Dark Triumph (His Fair Assassin #2)(94)
I cannot take my eyes off the cheerful, gangly Winnog and the faint black marque that sits on his forehead. Against my better judgment, I search out Lazare, who has also been placed on the cannon detail.
At my approach, he eyes me suspiciously. “What?” he asks.
“I want you to keep a close watch on Winnog.”
“Winnog? You are daft if you suspect him of any trickery or deceit.”
“I suspect him of no such thing,” I say sharply. “I tell you because he is marqued for death.”
Lazare’s dark eyes widen in both fear and awe. “You can see such a thing?”
“Yes, that is one of the powers my god has given me.”
Lazare’s gaze drifts upward as if he would look upon his own forehead. I bite back a smile. “You bear no marque,” I tell him. “I do not know if we can outsmart Death, but I am willing to try. Watch him carefully and keep him as safe as the mission allows.”
Lazare gives me a fierce smile. “If there is anyone who can outsmart Death, it is the Dark Mother. I will watch out for Winnog. And thank you.” Our eyes hold for a long moment, then he joins the main party, moving to stand near Winnog.
I cannot save them all, but the innocents, the ones who do not fully understand the duty they have signed up for, those I shall try to save.
My own party is next to leave. We are to travel west to where the river narrows just before reaching the town, where we will wrest control of the chain and lower it into the river so ships can get through. Sir de Brosse will lead our party, and while I hold no great love for him, it is an uncomfortable thing to see him marqued for death and say nothing. In the end, I cannot stay silent. Just before we leave, I approach him. He lifts one side of his mouth in a lazy smile. “My lady?”
“I just want to warn you to be careful,” I say.
He lays his hand on his chest. “Have my lady’s feelings for me softened?”
I roll my eyes. “No. Just do not do something stupid and get yourself killed.”
He frowns in puzzlement. “I will try not to, my lady.”
I give a curt nod, then fall back to check my knives and Ismae’s rondelles and make certain the crossbow is secure upon its chain. Before I can join the others, Beast draws near. “Are you certain you will not stay here and wait?”
“I am certain. Besides, I must stick close to Jacques and the others. I do not want to be the one to tell his mother that she has lost her son.”
He nods his understanding, and even though he is not marqued, my heart is in my throat, worried for him, for the danger that might find him while I am away from his side. His eyes have begun to burn with some eerie inner light so that they shine like twin blue flames.
He steps closer and places his hands on my arms. “We will meet again on the other side of this, for what is between us is not finished by half.”
“Does your god tell you this?”
He grins. “No—yours does.” Then he leans in and plants a quick, fierce kiss on my lips. A flash of heat and hunger and something so sweet I dare not name it, and then he is gone, striding off to lead the remainder of the men to town.
A quarter moon hangs in the sky, shedding just enough light that we can see where to put our feet but not so much as to expose us utterly, even once we step out of the shelter of the trees. We are most vulnerable while crossing the northbound road, but with the countryside occupied by French soldiers, most of the small folk keep to their beds with their doors and windows locked.
There are only eight of us, but still it feels like far too many. I have only ever fought alone or with Beast and Yannic at my side. I already miss the little jailor’s excellent aim and keen timing.
The night has leached all the color from our surroundings so that everything around us is cast in shades of silver and gray and black. The tall trees are but darker shadows and smudges against the sky. The greenlings blend in well with the others, and I am proud that they make no more noise than do de Brosse and his soldiers. Their nervousness and excitement hangs in a thick cloud around them.
We finally come to a stop on a hillock overlooking the bay. A small copse of trees sits atop it, like a crown. We tie our horses up here and I suggest Claude be set to guard them. He accepts the assignment grudgingly, but up here, out of harm’s way, he will be one less person I must watch after. Careful to stay hidden among the trees, we move to the edge of the hill, the hearty scrub grass cushioning our footsteps. Looking down, we can see the small, square rock shelter built for the chain winch. Beyond it, the water of the bay is flat and still and silver, like a mirror. The thick heavy chain spans the width of it, and on the other side, the full forest descends all the way to the water line.
De Brosse motions two of his men forward, and they disappear down the hill to learn how many guard the winch and where they are posted. Behind us, one of the horses blows gently, and I hear Claude move to quiet him.
Although we do not wait more than a few minutes, it feels like hours until the scouts return. They speak quietly to de Brosse. There are at least six soldiers and three archers, possibly more inside. I glance at the marqued Jacques and de Brosse and wonder what Mortain would think if He knew I was planning to thwart His will.
We ignore the footpath and, instead, approach slightly from the south, using a deer track through the bracken.
Bruno and Samson are to stay back, as we will need their strong arms to free the chain. Jacques and I are to slip down and take out as many of the sentries as we can before being noticed. Once the alarm goes up, de Brosse and the other soldiers will leap into the fray and engage the soldiers directly.