Dark Triumph (His Fair Assassin #2)(11)

Scritch, scritch, pause, scritch, scritch, scritch.

It is Julian, using the secret code we devised when we were children, a dozen lifetimes ago. But it is not a child’s game he wants to play tonight. I burrow farther into the mattress and pull the covers up over my ears, then hear the muffled rattle as he lifts the latch. I hold very still and keep my breathing even, praying that he will close the door and move on, relieved when he does.

Even so, the scratching follows me into my dreams and turns them into nightmares.





Chapter Four


I AM AWAKENED IN THE morning when my two ladies in waiting come bursting into the room. Jamette de Lur leads the way, pausing barely long enough to keep the door open for Tephanie Blaine, who struggles with a tray.

“Did you hear?” Jamette asks.

She is a vain, silly girl given to drama and putting on airs and takes far too much pleasure in my fall from d’Albret’s favor. “Good morning to you too,” I drawl.

Reminded of her place, she flushes slightly, then dips a begrudging curtsy. “Good morning, my lady.”

“What is this news you are screeching about?”

She is torn between denying that she was screeching and launching into her drama. The drama wins. “They rooted out a nest of traitors and rebels yesterday! If not for their quick action, we could all have been slaughtered in our beds.”

So that is the story d’Albret and the others are putting out. There is a faint rattle as Tephanie sets the tray down on a table. “Also, a servant girl went missing during the night.”

I throw off the covers and get to my feet. “My, the castle was busy while I slept! Surely this servant just snuck off to visit her lover?”

Tephanie looks at me with stricken eyes and I see that she is genuinely frightened. “They searched the castle high and low and found no signs of her.”

Jamette tosses her head and hands me my chamber robe. “Some say she was in league with the traitors.”

Débile! I should have seen that coming. I was so concerned with getting them away as soon as possible I didn’t stop to consider the timing.

“I heard she was killed for seeing something she shouldn’t have,” Tephanie says as she gives me a cup of heated wine.

My head snaps up to study her more closely, but she does not appear to be insinuating anything. “Where did you hear that?”

She shrugs. “The servants were talking when I fetched your tray.”

I say nothing and sip the wine, taking a moment to compose myself.

Jamette’s eyes go wide. “Mayhap the ghosts got her.”

I bite back a sigh. Must I give up sleeping altogether in order to stay abreast of what goes on in this castle? “What ghosts?” I ask.

“The ones in the old tower. It is well and truly haunted. Many have heard the ghosts moaning and wailing and making a terrible noise.”

Tephanie crosses herself, then turns to me. “Here is your clean chemise, my lady.”

I set down my wine and shrug out of my robe. Tephanie’s cheeks pinken with embarrassment as she helps me into my shift. “My lady is growing thin,” she murmurs. “You must try to eat more.”

While I cannot help but wish she were less observant, I am inexplicably touched that she has noticed.

“It does not help your looks any that you insist on wearing all these dark colors,” Jamette says, holding out a gown of patterned black brocade. “It makes you appear unnaturally pale.” What she chafes at is that my complexion is fairer than hers.

“I’m afraid my time at the convent of Saint Brigantia has lessened my love of material luxuries,” I tell her. Since rejoining d’Albret’s household, I have worn nothing but somber colors—not because of some newfound piousness, but out of respect for all those d’Albret has murdered.

Tephanie hands me the silver chain from which my special crucifix hangs and helps to fasten it about my waist. The chain also holds nine glass rosary beads, one for each of the old saints and every one of them filled with poison. “If we hurry,” she says, “we can attend mass this morning.”

I glance up at her. “Do you want to attend mass?”

She shrugs. “It seems like a good day for it.”

“Tephanie, my little mouse, what forgiveness must you pray for?” Her sins can only be those of a small child—the wanting of a sweet or a new gown. But she blushes in embarrassment, and I am pricked with guilt for having teased her. “Go,” I tell her. “Attend your mass.”

Her face falls. “You mean, alone?”

“I do not wish to pray for forgiveness.”

“Although, Heavenly Father knows, you need it more than most,” Jamette mutters. I pretend I do not hear her but add it to her long list of transgressions.

“Wait,” I tell Tephanie. “You are right. With rebels and ghosts lurking in every corner, it is not safe to wander this castle’s halls.” They do not catch my irony, but the truth is, we have more to fear from those who claim to protect us than from any rebel or spirit.

I tug my skirt into place and then hurry to one of my trunks. I retrieve two of my smaller knives and turn back to the others.

Tephanie’s eyes widen. “Where did you get those?” she asks.

“From my brothers, goose, where do you think? Here.” I thrust one at her. “Carry it from the chain at your waist. You, too.” I hand the second one to Jamette. “Now, hurry along or you will miss your mass,” I tell Tephanie.