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No. I recall his steady, imploring gaze, and his insistence that I could take refuge with him should I need to. He was not simply polite.
Forcing aside my doubts, I pass the fletcher’s hut once more, walking slowly to give Maraud time to see me should he be watching out of view. Still nothing, other than a curious glance from the fletcher himself.
Am I early? Or is he late? Or has something caused a delay? Mayhap the others did not want me to join them. Or he has been detained by the guards. Or recognized.
My heart thuds into my stomach. No. There would be more of a hue and cry, a bustle of some activity if that were the case.
But perhaps someone lingered near the fletcher’s hut who could recognize him. Angoulême. Pierre d’Albret. Even General Cassel himself. The list is long. In case that is what happened, I make my way over to the smithy to see if he is waiting there.
The smith’s hammers clang loudly throughout the crisp morning air. And while a half dozen apprentices and journeymen scurry about their work, Maraud is nowhere in sight.
Chapter 55
Sybella
I heed the queen’s warning and spend the rest of the afternoon in her solar, then pass the night in her apartments along with the rest of her attendants. In the morning, however, I am required once more to present myself before the king to further discuss “certain matters,” as the understeward puts it.
Although I do not plan it so, I am the last to arrive. All but one.
“Where is he?” The king does not try to hide his exasperation.
“I am sure he is on his way, Your Majesty,” the Bishop of Albi soothes.
“One would think he would understand the folly of being late for a hearing he requested,” the king points out.
“He should be here, my lord. I am certain there is a good reason why he is not.” The faint smugness on the regent’s face disappears when she notices my arrival, replaced instead with a vague uncertainty. I cannot help but wonder what new scheme she and Pierre have devised.
“Whatever it is, I do not care.” The king turns to Captain Stuart. “Have someone fetch him at once.” Captain Stuart bows, then strides off to find my errant brother.
The regent’s face resettles into its normal inscrutable mask as she studies me. “Perhaps she had something to do with it.”
I lift one shoulder in calculated unconcern. “Or perhaps he is not here because he cannot defend his actions to the king.”
The regent smiles thinly. “Perhaps you murdered him,” she says.
That surprises a huff of laughter from me. “If I were inclined to murder him, do you not think I would have done it before he presented his claims to the king? Besides, who is to say that you are not behind his disappearance? Perhaps you wished to save yourself one hundred thousand gold crowns.” I brace myself, expecting the king to jump in and order us to stop, but he does not. When I risk a glance in his direction, he is staring thoughtfully at the regent.
Unaware of his scrutiny, she says, “Your Majesty, if he is not here, he cannot defend himself against the Lady Sybella’s accusations.”
“Perhaps not, but you can.”
His words surprise her into stillness. “I did not realize I had to,” she says at last.
“The accusations the lady made involved both of you. So while we are waiting for Lord d’Albret, I will ask you. Why are you working with him against the crown?”
Her face grows white. “Never against the crown, Your Majesty. For the crown. Always for the betterment of the crown.”
“How does paying him such a large sum of money for a false claim better the crown? From where I sit, it seems more like robbing it.”
Before she can answer, Captain Stuart returns, somewhat breathless. “He is gone, Your Majesty. Viscount d’Albret is gone.”
The regent scowls at me, as if perhaps I have murdered him after all.
“One of my men checked with the stable master. He and his entire party left early this morning, just before dawn.”
“So not murdered, then,” I murmur. The regent shoots me a look that is sharper than the point of a spear.
The king’s jaw tightens, his entire face pinched with the anger he is trying not to show. “If he is not here, his claim is forf—”
“But, Your Majesty,” the regent interjects. “Surely after all that has transpired you cannot believe that the Lady Sybella is in any way fit to serve as guardian to her sisters? Or should be left free to roam among us?”
He studies her for a long moment. “She, at least, is here. And for now, that is more than can be said of her brother.”
Deciding it is better to take the loss, the regent curtsies. “Very well, Your Majesty.”
He leans forward. “But you and I have much to discuss, because I dearly wish to hear the reasons behind both your involvement in the ambush and the reason for that payment.”
* * *
I am careful not to let a whiff of the victory humming through my veins show. I keep my face downcast and sober, taking measured steps as I leave the audience chamber. Pierre is gone. He walked away from his claim. Is that all that was ever needed—telling the truth? Or is it something more?
The regent could be behind it, I suppose. Setting him up in some way to take the fall for their conspiracies. And I did not like the way she was looking at me. But for now, the king’s wrath at her is greater than his dislike of me, and that is a true victory. I cannot wait to tell Gen and the queen. And Beast.
As I reach the foyer, General Cassel falls into step alongside me. “What have you done with your brother?”
The force of his full attention is as solid as a rock. “Nothing. It is his own poor judgment that kept him from the meeting.” Even though my face and body are relaxed, every fiber of my being is attuned to him, the rhythm of his heart, the intake of his breath, even how often he blinks. Too many times, the unconscious change in those vitals is the only warning I have gotten. If Beast’s presence is like a cheerful mountain, the general’s is all serrated edges and menacing heights. His cool, predatory gaze makes me glad of the knives hidden in my sleeves.
“I do not like or trust you.” The deep timbre of his voice holds no craggy comfort like Beast’s, only the deep rumble of threat.
My mouth twists in amusement. “Nor I you.” I do not look at him, but I feel his brief flicker of surprise. If he had hoped to intimidate me, he will have to try harder.
“Women who do not know their place and are disloyal to their families are both unpredictable and useless. That is your one duty—fealty to your family, and you cannot even manage that.”
This time I laugh outright. “And here I thought our one duty was as broodmare.”
“Once you are handed over to your husband, yes. Until then, you owe fealty to your family. To do otherwise is to be without honor.”
I look at him then, allowing my disbelief to show plainly on my face. “Honor? This from a man who prefers to win wars by throwing gold at the enemy or their potential ally.”
He stops walking, shifting the mass of his body so that it partly blocks my path. I could keep going, but I would have to brush past him to do so. “You are either remarkably foolish or dangerously overconfident.”
“Or neither.”
He leans closer. I do not back away, which also surprises him. “What you are is a rogue assassin with allegiance to no one. Not even the Nine, whom you profess to hold dear,” he spits out.
“You know me that well, do you?”
“I know that you lie.”
“Of course I lie! I am neck deep in a court full of intrigue, advisors who wish my queen ill, power plays behind every corner, and political plots hatching like spring eggs. To not lie would be a fatal mistake.”
His eyes blink, holding something akin to admiration—or it would be, if I were not a mere woman. No, I realize with disgust. That is interest. The interest of a man who thinks he has just found a new enemy he must conquer. “We will find your brother and learn what ha
s happened. You may rest assured.”
I resume walking. “You hold such scorn for the Nine. I must say I am surprised, as I would have taken you for an admirer of Saint Camulos.”
“I am an admirer of skill in war and battle. I have no need of saints.”
I smile. “Careful, they might hear you.”
He snorts in derision.
“Have you ever been to Brittany, my lord? I don’t recall your name among the generals we fought against in any of the campaigns.” If he thinks my change of subject odd, he does not say so.
“I was there once, a long time ago.” No hint of memory of his black deeds or remorse crosses his face. “The recent conflict was not important enough to pull me from my command in Flanders.”
