutal minions—were housed in the same inn as Maraud. Even sat at the same table. Maraud hunched over his dinner and tried to ignore them.

  “More wine, m’lord?”

  Why not? Maraud shoved his cup to the edge of the table and glanced up to nod his thanks, then froze, his heart thumping once in gladness before plummeting to his feet in cold dread when he recognized Valine. He glanced at d’Albret and his men, but their heads were close together as they hatched their evil plots.

  She gave him a flirtatious smile as she poured his wine—just as any tavern wench might. “Will that be all, m’lord?” She cocked her hip out at a saucy angle and placed a hand on it, making her meaning clear.

  Maraud choked. The noise drew the attention of Pierre, whose calculating eyes swept briefly over Valine. “Take her up on it, Crunard. Maybe bedding the wench will release some of the black humors plaguing you. They grow tiresome.”

  “You see? Even your friend agrees we should get to know each other better.” Maraud had known Valine for over seven years and had never seen her like this.

  “Well,” he muttered grumpily into his cup, “if my lord insists.”

  Pierre looked at her again. “If you don’t, I will.” That spurred Maraud to his feet.

  “And, Crunard.” Pierre motioned for him to draw closer. When Maraud’s ear was nearly to his mouth, Pierre said, “If you try to escape, I will take it out on the girl. Have no doubt.”

  “I don’t,” Maraud grumbled, then grabbed Valine’s hand and allowed himself to be tugged toward the stairs.

  “What in the name of the Nine are you doing here?” he hissed at her.

  She leaned against the wall at the top of the stair landing. “Watching your back.”

  “I don’t want you anywhere near these men. It’s d’Albret, Valine.”

  “Have you turned into an old woman since we last fought together? I know who it is. That’s why we’re here.”

  “We?”

  “Second table from the fireplace. Andry and Tassin. We thought it would be easy enough for them to insinuate themselves among d’Albret’s other mercenaries.”

  “To what end?”

  She looked at him as if he had grown simple. “So you will not be alone in an enemy camp. You’d wanted to know what he was up to. Now is our chance. And while it’s a shame he forced your hand, don’t let that blind you to an opportunity.”

  “What about you and Jaspar?”

  “We will follow behind but keep away from the main party.”

  Maraud nodded in approval. “How did you know where to find me?”

  “At first I thought Lucinda had set the king’s men upon you. But when I went to talk to her—”

  Relief surged through Maraud, and he stepped forward to grab Valine’s shoulders. “You saw her?”

  She scowled. “Of course. How else was I to find out why you hadn’t come back?”

  He closed his eyes and allowed himself the first deeply drawn breath he’d had in over four days. “Praise Camulos.”

  When he opened them, it was to find Valine studying him with a speculative look. “She grew agitated when she saw me, and fearful. I hate to admit it, but she cares for you. Although saints only know why.”

  “Pierre claimed to have someone I would want to see. I was afraid it was her.”

  Valine’s face cleared with understanding. “You can put aside that worry.”

  Maraud ran his hands through his hair. “Thank the saints for small blessings,” he murmured. He then hurriedly told Valine what little he knew of d’Albret’s plan, and how Andry and Tassin might best approach d’Albret to get hired on. When he had finished, Valine reached up, put her hands in his hair and messed it. He reared back. “What’s that for?”

  “D’Albret’s no fool. You need to come back looking like you’ve just had a decent tumble.” Her hands left his hair and came down to loosen the lacings of his doublet, then reached for his breeches.

  He hopped back, quicker than a rabbit. “I can loosen my own breeches,” he said shortly.

  “Good.” Then she stepped past his hand, rose up, and pressed her lips against his. It wasn’t soft or romantic, but pure business. When she had smashed his lips good and hard, she took a moment to rub her own cheek against his stubble, reddening it. “There,” she said at last. “I think that will be enough to convince him. Although if you want to stare at me from across the room occasionally looking like a lovesick fool, it couldn’t hurt.” She smirked.

  And with that, she yanked her own bodice askew, twisted her skirts off center, and sauntered back down the stairs.

   Chapter 67

  Genevieve

  It is, perhaps, the strangest gathering ever to have taken place in this chapel. For one, the chapel is different at night, with only the flickering votives to illuminate it. Without any light streaming through the stained-glass windows, it is darker and more mysterious feeling.

  There is an Arduinnite, although she is dressed as a serving maid rather than in their traditional garb of leather breeches and fur tunic; a little man who resembles a gnome from a hearth tale; a slight, dark-haired charbonnerie who looks as sharp as a hunting knife; a soldier named after a chicken; and two of Death’s daughters—
all overseen by a priest who follows the patron saint of mistakes.

  The knife-sharp man shoots me a dubious glance. “She doesn’t look dangerous enough to threaten the king.” A touch of humor softens his words.

  “Come now, Lazare, that is what makes her such a good weapon,” Sybella says. “Surely a charbonnerie would know that.”

  Father Effram waves us to the front, where everybody else is already seated on the hard wooden benches. We all look—more or less—like servants, although why we are in the chapel in the dead of night would require some explaining.

  Father Effram raises his hands in a blessing, just as if he were conducting a true mass. “So how do we get our friend out of his predicament?” His voice is pitched low, as if reciting the liturgy.

  “How do we get him out of it without anyone being the wiser or discovering he is gone, is the more relevant question,” Sybella corrects him.

  Father Effram reaches for a simple gold chalice, places it on the altar in front of him, and fills it with wine. “Well, the court will be leaving for Amboise in two weeks’ time. Perhaps we need only fool them that long.”

  “Unless they’re taking Beast with them.” Sybella’s face is calm, but for a moment, I would swear that I have her gift and can feel her heart racing.

  “They’re not.” Everyone turns to look at me. “The king wants to leave him here to avoid upsetting the queen with his presence in Amboise and causing her to fret over him.”

  Sybella makes a sound of disgust. “More likely, if Beast is left here, the king can quickly dismiss whatever arguments she tries to bring up.”

  The Arduinnite shifts on the wooden bench, tugging at her skirt. “Does anyone know exactly where he is being held?”

  “He is in one of the cells in the dungeon at the bottom of the central tower,” Sybella says. “There are four guards in the guardhouse, but none in the dungeon itself. Some of the rooms are cages, but not Beast’s. His door is thick oak bound with iron, with nothing but a small square opening. Even without the iron grate that covers it, it is too small for me or even Yannic to pass through. There are no windows, no drains. Nothing but twelve feet of thick stone wall. What about your favorite weapon?” she asks the charbonnerie.

  “Fire won’t work,” he says. “Stone doesn’t burn, and even a diversionary fire in that enclosed space would likely kill us all with its smoke before we could get him out. Not to mention that said smoke would likely draw too much attention our way.”

  “And if we disable the guards, we have just announced our presence and lost the advantage of surprise and stealth, and the hunt will be on,” the Arduinnite says.

  A melancholy silence engulfs us.

  Father Effram sets the chalice of wine aside to make room for the ciborium. “So we must get past the guards, get Beast out of his cage, make sure no one sees us, get him out of the palace, and make sure no one discovers it.” He looks up. “And get him out of the city.”

  “That will be the easy part,” Lazare says. “Once he’s out of the palace, we’re free.”

  “It is not just the palace but the palace grounds,” I point out. “The larger gate that connects the palace to the city will be heavily manned, even at that hour.”

  “You people and your gates,” Lazare grumbles. “The river, then. A boat is easier to get ahold of than horses, anyway.”

  Aeva cuts him a glance. “But far less reliable. Or steady.”

  “And you still have to get everyone over two walls,” I remind him.

  The charbonnerie swears. “I’ll figure something out.” Sybella eyes him as if she is considering taking one of his kidneys as hostage on that promise. “I will,” he says.

  “Sybella and I can handle the guards,” I tell the others. That pulls her attention from the charbonnerie. She—just barely—resists asking me how.

  “Without killing them?” Lazare challenges. “Because that will alert every—”

  “Without killing them.”

  Lazare blinks lazily, then is on to the next obstacle. “How do we get him out of the palace?”

  I look at Sybella, almost embarrassed to ask the question, as it seems like something I should know. “Is it possible to use the shadows to cover him as well as us?”

  “I . . . I don’t know,” she says, clearly never having considered it before.

  “Try it.” Aeva’s suggestion comes out more like a command.

  Sybella studies the small group, skipping Lazare, who has some command of shadows as a follower of the Dark Mother, and the Arduinnite, as they move more quietly than a shadow itself. And who knows what innate powers Father Effram possesses that he has yet to share with us. “Yannic? Would you come here?”

  The little gnome grins and hops up from the pew, pleased to have a role to play. “Let’s try over by the wall. The shadows are thicker there,” I suggest.

  Forcing myself to ignore all the others watching us, we retreat to the back of the chapel. “How would we do this with another person?” I murmur.

  Sybella shrugs. “When you think of the shadows enveloping you, simply think of them bigger and wrap them around Yannic as well.”

  It is so simple, and yet it also tests the bounds of the gift itself. For the longest time I thought it merely an exhortation by the convent to use the shadows, work with what material we had. But since I returned to Plessis and met Sybella, the shadows have felt like they offer more protection than simple opportunity.

  “One, two, three—” Sybella says, then the entire room gasps, letting us know that it has worked. When we release the shadows, the little man—Yannic—shivers. “Are you all right?” Sybella asks him. He nods and rubs his arms, as if chilled.

  The lone soldier in the room, Poulet, clears his throat. “But just to be safe, we should also find a guard’s uniform. That way if the magic fails, Beast won’t be fully exposed.”

  Father Effram sets the Eucharist plate down. “I can take care of that.”

  “Will a uniform be enough to get him past the tower guards? Or the city gate, for that matter?” Aeva asks.

  “Likely not.”

  “Would he have a better chance during daylight? When there are more people about?”

  “If he were a normal person, yes,” Sybella mutters. “But he stands out too much.”

  “Not to mention the rumors that have already circulated about him turning into an actual beast of some sort.” Father Effram does not look at Sybella and me, but he might as well have.

  I turn to Lazare. “What if we had someone at the gate? Someone who would let us pass?”

  “Who?” Sybella demands.

  “I’ll tell you later,” I murmur.

  “That’s all well and good,” Lazare says. “Until the guards check on the prisoner the next day and see he’s not there. Then the search is on.”

  The small chapel falls silent as we think. The only sound is the click of Father Effram’s rosary beads as he runs them through his fingers.

  Sybella says, “If I were to remain here for a few days after he is gone, it would prevent them from assuming we plotted together.”

  “You’re not playing sacrificial lamb,” Aeva says. “Beast would have all our heads.”

  Sybella scowls at her. “I wasn’t planning on it.” Although I suspect she would do exactly that if it came to it.

  “With the rumors floating around,” I murmur, “I think General Cassel is the only one who would venture down there to check on Beast. It would be ideal if he could be called away for a time. At least until the court left for Amboise.”

  “And who has the authority to order such a convenient thing?” Lazare asks.

  “Not the queen, surely,” Sybella murmurs.

  I weigh the risks. “I might know someone,” I say slowly.

  Lazare studies me more carefully. “You have been a busy little thing here at court, haven’t you?” His sharp humor reminds me of my aunt Fabienne. You could not help but smile, even as it cut you.

  “Who?” Sybella a
sks, soft enough for my ears only.

  “Do you trust me?” I murmur.

  To her credit, her hesitation is so small as to be nearly invisible. She nods. “Then I will tell you, later.”

  “But even if Cassel is gone,” Lazare points out, “the guards feed Beast once a day. Surely they’ll notice.”

  “Not if we put someone else in there,” Father Effram says.

  “Who would go without a fight? Or wouldn’t scream for help once we shut them in there?” Poulet asks, mildly appalled.

  “Someone who couldn’t talk.”

  All eyes turn to Yannic.

  “Don’t even think of sacrificing Yannic,” Sybella tells Father Effram.

  “Of course not. I was thinking of the bear.”

  The long moment of silence that follows this announcement reassures me that I am not the only one who is uncertain I’ve heard correctly. “What bear?” Poulet asks.

  “The one in the courtyard,” I murmur.

  “That’s absurd,” Sybella says.

  Lazare is a bit more respectful, but then it’s not his lover who is imprisoned. “How do you see that working, Father?”

  “We’ve already established that the guards are afraid of Beast, it is difficult to see into his cell, and his roars of fury have kept everyone away. I’ve heard they even draw straws to see who must bring his day’s meal. No one will know—certainly not for two weeks, and possibly longer.”

  He looks to Sybella and smiles brightly. “If we were to place the poor bear inside, who would notice? Even if he were seen, there is a good chance everyone would just claim Benebic had finally turned into the beast he has always been.”