Author: Robin LaFevers

He draws closer and bows. “You look lonely, demoiselle.”

“Ah, not lonely, my lord. Simply discerning in the company I keep.”

“A lady after my own heart, then.” He snags a goblet of wine from a passing page and hands it to me. As I take it, I let my fingers brush against his, and I feel his pulse flare with interest.

I pray that Yannic is watching all this, for it is far too much effort if he is not.

Chalon eyes me hungrily, and he is not an unattractive man. Tall, lithely muscled, and with a graceful arrogance that one expects from a prince. But looking at him, flirting with him, I feel . . . nothing. It is cruel of me to use him this way, for I do not desire his affection, simply his attention, and that only long enough to make an impression on Yannic. I murmur inanities a moment longer, then check to be certain Beast’s little squire is watching. But he is gone, and at last I can bring this game to a close, for Chalon is too smooth and tame and far too pretty a creature to hold my interest.

The only other pleasure to be had from the evening is watching young Isabeau and her sweet, uncomplicated joy in the music. Her hands are clasped, her eyes bright. But as I watch her, I am again reminded of Louise and Charlotte and how very much I miss them. I have not seen them in nearly a year, not since my terror over their safety forced me to thrust them from my heart, from my mind.

Isabeau is a painful reminder of everything I have had to give up, all that I have lost. Even though the room is full of people, I feel suddenly surrounded by a moat of loneliness. I cast about, looking for Ismae, the one friend I have in this accursed place, but she has left the duchess’s side and is grabbing a quiet moment with Duval. And while I do not begrudge her the love she has found, I am also filled with envy, for I know such a chance is lost to me.

Chapter Thirty

THE NEXT MORNING I AM summoned to yet another council meeting, which makes me uneasy, for the only business the council has with me is to grill me further on my time in d’Albret’s household. Not to mention I am still filled with dread at having to see Beast. I would rather do anything else than face the accusations in his eyes: suffer one of the abbess’s tongue lashings, play one of Julian’s sordid games, even subject myself to one of d’Albret’s punishments. But although I am many things, a coward is not one of them. My heart beating wildly in my chest, I square my shoulders, lift my chin, and enter the room with my head held high. Leaping from the barbicans back in Nantes would have taken less courage.

Beast’s face is calm, and a polite smile hovers on his lips, but his eyes burn with the light blue of a fire’s hottest flame, and the look he gives me has all the force of a physical blow. I smile vaguely at him, then turn to the others.

It is the same advisors as before. They even sit in the same places, except for the abbess, who is now seated at the table rather than lurking in the corner of the room.

“And here is Lady Sybella.” The duchess’s voice is warm and welcoming and gives me some small measure of courage as I take my seat.

“I’m afraid the latest news is dire,” Duval says. “The French are on the march. They have taken Guingamp and Moncontour.”

The duchess grips the arms of her chair, her fingers turning white. “And the casualties?”

“From all I can determine, the French did not meet with much organized resistance. The local burghers, worried about the town, quickly handed it over, and the small pockets of protest were easily dealt with.”

The duchess stares unseeing into the distance. “They are so close!” she says. “What of the English troops? Are they close as well?”

“More bad news, I’m afraid.” Duval’s voice is grim. “A series of storms off the coast of Morlaix has kept the English ships from landing. Those six thousand troops will be delayed.”

“How long will it take the British troops to arrive in Rennes once they have reached the coast?”

“At least a week, Your Grace.”

“Is there any sign the French will attack before then?”

Duval answers with a shrug. “It is hard to say. They seem to be holding just inside our border and are sending out sorties and small scouting parties, nothing more. Except for their attack on Ancenis and the occasional pillaging for food, there have been no reports of fighting.”

Captain Dunois taps his finger on his chin. “What are they waiting for? I wonder.”

“For us to break the Treaty of Verger, is all I can surmise,” Duval says. “We have had much acrimony between the French regent and our own politics, but we have honored the dictates of the treaty. At least openly,” he adds with a rakish grin.

“Do you think they know of our negotiations with the Holy Roman emperor?” The duchess’s brow is furrowed with concern.

Duval considers. “Suspect it, yes. But do they know? I do not think that they do. If they had actual knowledge of the betrothal agreement, they would have used that to justify an attack by now.”

“True enough,” Captain Dunois agrees. “I suppose it is too much to hope for that if Count d’Albret decides to march on Rennes, he will run into the French and they will eliminate each other.”

Duval gives a rueful smile. “Would that we were so lucky.” He pauses to look at his hands, then meets his sister’s gaze full on. “It is said that bad news arrives in threes, Your Grace.” Looking as if he could happily commit murder, Duval delivers the final blow. “We have received a letter from Count d’Albret.”

All eyes in the room turn to me. I ignore the sharp sting of their regard and concentrate wholly on Duval and the duchess, as if we are having a private conversation. “Does he know Beast is here?” I ask.

“Not that he indicates. The purpose of the letter was to ask that the duchess reconsider honoring their marriage agreement, else he will be forced to do something she will not like.”

“Besiege the city,” I whisper.

Duval nods. “He does not come out and say so, but that is my assumption as well.”

The duchess, who has gone pale at this news, visibly gathers herself. “What of the Holy Roman emperor? Has he received word of how dire our plight?”

“He has. He will send two auxiliaries to aid us.” Duval’s voice is drier than high summer.

“Two auxiliaries?” Captain Dunois says. “Is he serious? So few, and not even professional soldiers?”

“I’m afraid so. He is also suggesting that we perform the marriage ceremony by proxy in order to get the thing done.”

Jean de Chalon shifts uneasily in his chair; it is his overlord they are speaking of, and perhaps he feels his loyalties are being stretched thin. “I am sure he is doing all that he can. He is much besieged by his war with Hungary.”

Duval does not deign to answer this. The duchess’s mouth tightens in disapproval, but she does not contradict her cousin, although I feel certain she wishes to. “Does a marriage by proxy even count in the eyes of the Church?” she asks the bishop.

“Yes, it can, if done properly.”

“But we still won’t have his troops to defend the alliance,” Captain Dunois points out.

“What of mercenaries? How difficult would it be to get companies of mercenaries here?”

“Not too difficult.” Duval’s voice is gentle, as if he wishes to take the sting from the words that now follow. “What presents a problem, Your Grace, is that we have no money to pay them.”

She looks at him blankly for a moment. “None?” she whispers, then looks to her chancellor.

He confirms Duval’s assessment. “I’m afraid not, Your Grace. The duchy’s coffers were greatly strained by the wars with the French over the last two years. The treasury is empty.”

The duchess rises from her chair and begins pacing in front of the fire. She is very nearly out of options, and she must know it. “What of my family’s jewels? The silver plate? The crown—”

The bishop gasps in horror. “Not your crown, Your Grace!”

“Will that bring enough coin to pay them?”

“Your Grace! Some of your jewelry has been in your family for generations,” Chalon says. I cannot help but wonder if he is keeping track of what he would inherit if anything were to happen to the duchess.

“Jewels can be replaced, my cousin. Independence, once lost, cannot.”

The room is silent as the company digests her words, then Beast leans forward to speak for the first time. “There are some who would fight at our side for free,” he tells them.

“Who?” Captain Dunois and Chancellor Montauban ask at the same time.

“The charbonnerie.”

“This is no time for jests,” the chancellor says with reproach.

Beast meets his eyes levelly. “I am not jesting. Furthermore, they have already agreed to fight by our side.”

“They are nothing but outcasts, ruffians who must scrabble in the forest to get by. Do they even know how to hold a sword?” Montauban asks.

“They do not fight by conventional tactics, but with the art of ambush and surprise.”

Chancellor Montauban opens his mouth to argue some more, but Duval interrupts him. “I do not think we are in a position to turn down any offers,” he says. “Beast and I will talk of this later.”

The abbess of Saint Mortain breaks the awkward silence that follows. “What of d’Albret’s men?” It is only years of practice that keeps me from flinching at her words, for while she directs her question to Captain Dunois, I know in my bones it is intended for me. “Have you been able to locate any of the saboteurs?” she asks.

The captain shakes his head. “No, there are so many men-at-arms in the city, all from such scattered parts of the country, and not all are known to me. I have begun to put word out to the garrison commanders to be wary, but there are over eight thousand men-at-arms, and two dozen places where they could help d’Albret’s main force breach our defenses. It will take time.”

Once again, I can feel the immense weight of Beast’s gaze upon me. I do not know if it is that gaze, the abbess’s veiled barbs, or my desire to erase some of d’Albret’s taint from myself, but before thinking it through, I speak. “I could identify them.”

All eyes turn toward me. One gaze in particular feels sharper than broken glass. “You?” the abbess asks.

“Who better?”

The duchess leans forward, her eyes serious. “You do not need to do this. You have already put yourself in far too much danger.”

“My sister is right. Besides, in practical terms, if they saw you, it might tip our hand,” Duval says.

I nod my head in agreement. “But they do not need to see me in order for me to identify them. It is no hard thing to don a disguise.”

Beast speaks for the first time, his voice rumbling into the small room. “I am not certain that is advisable,” he says.

My head snaps up. His dissent is like a kick to my gut, for while I know he is angry with me, I had not realized his newfound distrust would run this deep. “I do not see how we have a choice if we wish to gain the upper hand in this.”

“There is always a choice.” Beast turns from me and addresses the others. “I think this is a bad idea.”

“Do you not think I am capable, my lord?”

His hands grip the arms of his chair so hard that it is a wonder the wood does not splinter. “I know full well you are most capable, my lady. What I do not know is whether the costs would be worth the risks.”

“And what risks would those be, my lord?” My words drip with honeyed sweetness that is as false as it is polite.

He says nothing, but he glowers at me from across the table. The loathing he shows toward me is every bit as painful as I feared. “If you do not trust me—”

“Of course he trusts you, my lady! If not for you, he would still be rotting in some dungeon, or worse.”

“I am so glad that someone remembers,” I mutter. I take a steadying breath, and when I speak again, my voice is calm. “If you do not trust me, or are too worried about the risks, the captain can send whatever men he likes to accompany me. Indeed, the plan will only work if he does, for a man can stay close to the traitors and mark their movements, while I cannot.” Beast and I hold each other’s gazes for a long moment.

Captain Dunois begins stroking his chin again, a sure sign he is deep in thought. “I do not see how it could do any harm. And while I hate to ask this of you, it is unnerving knowing his agents are lurking about in the city, waiting for orders from him. We could start with the free companies and hangers-on. That would be the easiest place for someone to slip in unremarked.”

“I concur, Captain. It is decided, then. How shall we do it?” We spend the better part of an hour hammering out a plan. The entire time, I can feel the abbess watching me. Her displeasure puzzles me somewhat, for have I not done the very thing she wishes, showing how helpful the convent can be in such times? But it may be that only she is allowed to offer such help.

By the time we finally have our plan in place, Beast is pale, whether from his injuries or his fury, I cannot tell. As we rise to leave, the abbess takes two steps toward me, her lips pressed into a flat line. Before she can say anything, the duchess calls out. “Lady Sybella?”

“Yes, Your Grace?”

“Will you attend upon me this afternoon? I have some things I would speak with you on.”

My heart skips lightly at this reprieve she has granted me. “But of course, Your Grace.” Without glancing back at the abbess, I follow the duchess out of the room.

Chapter Thirty-One