Courting Darkness

by Robin LaFevers

  I blink rapidly and make my voice slightly husky, as if holding back tears. “I fear I am alone. As I said, much ill has befallen my party.” He is fair twitching to ask what happened, but is constrained by the formality of his position. “However, I have news that must be delivered to Madame Regent, and turning back offered no safer course than continuing onward.”

  “My lady, I am sorry to hear of all your misfortune. Alas, Madame Regent has ridden out for the morning. Would you like to rest until she returns?”

  I shake my head sadly. “My news and my misfortunes on the road have made me restless. Would it be possible to ease my heart in the gardens? Once I have done that, perhaps I will be able to rest.”

  Every day that I was at court, after the king’s midday meal, he walked in his garden before turning to the social pleasures of the afternoon. I must only position myself and wait.

  “But of course. Let me send for one of Madame’s attendants to escort you.”

  I rest my hand on his arm in a fleeting gesture. “Please, monsieur. I am poor company right now, and the attendants would want to know why I am here. It is for Madame to hear first. Truly, I wish only some time alone in the garden to compose myself.”

  The seneschal’s affection for protocol gives way before the weight of my distress. He leads me through the palace to where the doors open out onto the gardens. “Once you have found your peace, send for me and I will have you settled in a room until Madame returns.”

  I place my hand on my throat in a gesture of profound gratitude. “Thank you, monsieur.”

  And with that, I am alone in the king’s garden.

  * * *

  Nearly an hour later, I hear the sound of voices and footsteps crunching on the gravel. As they draw closer, I am able to pick out a deep rumbling voice I do not recognize. “Send them all back to their brother. They are his to command, no matter what your queen prefers. You do not wish to be seen as weak.”

  “Surely honoring my lady wife’s vows is honorable, not weak,” the familiar voice of the king answers. I shift my position in the hedge ever so slightly, trying to get a glimpse of them.

  The king is dressed in fine satins and velvet that do not hide the slightness of his figure or the shortness of his height. And no finery in the world can hide the plainness of his face. Nevertheless, it is a face that is nearly always kind, and that is more than most of the people I have known at court.

  There are half a dozen men with him, but only one walks beside him, deep in conversation. He is exceptionally tall and towers over the king. He is broad of shoulder and thick with muscle. His features are unrelentingly plain, bordering on ugly. In spite of his looks, he emanates an almost animal virility as deeply compelling as it is unsettling. There is a sense of barely contained civility to him.

  Their steps bring them closer toward me and I realize I must interrupt them or have the king pass by altogether and lose my chance to let him know that I am back.

  I soften my shoulders, widen my eyes, and step out from the shadows of the hedge. “Sire?”

  At the sound of my voice, the king’s head snaps up. His companion’s hand flies to his sword hilt, but seeing me, he does not draw it.

  “Genevieve?”

  I take a hesitant step forward, my hands gently twisting together with doubt.

  “Genevieve? Is that you?” The king waves his retainers away. The large man hesitates until the king flashes him an annoyed glance.

  Alone, the king strides forward to greet me, hands outstretched. He has not forgotten, and he is most definitely happy to see me. The two things I don’t control have fallen my way.

  “Yes, sire. It is I.” I sink into a deep curtsy. Immediately his gloved hand is on my elbow, helping me to my feet.

  “Genevieve.” His voice is low and warm while his gaze sweeps over me, taking in my gown, my shoes, my hair. “I am surprised to see you.”

  “I am sorry to appear unannounced, but I had news that was best given to Madame Regent in person.”

  To my immense relief, he does not press me for the news. Either he does not care or has assumed that it is some matter best left to the women of his household. Either explanation suits me, for bringing up the subject of death while attempting to revive an old tendre will not help my cause.

  He takes my hands. “That is most thoughtful of you, but you were always that.” He smiles warmly, and I realize this fruit still hangs low in the tree. I have merely to pluck it.

  I turn my gaze shyly from him to his prized gardens. “And of course, once I was here I had to indulge myself to admire your gardens.” I sigh, so soft it could easily be missed—​if he weren’t hanging on my every word. “I do miss them so.”

  “As would I if I was not able to visit them whenever I chose.” He gives me his arm. “Let us enjoy them together.”

  There is a loud cough behind us, and the king grimaces. “General Cassel has ridden all the way from Flanders to speak with me. I should not keep him waiting.”

  At the name, everything inside me stills. It is the general Maraud has been seeking—​the man responsible for the murder of his brother. I dare not turn around to look at him. Not with that knowledge in my eyes.

  “You will be staying for a while before you return to Cognac.” The king does not frame it as a question.

  “Of course, Your Majesty.”

  “Good.” He gives my hand a squeeze, then, thinking better of it, lifts it to his lips. “Soon.” His eyes are warm upon mine. “I will see you soon. You have my promise.”

  I curtsy deeply. “You do me great honor, Your Majesty.” When I rise, General Cassel is watching me with amused speculation. There is a calculation in his manner that has me believing every word Maraud has said about him. Something in his gaze makes me feel stripped bare, so I lift my skirts and hurry away, careful to keep my head high and my shoulders straight.

   Chapter 85

  eeling well pleased with the day’s work, I return to the palace. Before I can so much as search out the seneschal, I stumble upon the regent. She is attended by four of her loyal ladies, and has a distinct air of self-satisfaction about her.

  When she sees me, the smile vanishes and she comes to a sudden stop, her attendants having to step lightly to avoid trampling her. “Genevieve?”

  “Madame Regent.” I sink into a deep curtsy, glancing up from between my lashes to see how she is taking my sudden appearance.

  While her face registers mild surprise, the look she gives me is not unwelcome. In truth, she looks—​almost—​glad to see me. Which is odd, as I was never her favorite.

  “Come, walk with me.” She waves her other ladies back and casts me a speculative glance as she takes my arm in hers. “What brings you here? I had no news of your coming.”

  “I am sorry for that, Madame. A messenger was sent, but it appears he did not arrive.”

  Her fine brows draw into a delicate frown. “And where are your attendants?” The faint reproach in her voice is unmistakable, although whether it is for me or my missing attendants, I am unsure.

  “That is more bad news, Madame! I fear I bear nothing but distressing tales.”

  She looks at me sharply. “Come, you must tell me of them.” She turns to her ladies. “You are dismissed. I will find you when I have need of you again.”

  With that, she takes my arm more firmly in hers and leads me down the hall. “We will be more comfortable in my office, where I can hear your tale in its entirety.”

  “Thank you, Madame.” My voice is low, measured, and grateful, but inside I am cursing my luck. While I knew I would have to speak with her, I did not think it would be so very soon.

  Her office is finely appointed, opulent even, filled with elegant furniture and decorations. She escorts me to one of the intricately carved Italian chairs facing her desk, then takes her seat behind it. “So, what brings you here, unannounced and unescorted?” She is not as shocked as I feared she would be, which is to my favor. Indeed, she is studying me much
as a farmwife studies a freshly snared rabbit.

  “It is a long, unpleasant tale, Madame.”

  “The sooner begun, the sooner it will be over.” She settles back in her chair, folds her slim white hands, and gives me her full attention.

  I clasp my own hands in my lap. “I come bearing the saddest of news, and met with even more of it along the way. As I told you, the messenger I sent did not make it. Additionally, my own escort and attendants were attacked, near Sainte-Maure.”

  Her eyes widen at this. “By whom?”

  “I don’t know. Brigands. Outlaws. I only know that my escorts sacrificed their lives so that I might escape.”

  She regards me thoughtfully. “You made it all the way from Sainte-Maure to Plessis alone?”

  “What choice did I have? To turn back was a longer journey. And since the others paid with their lives, it felt disrespectful of their sacrifice to do anything other than continue.”

  “You could have sought aid at a church or abbey. They could have provided you with an escort for the rest of your trip.”

  “I never considered that, Madame. From all that you have taught us, I thought the fewer people who saw me alone, the better.”

  “That is a reasonable approach,” she concedes. “Tell me exactly where you were attacked so that we may send out inquiries. This will not go unpunished.”

  I describe the small valley where d’Albret’s men caught up to us. Even if the wolves or carrion have carried off the remains of the dead, there will be plenty of signs of our struggle.

  “I am truly sorry for all that you had to endure,” she says. “And you did so because you had news for me?”

  I cannot tell if it is my imagination or if her interest is especially piqued. Is she thinking of the prisoner she ordered forgotten? Or is there some other news she is hoping for?

  “I do. Tragic news. I am afraid that Margot is dead.”

  Her pale face grows even paler. “Dead?”

  “Yes, Madame.” Much to my surprise, my eyes begin to water, and I must blink fiercely to keep them from spilling over. Of all the people with whom I would share my grief, the regent is near the last of my list.

  “When?”

  “Six days before the royal wedding.”

  “Why did the count not inform me of this immediately?”

  “I am certain he did not wish to darken a joyous occasion with such news.”

  “That was most thoughtful of him.” Her tone is dry. She drums her fingers on the chair arm a moment before asking. “What did she die of?”

  I have but a heartbeat or two to decide whether to tell the truth or to protect Count Angoulême. “She died giving birth to Count Angoulême’s bastard.”

  Madame’s nostrils flare, and her head rears back slightly before she turns to look out the window. “I am sorry,” she says. In those words I hear not only sorrow that Margot has passed, but that Madame herself has placed her in such circumstances. She turns back to me. “How is Louise taking all this?”

  I must tread carefully here. “Louise is much concerned with her own pregnancy, and in doing her duty by the count, as you have instructed her. She is sad for Margot’s passing, of course, but is not dwelling on it lest the melancholy damage her own babe.”

  Madame gives a brusque nod of approval. “That is most wise of her.” She tilts her head and examines me. “And what of you?” Her voice is as gentle as I’ve ever heard it. “The two of you have been together nearly your whole life, as I understand it.”

  I am impressed that she remembers that much about us with as many girls as she fosters. “I miss her terribly. It is why I volunteered to bring the news myself. It is too difficult to be in Cognac surrounded by reminders of Margot.”

  Because I am so practiced in remaining guarded all the time, it is hard to let the truth of these words show on my face, but she must see something that convinces her. “Poor Genevieve. And you recently lost your father as well, or so Count Angoulême told me in one of his letters.”

  I school my features so that the surprise I feel will not show. “That is true, although I have not seen him for longer than ten years and can hardly remember him.”

  She brings her hand up to her chin, one long, slim finger tapping her lips. “And your mother died when you were . . . ?”

  “Born, Madame. She died when I was born, and my father’s mother lived with him and cared for me until she, too, died.”

  “So you truly are all alone in this world now.”

  “Yes.” Hidden in the folds of my skirt, my hands clench into fists. No.

  “Well, I am sorry for the nature of what brings you here, but I cannot be sad to see you.”

  This is unexpected. I would not have guessed that she would have thought twice about my absence, since it was she who arranged it.

  She studies me a moment before rising from her chair and crossing to the window to stare out into the courtyard. “You know that the king is married now, and a new queen sits beside him.”

  Is this some veiled warning she is giving me? “But of course. I wish them both much joy and good health.”

  She casts me an unreadable glance. “This is a marriage of political expediency. One for the good of the crown. We all miss our dear dauphine very much.”

  “I am sorry, Madame.” I’m somewhat taken aback by her admission. I don’t think we’ve exchanged words before that did not involve instructions of some kind. Or a reprimand.

  “But”—​she turns from the window abruptly, her face animated—​“your timing is most fortunate, and I believe there is a role for you to play here at court.”

  It is all I can do not to gape at her. I only wanted for her to believe my story so I could remain in Plessis long enough to seduce the king, but now she is claiming she has need of me? “Of course, Madame. I am happy to serve however I can.”

  Just as long as it does not come between me and my own plans.

  “One of the things I have always admired about you is your pragmatism. That and your wit.”

  “My wit, my lady?”

  “Oh, you try to hide it from everyone, but there is a keen intelligence inside that head of yours. Although you are correct in remaining humble about it,” she is quick to add. The regent returns to her desk, carefully adjusts her skirts, then resumes her seat before pinning me with a direct gaze. “You know that the duchess of Brittany and the crown have been on opposite sides of a conflict for a long while now.”

  I nod.

  “The duchess—​Ah! But I keep forgetting to call her the queen! The queen is young and beautiful and determined to maintain Brittany’s independence at any cost. In short, I do not trust her.”

  This is precisely the sort of news the convent would have dearly loved to know—​if it still existed. “It is not hard to see why, Madame.”

  “But, as I said, she is young and beautiful, and the king shows signs of being somewhat inclined to indulge her.”

  I say nothing, but simply nod. In truth, I am speechless at the confidences pouring from her mouth.

  “Now that there is an official queen, it makes my own position somewhat more difficult. That is where you come in.”

  I blink, feeling like I have missed something. I understand that she fears being misplaced by this new queen—​it is no doubt one of the reasons she misses the young dauphine, who was like a daughter to her.

  She picks up a quill from her desk and runs her fingers along the neatly trimmed feathers. “You have long held the king’s affection. For the good of the interests of the crown, I think it would be wise for you to remain at court and reawaken that interest, pursue it to its fullest measure.”

  It takes me a moment to digest her words. “You mean, you wish me to sleep with him?”

  Her fingers stop playing with the feathers and she points the quill in my direction. “I want you to see to his every comfort. He is king, after all.”

  I must look incredulous. Or mayhap she thinks I have misunderstood her, for she lean
s across the table. “I wish you to become his new mistress.”

  “But, Madame!” A distant roar of outrage tries to escape. If she had not sent us to Cognac, then Margot might still be alive. I ruthlessly shove that knowledge aside. “You specifically instructed me to do everything I could to dissuade his interest. Including sending me away!”

  “Things change. Times change. But France’s needs must always come first.”

  And that’s when the fullness of her plan comes to me. “You wish me to sleep with the king so I can share whatever I learn with you.”

  She smiles as if I am her most prized pupil. “There is that wit that sets you apart.”

  I am stunned with both the audacity of her plan and the sheer hypocrisy of it. Does she realize she is acting the procurer?

  But what leaves me truly breathless is that she has just swept the legs out from under my own plan. Found a way to use it for her own end. She has run out of leverage to bend the king to her wishes, so now wishes to use me as coin.

  “Madame . . .”

  She puts her hand up to stop my words, her mouth a flat line of displeasure. “Do not say anything you will regret, Genevieve. Do not forget the debt you owe us—​me—​for taking you in, training you in the ways of being a lady, honoring your family by showing you such favor.”

  “Madame, as you know, I was convent raised until I came to court. Will you have me go against the very precepts of the Church? I cannot help but think they would frown most severely upon what you suggest. Especially with the king so newly married.”

  She huffs out a breath. “Kings have always been given great leeway in these matters by the Church, as do the women who serve them.”

  “What if the queen finds out? Won’t she try to have me removed from court?”

  A secretive smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. “I will worry about the queen. Your job will be to keep the king happy. Do we have an agreement?”

  As she studies me, waiting for my answer, I am filled with disappointment. Not only for the task she has asked of me, but that she is the one to ask it. Of all the woman I have known, she is the one who wields the most power. She has commanded armies, conducted treaties, presided over every formal gathering imaginable. She has heads of state and bishops, cardinals and even the pope at her disposal. With all the tools available to her, in the end this is the plan she turns to.