Igniting Darkness

by Robin LaFevers

  As we move through the camp dispatching the sleeping sentries, my chest feels as if it contains a dozen blacksmiths, all hammering at my ribs. Even though I try to ignore it, the force of it causes my hands to shake so that when I slit the first throat, it is an ugly, crooked cut. Seconds later I am greeted by the frantic soul as it rushes from the body, trying to understand what has happened.

  When all of those who guard the paddock have been killed, the Arduinnites, silent as a night breeze, begin moving through the horses, speaking to them in voices that are naught but whispers, keeping them quiet and slowly herding them away from the camp.

  “Are you okay?” Sybella asks.

  I keep my eyes on the horses. “So many souls. And heartbeats.” If she must endure this around the living, I cannot fathom how she does it.

  She gives my arm a brisk rub, which helps ground me in the world of bodies and cannon rather than souls.

  As we make our way back to the cannon train’s main camp, Sybella and I slip away from the others long enough to kill the two posted watchmen. When we return, there are small groups of charbonnerie clustered around six of the cannon. At some invisible signal, they all shove a wooden rod into the powder chamber and tamp down, the faint crunch of the powder no louder than the sleepy stomp of a horse’s hoof.

  Then Lazare gives the signal, and we all scramble back, all except the six charbonnerie who will light the cannon. We retrace our steps, stopping when we are about half a mile away.

  But it is not far enough. When the explosion comes, it feels as if it rips the very world in two. Brilliant orange light erupts from the camp, so bright we must look away as it shatters the silence and pulls the ground out from underneath our feet. The sound of it slams into our ears with such force that they ring like bells.

  Beast looks at Sybella. “They will have heard that from Vannes to Guingamp.”

  “Then we’d best be on our way.”

  The Arduinnites have our horses saddled and ready to go when we reach camp, the charbonnerie close on our heels. They are fair humming with a nearly frenetic energy, wide grins splitting their soot-and-grime-covered faces.

  “Come on,” Beast says, climbing onto his horse. “You can congratulate yourselves once we’re far enough away.”

  Although we have decided to head north, we strike out in an easterly direction in order to cut a wide berth around Rohan’s lands. Beast is right. The explosion was likely heard for miles, and those who didn’t hear it will see the smoke soon enough.

  * * *

  Perhaps it is that thought that has my nerves strung tight, but the farther away we ride, the faster my heart races. At first I think it is merely the shock of it all—so many deaths, all the souls, the heartbeats. Not to mention the thunder of the explosion. I cannot tell if my ears are still throbbing from that or if—no. Are those hoofbeats in the distance? I tighten my hand on the reins to stop the jingling of my horse’s bridle, and listen. There are no hoofbeats. All is quiet.

  Too quiet.

  That is when I realize I’m not hearing anything, but feeling hearts beating in my chest again. More death is coming. I only have time to call out, “Ambush!” before a volley of arrows flies out of the trees. Pale glints of silver and flashes of movement lurk just beyond the forest’s edge—but they stay back for now, letting their archers do the work. I draw my sword and raise my cloak, although it is thin protection against arrows. The swell of heartbeats thudding in my chest grows.

  I do not know how—some new gift from my god or simply from having lived together these last few weeks, but I recognize two of the heartbeats.

  “Beast! Poulet!” I scream. “Get down!”

  Both men throw themselves from their horses, tucking and rolling as they hit the ground, coming up with their swords raised as two arrows arc over their saddles.

  Another familiar heartbeat. I whip around, trying to locate—“Lazare!” He flings himself to the ground in time to avoid the arrow aimed at his back. Quiet as smoke, the other charbonnerie slip from their horses onto the ground, staying low as they crawl toward the cover of the trees.

  There is a shift among our attackers then, and I can almost feel the unseen archers aiming for me. My warnings have made me a target.

  As the Arduinnite next to me takes an arrow in the arm, I yank my leg from its stirrup, then leap to the ground, the faint whistling of an arrow nearly parting my hair as I land. The injured Arduinnite and her sisters wheel their horses around and ride into the trees at the opposite side of the clearing. Within moments, they begin returning fire, shooting at an angle to avoid us and direct their fire into the trees. Soon, the arrows raining down on us begin to diminish.

  As they slow, I hear the incongruent note of a thrush, then the mounted knights emerge from their hiding places into the clearing. “The rest are coming!” I shout.

  The charge of the attack frightens the riderless horses, who bolt. But Beast already has a hand on his panicking mount and manages to leap onto its back. A maniacal gleam shines in his eyes as he rises up in his stirrups, battle-ax in one hand, sword in the other.

  The pounding of hooves and clashing of blades is so loud it nearly drowns out the score of heartbeats thundering in my chest. I draw my sword and try to pick out any familiar beats, but there are too many.

  A mounted knight sees me, changes direction, and heads for me, his sword raised high. Just as he is upon me, I drop to the ground and roll away. He shouts in frustration, then wheels around to try again, but is stopped by one of the Arduinnites’ arrows going straight through his eye.

  There is no time to be grateful. A foot soldier charges me, and suddenly I am back in the oubliette with Maraud. Everything he taught me falling into place. I take my stance and block his blow, letting the force of it run up my arm. While he is still processing his surprise, I swing my blade down, then up again, driving it into the small sliver of exposed neck right above his breastplate.

  Souls begin bursting from the fallen bodies as their wounds claim their mortal lives. The battering of the new souls along with the beating of the hearts in danger make it nearly impossible to do anything but keep my weapon in front of my face. I consider blocking my mind against the souls, but fear I will miss the instant’s warning of a familiar heartbeat.

  The souls are particularly thick around Beast, whose ax swings through men as if he were back at the abbey chopping wood for the fire.

  Just as I manage to fend off a second attacker, another one surges toward me. He is taller than the last, his shoulders broader. I fear his greater size will prove too big an advantage. As I get my blade up to meet his, a new heartbeat slams against my ribs, this one as familiar to me as breathing.

  “Sybella!” I scream.

  As quick as a man cut from a gibbet, she drops to the ground, bright silver arcing through the air where her head has just been. It is then I remember my own opponent. But too late. There is a sharp explosion of pain in my head, and everything goes black.

   Chapter 80

  When I open my eyes, my first thought is that I have been sent to hell. It is dark, and there are no stars, the blackness overhead relieved only by the flickering of orange flames.

  “There she is,” a melodious voice says. That is not the voice of hell.

  “Sybella?”

  “Don’t get up! Stay where you are. You took a blow to the head.”

  “Because she was busy saving you.” Beast’s voice is as solemn as I’ve ever heard it, as if he still cannot believe how close Sybella came. “Saving all of us,” he amends. His gravelly voice echoes faintly. We are in a cave.

  “Did we lose anyone?” I ask.

  “No,” Sybella assures me. “How in the name of the Nine did you do that?” The awe in her voice makes me acutely uncomfortable.

  “By accident, mostly. I felt the heartbeats in my chest, and this time I was able to recognize them.”

  “Do not ever again tell me how useless your gift is,” she says with a smile. “I will know i
t for a lie. There are a couple of cuts and scrapes. But no casualties.”

  “Because of you.” I turn at the sound of Aeva’s voice, wincing at the pain the movement causes. She crosses her hands upon her heart and bows at the waist. “Thank you.”

  Not knowing what to do with all this gratitude and thanks, I reach up to tenderly feel at my head. “I hope one of you managed to kill the rutting bastard who hit me.”

  A moment of complete silence follows. “What?” I ask, uneasy.

  Sybella glances behind me. I am desperate to look but afraid if I turn my head the pain will resume its hammering. In that same moment, I become aware that my head is being cradled—on something softer than a dirt-packed floor. And warm. A hand reaches out to brush the hair from my brow, and my body starts to tremble, knowing that touch before my mind has pieced it together.

  “I did not mean to hit you so very hard,” Maraud says softly.

  As my mind scrambles to reshape the world—a world that once again includes Maraud—Beast leans closer to Sybella. “See?” he mutters. “I am not the only one,” then grunts as her elbow connects with something tender.

  Maraud ignores them. “The man you were fighting was about to skewer you, and you stepped back just as I swung.”

  I try to push into a sitting position, needing to see with my own eyes that it is truly him, but his arms around me tighten. “Don’t move.”

  I smile. “It is you.” He is here. Holding me in his arms. My body is so flooded with relief—both at his safety and how things are between us—that it almost washes away the pain.

  My heart has never been this full. With the wonder of my gift, the deep satisfaction at saving so many, and now Maraud . . .

  “Did you take a blow to the chest?” Maraud asks as he takes my hand from where it was rubbing at my heart.

  “No. Just . . . happy.”

  He grins down at me. “Me too.”

  Sybella clears her throat just then. “Genevieve should rest after her ordeal,” she announces to the others. “There will be time to hear Maraud’s full report soon enough. Have we collected any stray horses? Ensured there are no survivors who could report our identities back to Rohan?”

  Beast doesn’t move. “But we have only just found him,” he protests.

  Sybella takes his arm. “Others have missed him as well,” she explains gently. “He and Gen have some catching up to do.”

  Once we are alone, I become viscerally aware of each breath Maraud takes, which awakens all the nerve endings in my body.

  He sweeps my hair back from my face. “Did you think I’d abandoned you?”

  “It briefly occurred to me, although I didn’t truly think you would do that. And then Valine found me, and I knew something had gone horribly wrong.”

  He tenderly cups my cheek. “Thank you for your faith in me.”

  I revel in the feel of his palm against my cheek—the strength of his fingers, the calluses, and the warmth. “I had planned to go with you,” I confess. “That day. When you came.”

  His hand tightens briefly. “You had?”

  I nod.

  His eyes grow darker, filled with shadows of frustration and regret. “I am sorry I let you down. Shall I explain it to you now or when I tell the others?”

  “Later,” I say, unwilling to spend what little privacy we have been granted on the tale. He is here now, and that is what matters. “What of the others? Valine? Jaspar?”

  He leans down to kiss the tip of my nose. “That, too, is part of the tale, but they are here and safe.” He rubs a thumb along my bottom lip once, twice, and then I open my mouth and gently place my teeth around it. “You are not well enough for this,” he murmurs, but does not withdraw his hand.

  “Perhaps it is what will cure me.”

  He removes his thumb from my mouth, then brings his lips down on mine, so tender and loving that I nearly weep. “Later,” he promises.

  Almost as if he had been waiting for us to finish, Beast reappears at our side and sends me an apologetic look. “I have known him for fourteen years, my lady.”

  “By all means,” I say. “I do not mean to keep him to myself.” But I do. At least once the others have had their fill.

  The look the two men exchange is so eloquent that it causes my eyes to sting. “Come to tag along, have you?” Beast asks.

  “If you’ll have me.”

  Beast grins that infectious grin of his. “Always.” Then he sobers. “Through Genevieve, I have learned of your time in prison and the oubliette in Cognac, as well as your subsequent escape. I am eager to learn how you ended up with Rohan’s forces.”

  Maraud’s smile is tight and humorless. “Not Rohan. I’m here with Pierre d’Albret.”

  Silence fills the cave. Sybella grows pale and briefly closes her eyes, then opens them again before Beast’s gaze lingers too long upon her. She gives him a cocky grin, but it fools none of us. “So that’s why he never showed up for his second audience with the king,” she muses. Then she frowns. “Although I still don’t understand why he chose to leave that day.”

  “That I do not know, my lady,” Maraud says.

  Beast stares up at the ceiling so innocently that Sybella grows immediately suspicious. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about this, would you?”

  “Wait,” Aeva says. “Have you not told her yet?”

  “Told me what?” Sybella asks.

  Beast shrugs his massive shoulders. “There hasn’t been time.”

  “We were on the road for eight days, and have been here in Brittany for three weeks. There was plenty of time.”

  Sybella looks from Aeva to Beast. “I’m not going to like this, am I?”

  Beast glares at Aeva. “That was why I was not going to tell her.”

  “She deserves to know,” the Arduinnite insists.

  Beast heaves a great sigh. “The night before Pierre left, I may have paid him a visit.”

  “Alone?”

  “No,” he scoffs. “I had Aeva with me.”

  Sybella directs a heated glare at the other woman, who simply shrugs. “He is about as easy to dissuade as you are.”

  Beast reaches up to scratch his chin. “And I may have held a knife to his balls. Explained that if he left peacefully, he could keep one of them, but if he did not leave immediately, he would lose both.”

  Sybella looks torn between humor, horror, and disbelief. “I wish I thought you were jesting, but I am fairly sure you aren’t.”

  “So how many balls did he end up with?” By the grin on Maraud’s face, I can tell this escapade is not the first of its sort.

  “Both,” Beast says morosely. “His lightskirt returned from the garderobe just then, and I didn’t want to frighten her.”

  “What about frightening me, you lackwit?” Sybella places her hand firmly around Beast’s collar. “You and I must have a talk.”

  “But we haven’t heard the rest of Maraud’s story yet.” She sighs and lets go of him.

  “My time with d’Albret wasn’t by choice,” Maraud continues. “He said he was holding someone I would want to see.” His gaze darts briefly my way, and I realize he feared Pierre had taken me. “It was my father.” His voice is utterly flat, dead. “My father is working with them.”

  “But you are not,” Beast reminds him.

  “No.” Maraud does not so much smile as grimace. “I’m not.”

  Beast steps in to the brittle silence. “Well, this answers one question. Where Rohan’s reinforcements were coming from. How many?”

  “Over three thousand. When I realized I was stuck there, I learned everything I could, then as soon as the opportunity presented itself, I left, intending to get the information to where it would do the most good. Little did I realize that meant delivering it directly into your hands.”

  His eyes grow grim. “Rohan had caught wind of the resistance and ordered a contingent of Pierre’s troops to go after them. Tried to anticipate your next move.”

  “He almos
t did. We were only two days ahead of you.”

  “When the commander heard of the cannon train, he assumed that would be a likely target.”

  “And so he turned it into a trap.”

  “That very nearly worked.”

  Everyone’s glance flits over to me again. I close my eyes and gently nudge Maraud to keep talking. “When I heard of their plans to try to take out the resistance, I arranged to go with them and give warning. The resistance is the one thing that is giving Brittany hope. The one weapon that is successfully gnawing away at Rohan’s carefully laid plans. But they have no idea it is you,” he adds. “They think it is just a couple of hotheaded local barons. Or a small group of loyalists.”

  “Does he not realize everyone is loyal to the queen?” Sybella asks. “For having averted yet another war. Does he not remember the hundred long years of war our people have already endured? They want peace. They want their lives back.”

  Maraud shifts. “I wish that were the only news I carry.”

  Some of the light fades from Beast’s eyes. “There’s more?”

  “They have allied with England. Four thousand English troops will be landing in two weeks.”

   Chapter 81

  “Has Rohan lost his mind? Why bring England into this?” Beast rubs his hands over his head, as if in pain. “Doesn’t he realize that with one foot in the door, the English will likely not leave? The duchess tried to walk that fine line when accepting their aid last year, but this . . . ?” He shakes his head.

  Jaspar, Valine, Andry, and Tassin have joined the others in the center of the cave, while I listen from my spot against the wall.

  Maraud stretches his long legs out in front of him. “It appears they really didn’t want Brittany in the hands of the French.”

  “Then they could have damned well sent more troops the first time we asked,” Beast says.

  “Why didn’t they?” Poulet asks. “Why would the English give Rohan that many troops when they could only spare the duchess half as many?”