Igniting Darkness

by Robin LaFevers

  Sybella remains unconvinced. “This is a ludicrous plan. There are too many ways it can go wrong.”

  Aeva, however, is stroking her chin, deep in thought. “I would have to speak with the bear first, to be certain he agreed.”

  “I think you will find him amenable,” Father Effram says softly, then picks up the offering he’s prepared and heads for the wall to the left side of the altar. That is when I see the nine niches—this chapel is old enough to have included the worship of the Nine, once upon a time. “It is worth considering.” He sets the offering down and begins placing a small portion in each of the alcoves. When he has finished, he returns to stand before us. “There,” he says. “We have asked God and the Nine for their blessing on this endeavor. Surely they will answer our prayers.”

  “Surely,” Lazare mutters.

  “I don’t care what they answer, we are not using that bear,” Sybella mumbles.

   Chapter 68

  The bear is surprisingly docile, no doubt because the Arduinnite has her hand firmly on the scruff of his neck. She speaks to him in soothing whispers as they amble across the causeway over the ditch that protects the west wing of the palace. Beside me, Sybella waits, tension humming through her body like musical notes through a harp string.

  “Can’t they hurry?” she mutters.

  “The patrol just passed. We have a few minutes before they’re within sight again.”

  “At this rate, it will take them every one of those minutes.”

  “I hope not,” I say, even as I glance around for a hiding place should her words prove true.

  When the bear is finally across the causeway, with four minutes to spare, he rises on his hind legs and snuffles the stone arch. Up close, I can see that he is old, with bald patches in his coat. Aeva had told us he was tired. Tired of crowds and performing, being surrounded by loud people who wanted to poke and dare him, tired of not being able to curl up and hibernate in the winter, as was his nature.

  He had, according to her, consented to this idea, welcoming the reprieve it would bring him. Beast’s dungeon cell, deep below the earth and dark, is as close as he can get to a cave, and he will take it gladly.

  Or so he told Aeva.

  Yannic is with them, ready to claim he is the bear’s owner should he be discovered. The bored queen had seen them through the window and asked for a private performance. It is a feeble excuse, especially in the dead of night, but if we need it, we will have bigger problems to worry about. Lazare brings up the rear, looking every bit as impatient as Sybella.

  Once inside the palace, the bear lumbers toward the donjon as if he knows right where to go. “He smells the water from the fountain,” Aeva explains.

  “He’d best forget the fountain and get out of sight,” Sybella hisses, “before the next patrol comes along.”

  “Two minutes,” I whisper.

  Aeva tugs the bear back in the direction of the servants’ chapel, where Father Effram and Poulet await. Our hiding place until the next passing of the sentries.

  Father Effram has just closed the door when we hear the scrape of the patrol’s boots upon the stone. I let out a sigh of relief while Sybella glares at me.

  Inside the wings of the palace proper, we do not need to worry about patrolling sentries so much as the random wandering courtier or servant. But we do not get to linger long. We must get ourselves and the bear across the inner courtyard that surrounds the central tower.

  “You ready?” I ask as I tug the bodice of my gown a little lower, then bite my lips to make them look fuller and riper. Sybella does not look ready to flirt and distract, but far more as if she is preparing to ride into battle. I nudge her playfully. “We will only flirt long enough to drink a cup of wine with them, long enough that when they wake in the morning, they will not think of sleeping drafts and wish only they had not drunk so much. They will also be too embarrassed to mention it to anyone.”

  “You seem to be enjoying this.” She rakes me over with one of her penetrating looks that is supposed to unnerve me, but with the agitation I see there, it is not quite as effective as she wishes.

  “Pinch your cheeks. Put a swing in your hips. I’ll do the rest.” I hoist the wine jug Father Effram put aside for us and head for the guardhouse.

  Inside are four guards, somewhat sleepy and very bored. They perk up when they see us, all but one, who scowls like one of the king’s hunting mastiffs. He is the one we will have to win over. Before he can say anything, I lean forward, making my eyes wide and excited. “Is it true?” I ask breathlessly. “Do you really hold”—I lower my voice—“the Beast of Waroch down there? Is he truly as savage as they say?”

  The youngest of the four puffs up. “It’s true. Every word of it. And yes, he is—”

  “Shut your trap, pup, and don’t go yammering to the first pretty face who pops her head in here. Afore you know it, we’ll have flocks of maids wanting to know this or that about our guest.” The older guard snickers, as if relishing the thought.

  “And won’t that make General Cassel happy,” the bulldog growls.

  “He’ll never find out.” I pour him some wine. “We’ll certainly never tell. But if there is such a savage beast in our midst, surely we have a right to know so we may protect ourselves.”

  Sybella leans forward, intentionally allowing her décolletage near their long noses as she fills the other cups. “I hear he gnaws on the bars of his cage rather than eat the food he is brought.”

  The young guard warms to the subject. “I’ve never heard or seen anything like it, m’lady. And the stench!”

  “She’s no lady, you imbecile,” the bulldog growls. Fortunately his doubt of her noble blood does not prevent him from drinking the wine I have poured.

  That is all the encouragement the others need before they toss back their cups. Well, that and a flash of cleavage now and then. For all that Sybella claims I am good at this, she is no slouch either.

  It takes less than half an hour before all of them finally succumb. The bulldog is the last, of course, and he is not sitting, but standing so that we must catch him.

  “Feels like he had rocks for his supper,” Sybella grunts as we lower him to the ground.

  When he is laid out, I stand up and wipe my hands on my skirt. “Come on, then, let’s get the others.”

  * * *

  Crossing the inner courtyard to the dungeon is the most vulnerable part of the plan. We cannot even cling to the shadows, but must strike out into the open where anyone from any palace window might see. It is why we have chosen the darkest hour of the night, when even the most debauched have taken to their beds—if not sleep—and it is too early yet for even the most industrious of servants to be about.

  It also leaves only two hours until daylight, when the main gates open and we can hide ourselves among the crowd.

  “How many other prisoners are there?” Father Effram asks when we finally reach the stairs that lead down to the dungeon.

  “None,” Sybella tells him. Even so, she stops at the bottom of the stairs and checks for heartbeats. When she motions that all is clear, we proceed. Or try to. The bear picks that moment to balk, rising up on his hind legs and emitting an unholy moaning sound.

  “He smells blood,” Aeva says.

  “That would be the corpse of the guard General Cassel killed,” I explain.

  Aeva rubs the creature’s back and murmurs something near his ear, and he drops down on all fours again and begins shuffling forward.

  We have not gone twenty steps when the bear stops again, this time fascinated by the shiny suit of armor. “For the love of the Dark Mother, tell the thing to hurry,” Lazare says.

  “It is his last taste of freedom, and he is doing us a great service,” Aeva says. “Let him take his time.”

  Finally growing bored with the armor, the bear lumbers back toward the hallway, and we begin herding him toward Beast’s cell. “You’d best go ahead and let him know what is coming,” I tell Sybella.


  “There is no way to prepare him for this daft plan,” she says. Even so, I fall back and let her approach alone.

  “Hello,” she whispers. “I’ve brought you some company.”

  “Good. I am tired of speaking to the walls.” The words rumble out of the depths of the chamber, sounding remarkably like a bear’s growl.

  I busy myself with picking the giant lock on the door—which is easier than stealing the guards’ keys, then having to return them. When it is unlocked and opened, the bear makes as if to bolt into the dark cave, but Aeva holds him back—barely.

  “Not just yet,” she murmurs. “Beast might not be in the mood for surprises right now.”

  “He loves animals,” Sybella says. “He would not mind.”

  Lazare looks at her like her head is stuffed with cabbage rather than brains. “It is a bear, not a hunting hound or horse.”

  The bear breaks out of Aeva’s grasp just then and lopes into the cell. There is not even time to call out a warning.

  A long beat of silence is followed by snuffling noises. Moments later, Beast appears, the bear at his side like a loyal hound. “May I keep him?” Beast asks, rubbing the creature’s head.

  Sybella closes her eyes, and I can see the wave of relief sweep through her. “Sadly, no. He’s heard about your cozy den and wishes to have it for himself.”

  Beast’s amused expression clouds over. “What do you mean?”

  It is Aeva who steps forward to explain it to him.

  “Where is this body you spoke of?” Lazare’s question is so close to my ear it makes me jump. “Maybe there’s something we can do with it so it won’t stink up the place and alert everyone to the fact that there’s something dead down here.”

  “This way.” I direct Lazare and Poulet to the drain, then leave them to their task.

  Beast is dressed by the time they’ve got the body more fully hidden.

  “That is no guard’s uniform,” Sybella says flatly.

  Father Effram shrugs apologetically. “They had none big enough for Beast. They are also closely guarded. Besides”—he brightens—“it is safer to maintain the pretense we began with than to switch partway through.”

  “How are we going to get a man wearing a bearskin out of the palace gate?”

  “Beast will discard the skin for his peasant’s garb and leave with the night soil farmers,” Lazare says. “No one inspects those wagons.”

  “It will work,” Beast says. “But first, I must say goodbye.”

  The bear is happily curled in the thin blanket on the pile of hay that served as Beast’s bed. Aeva is talking with him and gives his nose a final scratch before standing up. “He is ready.”

  Beast nods, then kneels down before the bear, putting their faces close together. The words he utters are too low to hear, but something meaningful passes between them. When Beast stands up to leave, Father Effram slips into the cell, carrying a loaf of bread. “I have heard the food they serve the prisoners is unwholesome,” he explains.

  Now that Father Effram has made the first gesture, I feel less foolish as I take the small bag I’ve carried at my belt, remove three sweet yellow apples, and set them before the bear. “Even bears do not live by bread alone,” I whisper. The bear lifts his head to eye me with faint curiosity.

  Lazare pokes his head in. “We haven’t got all day, people.”

  Sybella darts past Father Effram. “Go on,” she tells me. “I’ll be right there.” But of course I stop to see what she is doing. She unwraps a large piece of honeycomb dripping with honey and places it in front of the bear. “Thank you,” she whispers.

  The bear leans forward and licks her face, and I must turn away, but whether to laugh or to cry I cannot say.

   Chapter 69

  Beast is much more cooperative than the bear, and we move quickly across the inner courtyard toward the east gate tower. “You are certain Angoulême will be there,” Sybella murmurs in my ear.

  “I am.” I paid him a visit the night after we all met in the chapel. He was not amused when I stepped out of my hiding place in his chambers and demanded his help—at knifepoint.

  Once I explained what we needed, he was more cooperative. “He is not just doing it for me, but because of his dislike of Cassel and his admiration of Beast.”

  Before Sybella can press me further, she tilts her head. “Someone is coming.” She listens a moment longer, then swears. “The regent.”

  Shock pins me in place. “Here? Now?”

  “Which direction?” Beast asks softly.

  “From the spiral staircase. Get out of sight,” she hisses at everyone, using her hands to motion them along.

  Father Effram murmurs, “This is where I think I shall leave you. My presence will be better spent trying to divert Madame.”

  While we all scramble toward the shadows of the gatehouse, he backs up a number of paces so that he is adjacent with the central tower, then begins strolling toward the spiral staircase, hands folded and eyes cast down in thought. Just as we reach the safety of the jutting wall that will hide us from her view, Father Effram’s voice rings out. “Madame Regent! What a pleasant surprise.”

  “Father Effram!” The lilt in her voice does not speak of pleasant surprise but a most unwelcome one. “What are you doing here?”

  “One of the servants has taken ill, and I promised I would pray for him. Sometimes I find it helps my praying if I walk. Or mayhap it is not my praying it helps, but my wakefulness.”

  “Outside? In the dark of night?”

  “I always feel closer to God outside, Madame—is it not so with you? And, I must admit, the cold helps keep me awake.”

  And what brings you out here, Madame? The question is there, hanging like a ripe plum ready to be picked, but he does not ask it. It would be too great an affront.

  “I hope everything is well with you, Madame? I should be happy to add you to my prayers as well, if you’d like.”

  “I do not need your prayers, old man. And you’d best find your way to your bed before you catch a chill and others must take care of you.”

  Her words are followed by the sound of clipped footsteps as she crosses the courtyard. To our great relief, they do not veer in this direction, but move toward the opposite wing. Sybella puts her lips against my ear. “What is she doing up and about at this hour?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “And where is the be-damned count?”

  “Maybe he saw her coming and is hiding until she has passed?”

  But long moments tick by, and he doesn’t show. Beast joins Sybella and me. “If he is not coming, we’d best figure out another plan. Can you tell how many are in the gatehouse?”

  She draws closer to the wall, places her hands against it, and closes her eyes. “One,” she says, after a moment. “There is only one guard inside.”

  Just as Beast’s face brightens at this unexpected good luck, the door to the gatehouse opens and out steps Count Angoulême.

  Relief gushes through me, propelling me forward. “What are you doing here?” I try to peer around his shoulder. “Where are the guards?”

  “Good evening to you, too.”

  “Do not play games right now. The regent just passed by here not moments ago.”

  “That is why I did not open the door sooner.” His face grows sober. “I did not trust that the guards would keep their mouths shut. Instead, they received conflicting orders so that there was some confusion about who is on duty tonight, leaving the way clear for me to assist you.”

  I am momentarily stunned—it is far more than I would have expected of him. “Why?”

  “As you so eloquently argued, I owe you. Not to mention, I abhor what the general is doing to some of the best young knights that have ever graced our battlefields. I am also hoping this will even the score between us.”

  I stare into his puffy, hooded eyes and wonder if the debt between us can ever be settled. But debts can also be forgiven. I nod. “As even as it can ever be.” He
looks disappointed, but resigned. “However, I must warn you, we will come for Margot’s babe. She is of Mortain.”

  “She is also mine, and I care for her deeply.”

  As deeply as a man such as himself can care for a daughter. “Nevertheless, we reserve the right to claim her.” I feel a whisper of movement at my back and know that Sybella is behind me.

  “Is everything all right here?” she asks.

  Angoulême stares at her, then back at me. “Yes. Now, would you all like to come in, or shall we stand here arguing until the regent decides to return?”

  “Thought you’d never ask,” Sybella mutters.

  As the others file in, I linger behind for a moment, “Have you come up with a way to get General Cassel away from here for a few days?”

  “There is good hunting north of Paris, and the king is growing both bored with court and disgusted with his advisors. A hunting trip will do him good.”

  “And what of the general?”

  Angoulême laughs. “He will not need persuading. He lives for the hunt.”

  “Even when he has such an intriguing target as Beast before him?”

  “Yes, but if he goes with the king, he gets to kill things—and that is always his first choice.”

  He steps away from the door. “This is goodbye, then.” I am surprised by the note of sadness in his voice. He reaches out and runs a finger down my throat. Annoyance flares, but before I can give voice to it, he says, “Your stubborn chin has always been your most intriguing feature.” He sighs. “And now I must go hunting with that man. Christ, I’m likely to end up with a spear in my back.”

  “Stay upwind,” I tell him.

   Chapter 70

  Sybella

  At the far side of the first room is yet another door. To our relief, it opens easily and holds a stack of torches, as well as stone sconces for setting them in.