Chapter 107
Sybella
Fortune smiles on me again on the third day as the skies open up and release a torrent of rain, forcing us to stay inside. Since I have learned all I can about the outer defenses, it is time to turn my attention to what the keep itself has to offer up.
“But why do you want to be down in the storerooms?” Jamette asks in a plaintive whine.
“What else have you got to do?”
“I don’t know. Drink wine. Play draughts. Embroider. Anything that involves being in front of a fire and warm.”
I glance at her over my shoulder. “The exercise will do you good. You have grown soft and pasty-looking.”
Her mouth snaps shut, and she looks down at her bodice. It is not true. If anything, she has grown sharp and brittle, as if a single blow could turn her into fragments. But arguing with me gives her an outlet for all the bilious humor that is eating away at her.
“Besides,” I say more gently, “the keep is old and drafty, and I wanted to see if there were any tapestries or bedding or carpets we could use to help keep out the cold air.” That reasoning appeases her somewhat. “You take that side, I’ll take this one.”
She nods and moves off toward the right, while I veer left to where the stored items look distinctly unlike bedding or tapestries.
“You should leave,” I tell her.
She snorts. “My life is worth nothing if I leave you alone.”
“I don’t mean this minute. I mean leave the holding.”
“I already told you, I’ve nowhere to go,” she says as she wrestles with a large roll of heavy fabric.
“And I have told you that you are wrong about that. There is only death for you here, Jamette, be it a fast one or a slow one. You are too young to resign yourself to this fate.” I see a stack of barrels and draw closer.
“Is that not our lot in life? To resign ourselves to fate?”
“No. We must fight and push and shove. Put our hand on Fortune’s wheel to give it our own spin.”
Her mulish gaze is joined by something else—something too feeble to be called hope, but interest, mayhap. “And how does one do that?”
“By leaping.” The barrels hold wine and cooking oil. Beside them are vats of tallow. In short, a wealth of substances that will cheerfully catch fire.
She glances to where I’ve been staring. “You have grown mad again.”
I casually turn to my right and examine whatever is in front of my nose. It is a stack of old straw mattresses. More flammable materials. “I don’t mean leaping out the window, you foolish goose. I mean taking a chance. Risk. Stepping outside what you know and hoping it will be better than what you’re used to. It cannot be worse.”
“And where am I to go?” She flings her hands out to her side. “I do not have a duchess who will take me in or a knight who will run away with me. I am not brave or skilled like you are. I am just a girl who has nothing—no family, no future, no one to turn to. I do not wish to sell myself on the streets to any man who fancies me.”
“I do not wish that for you either, but there are other choices. None of them anything like the future you once hoped for. But they can lead to a good life, a solid one with moments of happiness and contentment.” I do not just want her away from the fire when it starts, but from Pierre as well. She can survive a burn, but I am not convinced she can survive Pierre.
She folds her arms. “Like what?”
“I think the convent of Saint Brigantia is your best choice.”
She barks out a laugh. “So whore or nun? Those are my choices?”
“Many Brigantians do not take a vow of celibacy. Convents are also places of learning, of second chances, places where girls like you may find respite from the world while you decide what path to take.” I take a step closer to her, marveling at what a sapskull I’ve become to care about her. “I promise you, it will be better than this one that you’re on.”
The guardedness finally falls away from her eyes. “Even if I were to want that, how would I possibly get free of here?” she asks in a small voice.
It has worked—I have piqued her interest. “You watch for a chance to escape. We are surrounded by chance and happenstance every day. We’ve only to watch for it.”
“Is that what you were looking for yesterday? Happenstance?”
I steadily meet her gaze. “No. I was hoping to see if they had any messenger pigeons in the mews.”
She huffs out a sigh. “They don’t. Now, stop all this talking and snooping, else you get us both in trouble.”
There. I have said all I can without risking giving away my entire plan. I will have to hope that it will be enough.
Chapter 108
Genevieve
Once I am packed, I change into my plainest, most serviceable gown. Hopefully, Beast will have been freed from his prison by now. He will want to know of Sybella’s fate—and will likely wish to come with me.
His help would be most welcome.
I slip out of my room intending to find Maraud and let him know what has happened. I will not simply disappear on him again. Besides, like Beast, he may wish to come with me, and I would not mind the backup. Although, if the king accepts my challenge, that could prove awkward.
But he won’t. That would require setting aside a worldview he has too heavy a stake in.
The palace at Nantes is big, and I have no idea which of the many rooms Maraud has been given. I spend a quarter hour searching, wishing, for the dozenth time, that my gift was more like Sybella’s and I could sense heartbeats of the living.
In the end, there are simply too many rooms, and I do not wish to delay my departure any longer. Mayhap I can find Jaspar or Valine and leave a message with them.
Outside in the palace courtyard, a handful of courtiers linger near the dovecote, and servants scurry to and from the well, but there is no sign of Maraud. I hitch the pack higher on my shoulder and begin making my way to the stables at the end of the yard. Just as I pass the old round tower whose stones are roughened with age, the door flies open and Maraud steps out, his face holding all the furies of a winter storm.
“What is wrong?” I ask.
It takes him a moment to register it is me. “Genevieve!” He grabs my arm and pulls me to the south end of the tower, away from the palace windows that glitter like so many eyes. “He is gone.” The words nearly explode out of him.
My head is so full of my concern for Sybella that I can’t process his words. “Who is gone?”
Anger sparks in his eyes. “Beast. That rutting pig Cassel left the palace and took Beast with him.”
I swear violently as Sybella’s chance for rescue grows slimmer. “How? The man is bigger than an ox and cannot have gone willingly.”
Maraud glares at the tower, as if trying to discern the answer from its walls. “I don’t know. But I will find out.” For the first time, he notices my gown and the pack slung over my shoulder. “Where are you going?” Then he looks at my face. “What’s wrong? You look pale as a corpse.”
“The king handed Sybella over to Pierre three days before I got here. I am going after her. I was trying to find you and Beast before I left.”
It is Maraud’s turn to swear most foully. “Two people we must rescue.”
“And no idea where either of them are.”
In frustration, Maraud puts his hand on his head and stares up at the sky. “D’Albret might have taken Sybella to Givrand. It is much nearer than Limoges and is where he staged the troops and supplies he needed for the rebellion. At the very least, he will have stopped there on his way to another holding. He won’t risk taking such an unwilling prisoner to an inn.”
I nod and veer toward the stables. “I will start there. I had hoped you could come with me, but you must go after Beast, and I will find Sybella.”
Maraud looks at me as if I have sprouted horns. “You cannot wander into that viper pit alone. We will come with you.”
“We?”
�
��Jaspar and the others are here in Nantes, awaiting my instructions.”
“They need to go with you. Given Cassel’s penchant for both brutality and cruelty, we cannot just leave Beast to his care. There is no knowing what he intends to do.”
“As you said, Beast is strong as an ox, and I know he would rather we spend our efforts on Sybella before coming for him. In truth, he would likely have my bones for breakfast if I were to do anything else. I’ll send Andry and Tassin after Beast.”
I cut him a glance. “And how will they find him? Besides, you have your own unfinished business with the man.”
“It is not as important as your safety. Or Sybella’s.” In spite of the direness of our circumstances, I cannot stop the warmth his words cause in my chest any more than I can stop the rising of the sun.
As we draw near the stables, I feel rather than see a shift in the shadows on the left side of the barn. My hand flies to the dagger at my waist as a short, lithe figure detaches itself just enough to be visible. Lazare spits to the side. “Thought you’d never show up.”
“You’re here!” I say.
“Came with the others.” Lazare tilts his head toward the shadows, where I see Aeva, Yannic, and Poulet. “Been waiting for you. Although I’ve had the Dark Mother’s own time keeping Yannic from riding off after Beast.”
Maraud’s hand drops from his sword. “You know where they went?”
Yannic nods emphatically, and Lazare says, “He’ll show you, and I’ll go with her.”
“See?” I tell Maraud, my heart surging. “I won’t be going alone. I’ll have Lazare with me. And Yannic will lead you to Beast.”
His face is pure anguish. “Beast would want me to go after Sybella with you.”
“If you do not go after him, he may not live to kill you,” I point out. “Besides,” I remind him gently, “Sybella is worth four men at least. Between the two of us, Lazare, and the others, we shall be fine.”
He has opened his mouth to argue more when Lazare emits a low sharp whistle of warning. Yannic slips out of sight just as the sound of booted feet reaches my ears. I turn on my heel and, to my utter shock, find the king and eight of his men standing there, dressed as if they are going hunting.
The king glances at Maraud. “Is he coming too?”
“No.” I turn to Maraud. “See? Even the king will be at my side.”
Maraud’s eyes widen in a moment of shock, then he simply raises an eyebrow, his brown eyes touched with humor. “Very well, then.” He bows to the king. “Your Majesty. I know that you will keep her safe.”
It is the perfect thing to say, and the king’s manner relaxes ever so slightly. “I will, Sir Crunard. Why are you not joining us?”
Maraud’s mouth hardens. “Because it seems General Cassel has left the premises and taken Sir Waroch with him.”
Lazare starts to spit again, then stops himself—out of consideration for the king, I imagine. “If you’ve all talked enough, we’d best be off if we want to get started today, else we won’t have enough daylight to even bother.”
The king scowls at me. “Who’s this?”
“This, Your Majesty, is Lazare, one of the queen’s most trusted guardsmen, the mastermind behind our stunning artillery display at Morlaix, and to my great relief, the man who will lead us to d’Albret’s holding.”
Chapter 109
Sybella
Late that night, when everyone else has been asleep for hours, I sprinkle a pinch of night whispers into my hand, close my palm around it, and cross to the door. Once there, I kneel down and blow the fine powder out toward the two guards whose heartbeats are my constant companions.
I am not trying to kill them, only ensure they sleep—soundly—for the next few hours.
It does not take long. By the time I stand up, brush off my hands, and grab my cloak, their hearts have slowed to a deep, steady rhythm. I hear a faint thud as one of them slumps to the ground, then a second. I slip the small metal box containing the night whispers into the hidden pocket of my gown and open the door.
Stepping over the guards’ inert bodies, I call the shadows to me and make my way from the fourth floor down to the first. Outside it is like child’s play to stick with the shadows and avoid any of the patrolling guards’ attention. When I reach the armory, I wait until the sentry makes his pass, then once he is out of sight, hurry to the door. Using a thin knife, it takes mere seconds to pick the lock, slip it from the latch, and let myself in.
Once my eyes have adjusted, I move directly to the pile of small iron pots that I saw from the window. Ever since that moment, a plan has been taking shape in my mind.
I squat down and examine them. Nearby is a discarded and equally ancient stack of arrowlike bolts, the leather wrapped around them old and fraying, but not rotting. They will be perfect for setting off small explosions throughout the keep to move everybody toward the exit and get the innocents away from the coming conflagration.
In front of them sit the ribauldequins, looking like a giant’s broom with the twelve iron barrels pointing out from the wooden platform. While they are old weapons, more popular a hundred years ago, they will serve my purposes well enough. They do not need to destroy the castle or take down armies, they need only to start a fire.
One too big to be put out.
I approach the cannon. The first will blast a hole through the armory wall. The second, the castle wall itself. Then the ribauldequins will launch a succession of smaller shot and arrows that will deter Pierre’s men from approaching the armory before all the other explosions have gone off.
I stand there a long moment, envisioning the sequence. It could work. It will work. But it all boils down to timing. Precise, precise timing. And the gunpowder. Please, Dark Mother, do not have brought me so close only to have my plans die for want of black powder.
But my concerns are alleviated. A quick search reveals it is all there, the corned powder and even the flax cord I will need as a fuse. If this is not an indication of the Dark Mother’s blessing on my plan, I do not know what is.
I am so giddy with my good fortune that I float back to my room, nearly as weightless as one of the shadows I am pretending to be.
Chapter 110
Genevieve
The king accepted my challenge. My mind can scarce wrap around that truth. Oh, it was couched in an invitation, but it was a challenge nonetheless. One made out of anger and frustration. He has surprised me when I had despaired of ever getting through that thick skull of his.
But now that he has finally heard me, will it be too late for the person I’ve come to love more than any sister?
Mayhap that is why my heart is pounding so fast and will not stop.
Or perhaps it pounds because I wish it were Maraud beside me and not the king, although I know it is selfish, as Beast cannot be left to Cassel’s ministrations.
But Maraud has fought Pierre—many times—and won. He has demonstrated he is worth a dozen of Pierre’s soldiers, while the king . . . I sneak a quick glance his way. I cannot imagine him withstanding even one of Pierre’s hardened knights. Guilt pokes at me, knowing this is precisely what the king fears when others look at him. I tell myself that it requires even more bravery to go up against a foe when you are not as skilled as those around you, but rutting goats, I hope I do not end up getting His Majesty killed.
No. Not even Pierre would do such a thing.
But the king is in disguise, wearing the clothes of a minor nobleman, accompanied by only eight of his king’s guard. Pierre could easily strike him down before realizing who he is.
And that is only one of the ways this can all go wrong. Indeed, having any of this go right will be harder than threading a needle with a length of straw.
I have come so close to fixing what I broke. The queen’s innocence has been proved. The regent neutralized. And the king is here, with me, willing to open his eyes to the world and see the truth about Sybella. Truly, it is a mountain I thought I would never reach the top
of. Please Mortain and all the saints, do not let it be too late.
* * *
We reach Pierre’s holding late on the second day, just as night is falling. The gate is locked for the night, and all is quiet. I want to pound on it and demand they show us Sybella, but the king and Lazare convince me that is unwise. Best not to approach until we have formed a plan. If we had an army at our back, the king’s presence would be all that we need, but we do not.
Lazare slips off to reconnoiter the area while the rest of us make camp. There is little talk—we are too tired, and I, for one, am too on edge.
Sleep eludes me. My body holds such a sense of foreboding, a sense of building pressure that is so overwhelming I can no longer lie still.
I rise and collect my weapons. If Lazare can scout in the dark, so can I.
No sooner have I taken half a dozen steps from camp than I hear an explosion from the castle. Lazare? But he comes bursting into the clearing. “What was that?” I ask.
“Hopefully, Sybella. Wake the others. We’ll need to be ready.”
Another explosion goes off just then, saving me the trouble of waking them.
Chapter 111
Sybella
I had hoped to have more time. Two more nights, at least. One to search Pierre’s study for the papers I know are there and the second to set up the explosions. But Pierre spent the entire time at dinner badgering Charlotte to tell him where Louise was. He was most aggrieved when she claimed she could not remember. The look in his eyes as he sent her from the table stirred an alarm deep within me. Now I will have to do it all tonight.
I use the second-to-last pinch of night whispers on my guards, waiting once more until I hear their heartbeats slow, then the accompanying thuds as they slump to the ground.
Moving quickly, I hurry from the holding to the armory. There is a cold wind whipping, and even fewer guards are about than last night. But the sky is clear, not a cloud in sight. Rain is the one thing that could ruin this plan.
Igniting Darkness Page 46