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The faintest click comes from next to the fireplace. A servant bearing a load of firewood comes through a small door hidden by the paneling. He blinks in surprise when he sees me, then quickly looks away to tend the fire. When he has finished, he departs through the same door.
I have only a moment to ponder this discovery of hidden doors and servant passages before I hear the sound of voices—many voices—approaching. Alarm drives me to my feet. Even though the king may not feel the need to be discreet, I do not wish to proclaim my presence in his chamber quite so boldly. I hurry into the bedchamber and reach the valet’s closet just as the main door opens.
“What brings you here, Madame?” I hear the king ask.
“Clearly there is much afoot.” While the regent’s voice comes from outside the room in the hallway, it is as cool and possessed as ever. “I thought to offer my help in some way.” She thought to slip in with the others. Interesting that she was not invited.
“Thank you for your kind offer.” The king is stiff and formal. “Arrangements need to be made for Monsieur Fremin’s body. That would prove most helpful.”
A long moment of sour disappointment hangs in the air as she grapples with the king’s clear rejection of her participation. Finally, the regent says, “As you wish, sire.”
“Come in, gentlemen.” The king’s order is followed by heavy footsteps. I count six in addition to the king. He leads them straight through the elegant drawing room into the private council chamber that sits beyond it, their voices growing indistinct.
I hurry over to the wall that abuts the council chamber and place my ear against it.
“You don’t truly believe the woman is innocent, do you?” It is the traitorous Albi.
“According to the queen, Lady Sybella was with her the entire night,” the king reminds them.
“But, Your Majesty,” Albi continues, “she is an assassin. Well-schooled in the unholy arts of Saint Mortain. Surely such evil is not bound by the same rules of the physical world as we are.”
The silence that follows is not truly silent at all, but filled with unease that rifles through the men like a cold winter breeze.
“What are you saying?” the king finally asks, his voice holding both warning and the curling edges of fear.
“I’m saying their ways are shadowed and closed to the eyes of man. Just because no one saw her there at the time should not be enough to clear someone of her skills from suspicion.”
“And she did have a motive.” I recognize General Cassel’s voice. “She and Fremin have been at each other like cockerels ever since he arrived.”
“Not to mention that is two bodies she has left in her wake,” Captain Stuart says.
“Six.” General Cassel’s deep voice rasps over the others. “If you count the men Fremin claimed were missing.”
“We cannot forget that she is an assassin trained who does not serve us—you, Your Majesty—and is thus suspect,” the Bishop of Albi presses.
“What sort of saint trains assassins, anyway?” Stuart mutters.
“A heretical one.” It is the first time the king’s confessor has spoken.
“We have been over this,” the Bishop of Narbonne says. “The Nine are within Church canon.”
“They shouldn’t be,” the confessor mutters darkly.
“This does shed new light on Fremin’s missing men,” Cassel points out. “It could well be his claims were true.”
“But if his claims were true, what has happened to the girls?” The king’s voice is tired and strained. “For all of her strange ways, I cannot believe that she did them any harm.”
“Perhaps she and the queen are counting on your honor and chivalry to blind you to her crimes, as if you were some poor hapless fool who couldn’t see past such subterfuge.”
Silence follows, and I can only marvel at how skillfully the general has thrown his spear.
When the king speaks again, his voice is harder than iron. “Very well. You have convinced me. This matter is resolved. General Cassel,” he barks, “search the Lady Sybella’s room. Let us see if she is hiding something.”
Chapter 27
Sybella
I am standing in front of the fire, considering my options, when the door bursts open. Only years of hard discipline keep me from startling, but I do not wish to give them the satisfaction. Instead, I turn calmly around.
Six of them storm into the room, General Cassel at the fore, his cold, brutal eyes on me. For one heart-clenching moment I fear they intend to grab me and drag me from the room.
“Search the chambers!” he orders.
The men fan out, dividing the room with practiced precision, each taking a section. The window, the bed, the chest. Cassel comes to stand in front of me, too close, hoping I will cower before him. I smile sweetly. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“We are looking for the murder weapon.”
I ignore the sound of the men churning through my things and cock my head to the side, considering. “The guards said he had broken his neck. What sort of weapon do you expect to find?” It is all I can do not to flex my hands, which have indeed broken many a neck. But Cassel does not know that and hopefully, like all men, will not consider that a possibility.
“Rope,” he says grimly. “A noose.”
“Ah,” I say, grateful that the rope I used to strangle Fremin’s henchman is now looped through his belt.
His gaze drops down to my waist, to my belt of gold chain from which a small knife hangs. Anger begins to bloom deep inside my gut, but I hold it firmly in check. “That could not break a neck,” I helpfully point out.
His gaze shifts to my face.
“Sir!”
Reluctantly, Cassel looks back at the guard. “What?”
“Knives, sir. Lots of ’em.”
A sense of violation squeezes me by the throat when I see that one of the soldiers has lifted the mattress from the bed frame, exposing four of my longest knives.
Cassel swings his shaggy head back to me. “No weapons, eh?”
“I never said I had no weapons, only none that were capable of breaking a neck.”
He crosses over to the bed and lifts my anlace from its hiding place. “This is not something a lady in waiting would have.”
I curl my fingers into fists so I will not grab it from his meaty hands. “We have already established I am no ordinary lady in waiting. I cannot protect the queen with naught but my bare hands.”
At his gesture, his men collect my knives. For a brief moment, I indulge in the vision of me leaping forward, taking back my knives, and killing the four of them before the other two can blink. Instead, I move to the window, where one of the men is still fumbling with the drapes. “Here, let me give you more light.” I yank one of the drapes aside. The soldier startles, dropping the curtain, his hand going for his knife as light spills into the room. I cluck my tongue at him. “It is only a drape, monsieur, and a dusty one at that.” His cheeks flush dull red as two of the others snicker.
Another shout goes up, and we all look to the soldier kneeling beside the chest, his hand gingerly holding out a glass vial filled with amber liquid. “We’ve found her poisons, sir!”
I laugh. “Poison? I imagine the queen would beg to differ. Those are the very physics I give her daily. Here. Let me show you.” As I reach for the vial, the man flinches as if he expects me to throw it on him and turn him to stone. I take it gently from his hand, put the vial to my lips, and swallow. “See? Nothing even remotely harmful.”
Cassel stares at them impassively. “Take them anyway.”
I shove the vial at the soldier and glare at the general. “You’d best check with the queen. She will not look kindly on one who destroys the only tisane that has brought her any relief.”
He hesitates then. “Take the vials to the queen and ask if she recognizes them,” he orders. “But be careful—do not risk her touching them or drawing too close.”
For all of his brutishness, the gener
al is not an idiot. As we stare at each other a moment, I try not to see all the physical similarities to Beast. It is too painful to see them in this man—one who embraces brutality, savors raw power, mistakes violations for strength. He could not be more different from Beast had they been born on opposite ends of the world.
I focus on that, will myself to discern the differences. They are there—the eyes that feel wolfish and feral in Beast’s face are darker and more piggish in Cassel’s. Beast’s nose has been broken more often, but his mouth holds humor and kindness rather than cruelty.
Cassel breaks our gaze, looking to something behind me atop the cupboard. I see my small casket, then bite back an oath as he heads toward it. It is a good thing Beast is not here, I realize, else they would come to blows. While there is no doubt in my mind that Beast would prevail, it would cost him dearly. It would not just wound his soul, but the repercussions for killing the king’s favorite general could easily cost him his life.
Chapter 28
Genevieve
When I deem it safe to emerge from the valet’s closet and make my way to the sitting room, the king looks up from the fireplace, his eyes troubled and distant. He blinks at me, as if he’d forgotten I was here. “Thank you for your discretion.”
“But of course, Your Majesty. I have no desire to bring any more trouble to your door. It is my hope to ease your burdens.”
He nods vaguely and turns his attention back to the fire.
