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“Well, that is welcome news, but I am not certain it solves my problem.”
Her lips curve in a faint smile. “You do not wish to kill me?”
“Not at the moment, no.”
She laughs, then grows sober. “Were you just going to run away? Into the city? Hide yourself among the masses? Alone?”
“I had a plan.”
She arches a brow. “Given how your plans have gone in the past, you will forgive me if I ask you to elaborate.”
Even though it is deserved, I wince. “I’ve done it before.”
“Yes, but according to you, there was an imposing prisoner traveling at your side.”
It is all I can do not to squirm. “Odd that you should mention that. He was going to accompany me this time as well.”
“He followed you to the palace?”
“No. He has other business here.”
Her eyes narrow. “What other business? I think it is time you tell me all that you know about this prisoner of yours.”
Of yours. The words pinch at my heart. With no other options before me, I tell her about Maraud. The reason he was in the dungeon, Cassel’s killing of his brother, and his vow of vengeance against the general as well as his desire to make his crimes known to the king. In truth, it feels good to free myself of these secrets. I did not intend or wish to keep them from her, but there has been no time to speak of it since I knew she could be trusted. By the time I am finished, Sybella is staring at me with an odd expression on her face.
“Does this prisoner have a name, by any chance?”
“His name is Anton Crunard. He is the son of the former chancellor of Brittany.”
Sybella stares at me, then closes her eyes before muttering, “Merde.”
“Has the queen been looking for him? She needs to know that none of this was his fault. He had no idea that his father would betray the country for him. Indeed, they are estranged and have been for years.”
Sybella’s eyes fly open. “Estranged, you say?”
“Yes. He was the prodigal son.”
The letter begins tapping furiously at her chin again so that I want to jump up, snatch it from her hand, and toss it into the fireplace. “What? What are you thinking?”
“Not so much thinking as remembering. Just before the queen left for France, Crunard senior attempted to escape his imprisonment. He told us the reason was to go look for his son. He did not trust the queen to do it, even though she had promised she would. When we arrived in France, we received word that he had made a second attempt to escape and succeeded.”
“Why would she promise a traitor she would look for his son?”
“The promise was not made to the father, but to Maraud’s half sister.”
I gape at her. “A half sister he does not yet know that he has,” she amends.
I can scarce wrap my mind around this. Know that Maraud will scarcely be able to wrap his mind around this. He is not the sole remaining child, after all.
“I think that will come as a great relief to him,” I say softly.
She runs her fingers along the edge of the letter. “There is something else you should know about this half sister of his. Her name is Annith. From the convent.”
This revelation leaves me well and truly speechless. “Annith?”
“Remember I told you she was the abbess’s daughter and not one of Mortain’s? Well, Crunard was her father.”
My mind churns as all the implications of this spread out before me like a giant web.
“That is the hold that he had over her as abbess,” Sybella continues. “The chancellors of Brittany have often acted as liaisons with the convent on behalf of the sovereign, so this was no different. Except that when he wished her to look the other way or apply pressure here instead of there, as he wove the rope he was hoping to hang us with, she had no choice but to agree lest he expose her secret.”
“My heart holds no forgiveness for her. She had a choice.”
“I agree, and she chose poorly. But I am gathering that you and Anton were—are—close, and I want you to know how he came to have a sister.”
“Well,” I say, unwilling to address the question in her voice. “What am I to do regarding the regent’s demands?”
“You are to remain calm and stay in your chamber as much as possible.”
“What if the king summons me?”
“You will have to go. And say nothing of the ultimatum. Not yet anyway. We have a week. That is enough time to come up with a countermove.”
“While you’re thinking on it, may I please have the letter to throw in the fire and burn before somebody else sees it?”
As she hands me the letter, she tilts her head to stare at the fire in the hearth, her eyes taking on a faraway look. “Why did you not tell me about the regent’s ultimatum before deciding to leave?”
There were so many reasons. “I was afraid you would try to protect me rather than stay focused on the longer view of the king and his struggle against the regent. I was afraid you might confront the regent. Or go after Pierre. Or confess to Fremin’s murder. Every option I saw you choosing might ease the pressure on me, but would make things worse for yourself.”
“So you did not trust me.”
“I trusted you too much. I have seen how you thrust yourself between those you care about and the troubles that plague them.”
She arches one of her elegant brows. “You think I care about you?”
I shrug, embarrassed now. “You had seemed determined to act the older sister before we left Plessis. I didn’t know how long that impulse would last.”
“You will be happy to know that I still have that impulse. Which is why I will not let you leave like you want to. We are the daughters of a god, Genevieve. We were not meant to move in this world as pale reflections of ourselves. It is not how we serve the gods who made us.”
“But Mortain is no longer.”
“He is not the only god.” Her eyes gleam faintly. “It is time for you to meet the Dark Mother.”
I draw in a sharp breath. The Dark Matrona is rarely spoken of, a dark goddess of death and destruction. “But only the charbonnerie worship her.”
Her hand slips inside her pocket, and she smiles faintly. “They are not the only ones.” For some reason, a shiver goes down my spine.
When Sybella speaks again, her voice is firm. “You have wallowed in the ashes of your remorse long enough. It is time to rise.”
Even though her words make no sense, they spark a small ember of hope—of anticipation—inside my chest. “And how am I to do that?”
Her eyes never leave mine. “You simply choose. When it feels like there is no other alternative before you, you decide to rise.” She stands, then reaches for my hand.
“You don’t understand,” I whisper. “That is how I came to be in this mess in the first place. I allowed myself to believe I was an instrument of the gods.”
“That was your mistake.”
“Bu
t now you are telling me to do that very thing again!”
“This time I’m reminding you that you are already part god. The time for hiding from that is over. You have been stripped bare of your pretenses.” Her gaze dips down to my neck. “You gave up any thoughts of grandeur or glory long ago, else you would never have allowed that collar around your neck. You are no longer acting because you feel a need within yourself, but because it needs to be done. I do not know how the Dark Mother works, only that when she offers us hope, we do well to take it.” Her eyes glow with both ferocity and love, and it is like nothing I have ever seen.
Still not fully understanding, I take hold of her hand and rise to my feet.
Chapter 61
“You sent for me, Your Majesty?” He is as agitated as I have ever seen him, pacing back and forth before the enormous fireplace. In truth, it is so large he could pace inside it.
He whirls on me then, nearly shaking with rage. “Have you learned what happened yesterday? Do you know that your queen has been operating behind my back? Lying to me? All of them—the queen, Lady Sybella, my sister, even General Cassel—lying to me.”
I open my mouth to answer, but he has no interest in hearing whatever I have to say.
“My council was right. The queen cannot serve two masters. As long as the queen honors the Nine, her devotion to them puts her at odds with me. We must be rid of them. Not just have the queen renounce them, but eliminate them all.” He pins me with a scathing glare, wanting the words to hurt, as well as shock. I say nothing and allow his anger to wash over me like a sudden storm. Once it passes, I can hope to restore order.
“Do the other Nine have convents like yours? Are they all fostering traitors and rebels inside their walls?”
“Not to my knowledge, Your Majesty. There are the Brigantian convents, with which France is already intimately acquainted. Indeed, I believe there are one or two here, as well as in Brittany. And the convent of Saint Mortain, of which there is only one, and our numbers are small. Saint Amourna and Saint Camulos are removed from this world, their followers simply honoring them, as they do the Church’s other saints. Saint Salonius and Saint Cissonius have few followers, all of them old men.”
