Courting Darkness

by Robin LaFevers

  The innkeep appears with a fresh jug of wine and four more cups. “I’ll be back with your food in a moment. No need to be shouting clear across the room.”

  “Thank you,” Valine tells him. She lifts her cup to Maraud. “Here’s to learning that you are alive.”

  “So, where have you been?” Jaspar asks.

  Will Maraud trust them enough to tell them the truth? “Here and there,” he says. “I spent some time down near Périgord.”

  Something inside me relaxes a bit. Andry’s coins grow still and he swings his head back to Maraud. “That’s where we’re headed. They say d’Albret is hiring.”

  Maraud carefully sets down his knife and spoon and pushes his plate away. “I’ve heard.”

  Andry’s interest sharpens. “Then why are you here and not there?”

  The look Maraud gives him is unreadable. At least to me. “I already have a job.”

  Jaspar sighs and shakes his head. “That’s where Andry wants to go next. We’ve been hoping to dissuade him along the way. Maybe you’ll have better luck.”

  “Why do you want to work for d’Albret?” Maraud gives Andry a probing look.

  The other man peers down at the coins in his hand. “He’s hiring, and he pays well,” he says, then tosses back his wine.

  Maraud does not look away. “There is a reason for that. You know what he’s capable of.”

  Andry shrugs, but does not meet Maraud’s gaze.

  “And you?” Maraud turns to the others. “Do you want to work for d’Albret as well?” It is as much a rebuke as it is a question.

  “Not me,” Jaspar says around a mouthful of braised rabbit. “I’m thinking of returning to Brittany.”

  “More’s the fool, you,” Andry grouses.

  “Brittany?” Although Maraud’s voice does not change, his face grows alert with interest. “I thought all the mercenaries had been paid and dismissed.”

  Jaspar raises a shoulder in a careless gesture. “Word is there’s new work to be had, and I’ve a mind to visit home again.”

  A deep, rumbling voice comes from my left. “Place is crawling with English troops.” It is the first time Tassin has said anything all night. “Don’t like the smell of ’em,” he says. “They’re watching the borders, minding the ports—​why?”

  Valine arches a brow in amusement. “They’re looking for someone, of course. It does not take a scholar to discern that.”

  “Yeah, but who? And why?” The bulky man rolls his shoulders. “They failed us twice now when we needed ’em. A pox on them all, I say.” He drains his cup and falls silent again.

  The awkward moment is quickly replaced by another when Valine turns to me. “And who are you?”

  There are many answers I could give, but the truth will serve me best and be a warning to them all. “An assassin.”

  Maraud chokes on the mouthful of wine he has just taken, and four disbelieving faces turn my way. It is the first time since they arrived that I have had their full attention. “Well played, Lucinda!” Jaspar says with a low whistle. “No one would ever suspect it.”

  “That is the point, is it not?”

  Valine turns a speculative gaze on Maraud. “So you’re an assassin now?” Her question is careful, the words weighted with some meaning I can sense but not fully discern.

  Maraud folds his arms and tosses a smile at her. “Not me. I’m just the hired help.”

  Tassin tilts his head, his chin at a belligerent angle. “If you are an assassin, why do you need him?”

  “Although I know a hundred ways to kill a man, I am still a lone woman, which makes me an easy target on the road. His job is to get me there. My job is to kill.” Our gazes remain locked for another moment before he finally turns away.

  The innkeep comes over to remove the last of our dishes. “I’m bolting the door and putting out the candles. If you want to see your way to your beds, you’d best come along now. If not, you’re welcome to stumble your way to ’em in the dark, just be sure you mind the stairs. They’re steep and narrow.”

  “Well I, for one, am off to bed,” I tell the others as I rise from the table. I glance meaningfully at Maraud. “You should be too. We have an early start in the morning.”

   Chapter 69

  lie on the lumpy straw mattress, breathing deeply, as if asleep. Exhausted as I am from our ride out of the city, there will be little rest for me tonight. There are far too many ways Maraud could use his friends against me.

  The pouch with the antidote is under my pillow, along with two daggers. My baselard is snuggled on the mattress next to me. They cannot steal the antidote and sneak away. Nor can they catch me unaware and try to wrest it from me. At least, not without a fight. And if it comes to that, I have the case with my poisoned needles hidden in my cuff.

  It takes so long that I very nearly do fall asleep, but the faint rustle of someone rising from their bed jolts me fully awake. There is another rustle, and another. I curl my fingers around the dagger handles, careful not to change the rhythm of my breathing.

  The floorboard at the foot of my bed creaks. More creaks follow, but they are the faint padding of bare feet, not boots. Not leaving, then.

  After another hand span of minutes, I silently rise from my own bed. I slip one of the daggers back in its sheath but keep the other in my right hand. Moving even slower than they did, I pick my way to the door, then stop, pressing myself up against the wall. When I am certain they have not heard me, I slowly peer around the doorjamb.

  And jerk back when I see them sitting in the hallway right outside. My heart thuds loudly in my ears. Did they notice me? When no one moves or calls a warning, I inch closer to the door.

  “I still can’t believe you’ve been in a dungeon this whole time.” It is Jaspar who speaks. “Did you tell them who you are?”

  Maraud’s no makes it clear the subject is closed.

  Valine’s voice is easy to pick out among the others. “But why would—”

  “I saw something. Right after the surrender. France had just captured the Duke of Orléans, and our side had agreed to terms. Two . . . noblemen offered their swords to General Cassel. He told them he had been ordered to keep d’Orléans alive, but had no such orders for them. He accused them of treason against the king and beheaded them where they knelt. I think it is he who was having me held.”

  Vile oaths erupt all around. “Ride with us in the morning, and we’ll find out,” Jaspar proposes.

  “I must finish this job first. But I want to know where Cassel is.”

  “Flanders,” Jaspar says. “He has been overseeing the campaign in Flanders.”

  Maraud swears. “That will make him hard to get to.”

  “Hard, but not impossible,” Valine points out. “Is that where you’re headed?”

  “After I finish up with the assassin.”

  “What do you want us to do?” Jaspar’s offer drives home the full extent of their loyalty to Maraud.

  “I want Andry and Tassin to find out why d’Albret is raising troops. I need to know what he is planning.”

  “Why?” Tassin’s deep voice is calculating.

  “He was most insistent that I join him. To the point of detaining me. Said the campaign would be of deep personal interest to me. I want to know what that means.”

  Andry snorts. “Does he know you’re the most idealistic mercenary ever to ride with a company? Every campaign becomes of deep personal interest to you.”

  There is a soft thud followed by an oof. Maraud’s elbow connecting with Andry’s ribs is my guess.

  “Very well. What of Jaspar and me?” Valine asks.

  “I want you to return to Brittany as planned. Find out who is putting out a call for troops. Join them if you need to, but find out why. And I would like to know who the English are searching for.”

  “Is there anything else, my lordship?”

  “Here.” Another oof. “You can polish my boots while you’re at it.”

  Valine interrupts
their snickering. “Why not go yourself?”

  “As I said, I am escorting the assassin north. Once I’ve done that, I’ll join you.”

  “Is she truly an assassin?” Andry asks.

  “Yes.”

  “Can’t be much of one,” he snorts. “We snuck by her, and she hasn’t so much as stirred.”

  I step into the hallway, a dagger loose and easy in each hand. “On the contrary.”

  Five heads snap up to gape at me. Well, Maraud is not surprised. They sit at the end of the hall, much as they might around a campfire. A leather flagon of wine dangles forgotten in Andry’s hand. “I heard you all lumber by me like a flock of drunken geese and have been standing here the entire time.” I tilt my head and study Andry pointedly. “I have to wonder just how good you are at soldiering if you can be so unaware of your surroundings as to miss me.”

  There is a flash of white as Valine smiles broadly, then digs her elbow into Andry’s ribs. Her eyes meet mine from across the hallway, and she takes the wine from Jaspar and raises it in salute. “Care to join us?”

  For a moment, the desire to sit with them is so strong it is akin to hunger. I want to hear their story. How did they come to be so close? How did Valine end up a mercenary? If she can do such a thing, who is to say that I cannot?

  I adjust the grip on my knives. Hunger or not, that is not where my destiny lies. The convent needs me. “What I would like is to catch a few hours of sleep before dawn.”

  I have only just gotten comfortable in my bed when I hear the rest of them troop back into the room. I do not fall asleep until their breathing and snoring assures me that they have.

  * * *

  I am the first one up in the morning and none too quiet about it, eager to be on my way. As we all trudge toward the stables, I take Maraud’s arm and pull him behind the corner of the inn where we will not be seen by the others. “Here.” I hold up the antidote.

  He nods curtly, then opens his mouth. I let three drops fall on his tongue before tucking the vial back in my pouch. Maraud studies me with such intensity that it is all I can do not to squirm. “What?” I finally ask.

  “We could help you. My friends and I. We could help you with your mission to save those people you spoke of.”

  I busy myself with securing my pouch to my belt. “I told you, it is not that kind of job. Besides, I am certain it doesn’t pay well enough for Andry’s liking.”

  * * *

  Since we are going in the same direction, we ride for a short way together. Maraud looks over his shoulder far less frequently. Whether because he is no longer believes d’Albret is following us or because he has four trained soldiers at his side, I do not know.

  When we finally reach the crossroads, it is time to part ways. With few words, Andry and Tassin turn their horses to the southeast. Valine and Jaspar take the west fork.

  “Join us when you can,” Jaspar calls out.

  “When I am ready,” Maraud calls back. “I will take the road west from Sainte-Maure.” I do not know if he truly feels as confident as he sounds or if it is a pretense for his friends.

  Jaspar swivels around in his saddle. “Where shall we meet?”

  “At the sign of the bone and cross. I will send word when I am there.”

  Jaspar raises his hand in the air, turns back around in his saddle, and gallops down the road to catch up to Valine.

  As they depart, I remind myself that my plan for Maraud is a good one. A necessary one.

  If that is true, a little voice whispers in my ear, tell him so he can join you freely.

  But I do not. Not now. Not when he is still smiling from the time with his friends who once thought him dead.

   Chapter 70

  e spend the next two days slogging our way through a sea of muddy road, occasionally broken up by a dark, smoky inn, a tepid meal, and a dirty straw mattress. Now that it is only two of us again, Maraud has resumed his habit of constantly looking over his shoulder.

  By noon of the third day, my nerves are pulled tight and my patience frayed. When we draw near a bridge, Maraud reins Mogge in and calls out, “Hold up.”

  “No one is following us,” I snap. “Stop wasting time traveling in twists and turns.”

  “We need to get off the road,” he says tersely.

  I open my mouth to argue, but he is already using Mogge to herd me off to the side. “Why?”

  “Mounted horsemen. Lots of them.” He points behind us, and I squint down the line of his arm. Approaching the bridge from the east are well over a hundred men on horseback. “Can you make out their standard?”

  “They’re not carrying one. They’re mercenaries.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “The lack of standard for one, and no colors. The armor is plain, and they do not ride in formations so much as a mob. See? There are pikesmen amongst the mounted soldiers, archers among the lances. A battalion marching under a house banner would be more orderly. Remember how d’Albret’s men rode in formation? These men are not doing that.”

  He is right.

  “Come.” His voice is filled with quiet urgency. “I want to reach the bridge before they spot us.”

  “But surely you are one of them. They would not do you any harm.”

  “I think the friends of mine you met in Ransle have led you to mistake the nature of mercenaries. Most are like Andry and Tassin. Even more are like d’Albret’s men. And there are close to two hundred of them. Two hundred bored, hungry soldiers spoiling for a fight or at least a little sport. I do not want to be that sport.”

  The full implications of his concern finally register. I press my heels along Gallopine’s flanks to urge her along.

  Luck, or mayhap the gods, appears to be on our side, and the clouds above us drop lower to the ground, turning into a thick, drizzling mist. Between the heavy fog and the trees, we are able to reach the bridge without being seen.

  At the river’s edge, we dismount and lead our horses up the bank to where the bridge is built into the ground. We can hear them now, a loud steady clop of hooves. They are close.

  Maraud whips off his cloak and wraps it around Mogge’s head, muffling her senses. I do the same. And then we wait. The first clop of hooves strikes the wooden planks of the bridge and is quickly joined by the thunder of dozens and dozens of horses making their way across. Just under the nearly deafening noise of the hooves is a faint metal jingle of harness and tack, weapons and spurs, and occasionally a man’s voice or a laugh.

  They clear the bridge, but still we wait. When we can no longer hear any sounds of them, I start to edge out from our hiding spot, but Maraud grabs my arm and gives a quick shake of his head. When I nod in understanding, he releases my arm and we wait some more.

  We wait for nearly an hour after they pass, our horses growing bored and restless. At last Maraud hands me Mogge’s reins before crawling up the embankment to see if the road is clear.

  “They are gone,” he says when he returns. “And no stragglers remain behind. But I don’t like that they are traveling the same road we are. Any town we stay in will either be overrun by them or will have locked their walls until they’ve passed.”

  “So we must sleep out on the road? Will that truly be any safer?”

  “Only if we find a spot now and choose one that gives us the best advantage. It is early enough in the day that I do not think they will retrace their footsteps this far back to camp for the night. But neither would I bet either of our lives on that.”

  * * *

  By the time we set out again, the faint drizzle has turned into a light rain.

  We had hoped to reach Vivonne by nightfall, but it is clear by the numerous hoof prints in the mud that the mercenary company has gone that way. To avoid them, Maraud chooses a small cart track that leads off the main road. Just when I am convinced he has led us down naught but a deer path and we will be forced to sleep on the ground, a small village comes into view.

  It is hardly more than a handful of cottage
s, and rundown ones at that. The entire village is still and quiet. At first I think the rain has driven everyone indoors, but none of the houses have so much as a wisp of smoke coming from their chimneys, or a dog or chicken roaming the yards.

  “Do you think they are hiding from the mercenaries?” I ask Maraud.

  “No. This place was abandoned long before today. A plague. A poor crop. Sick livestock. Take your pick.” He reins Mogge in, then dismounts, and I do the same. Together we survey the village. No one has come out to greet us or chase us away, which only heightens the sense of desertion.

  The cottages are simple ones, with thatched roofs and lime wash. A common well sits near the center of the village. Just beyond it is a small church.

  Maraud ties Mogge to one of the nearby fence posts. “I think it is deserted, but better to make sure.” He draws his sword. “I’ll take the houses on the left. You take the right.”

  I nod and draw my own sword. As I creep forward, all of my senses are heightened. The door of the first house is ajar, and it is easy enough to see that its one room is utterly empty. The second house has a thick oak door with iron hinges that creak as I open it. Inside there are a bench and two wooden hoops hanging from the wall, as well as a tripod for cooking. I draw my toe through the straw on the floor. It is old, but dry. No one has likely occupied this house for days.

  I move on to the next house, and the next, each of them equally barren. When I am finished, I return to the horses, where Maraud joins me. “They’ve been gone a month,” he says. “Maybe more than that, but not much more.”

  “I agree they’ve been gone awhile, but why do you think as recently as that?”