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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.
