Dark Triumph (His Fair Assassin #2)(50)

It is a pleasant thought, but in my experience, the gods are not nearly that accommodating.

Then Guion and the two boys lead their grisly retinue south, while Beast, Yannic, and I head north. Our path to Rennes will be like trying to thread a needle, weaving our way through d’Albret’s men to the west, and Chateaubriant to the east with all its ties to the Dinan family and therefore to d’Albret. Not to mention the added spice of French sorties scattered throughout. But we have no choice. We must keep moving, especially if we do not want to risk d’Albret’s stumbling upon this innocent family.

Well, perhaps not so innocent now, after their encounter with the French.

I feel as if the huntsman’s snare is closing in around us, and it has me fair twitching in my saddle. Since I do not wish to spook my horse, I force myself to stillness, an art I have mastered during my long years with d’Albret.

I glance over at Beast. He is still pale, and it seems as if he does not sit as tall in the saddle as he once did. No matter how strong a man he is, he is only human. Or at least, mostly human. It is a wonder he has made it this long, and I can only hope his strength holds until we reach Rennes. Guion told us of a small abbey run by the brothers of Saint Cissonius where we can take shelter for the night.

Unless d’Albret has thought to post guards at all such places.

Hopefully they will have medical supplies as well, for my own stores of healing herbs are running dangerously low. And while Beast’s fever has gotten no worse, neither has it gotten any better. For once, he is being smart and not wasting his dwindling energy. Or at least, not at the moment. Who knows what he will do if we come across some lost goat or wandering child?

I came back for her. The memory of his words still echoes in my head. It makes no sense that five simple words should shift everything so sharply, but they do. It is as if I have woken up in a world as different from yesterday as spring is from winter. It is the difference between a world with hope and one without. I wish to crawl back into my younger self and hand her this knowledge, this small spark of light, and see how it would shift her perceptions of the darkness all around her. Or would it have been more cruel, that glimmer of hope causing her to look for a rescue that never came?

The farther we get from Nantes, the more I am plagued by doubts. While this taste of freedom is as sweet as I dreamed it would be, I cannot help but wonder about the cost. For so long, I was convinced it was my destiny to kill d’Albret. As relieved as I am to be gone from him, I fear I have shirked my fated duty.

But there was no other choice, I remind myself. To have ridden boldly back into his arms after drugging the entire garrison and freeing Beast would only have ensured my slow and painful death.

I also cannot help but worry about the convent and my role there. It was the one place I felt safe from d’Albret, hundreds of leagues away on an island inhabited by assassins. But I have gone against their teachings, their rules, defied Mortain’s will and replaced it with my own. If they cast me out, what then?

Just before noon, the goat track we have been following opens up onto a small meadow. On the far side of the meadow lies the main road, and on the other side of that is the forest. It will be slower going, but d’Albret’s soldiers cannot scour every inch of forest between here and Rennes. With luck, we can avoid being seen.

As we draw closer to the road, I hear the sound of an approaching party. I pause to listen for the distant hoofbeats. More than a few. And they are riding hard. No merchant party, then, nor casual travelers.

The timing could not be worse. I glance behind us, but we have crossed over half the meadow and the shelter of the trees is too far away.

“We must get across the road. Quickly!” I order the others.

The whiff of danger has stirred Beast from his dozing and he spurs his horse forward to the road and the thick screen of trees and low branches on the other side of it. Yannic bounces along behind him like a sack of the miller’s grain, and I bring up the rear, nipping at their heels, urging them to move faster.

We are in luck, for there is a sharp bend in the road, and while the jingle of harnesses and the rattle of weapons grows louder, the party is still out of sight. Which means they cannot see us either. We hit the road at a full gallop and cross it in a few swift strides. Beast reaches the cover of the trees first, then Yannic. Just as my horse leaves the road, a shout goes up from behind. We’ve been spotted.

“Faster!” I shout to the others, but the forest is a tangle of fallen limbs and gnarled roots, forcing us to slow down. Beast falls back to ride beside me. “Return to the road and keep riding. Yannic and I will lead them away.”

“You’re daft!” I shout, ducking a low-hanging branch. “I’ll not leave a wounded man and a cripple to stand alone against so many.”

“Now you’re being daft. Did you see how many there were?”

“Twenty. Maybe more. Here!” We have reached a small clearing with a ring of tall, jagged ancient stones, some of them high and wide enough to hide us from sight. At least until we are ready to make our stand.

Beast’s mouth is set in grim lines as he nods Yannic toward one of the stones. His jaw is clenched—at first I think he is in pain, and then I realize he is furious. “Go!” He puts the full force of command in his low, urgent voice. “I’ll hold them off.”

I look at him in disbelief. “Your fever has eaten your brain if you think I’ll leave now.”