Grave Mercy (His Fair Assassin #1)(103)

Duval blinks, as if my arguments are finally reaching him. Then he shakes his head, trying to clear it, and rubs his hands over his face. “But look how he has supported Anne all this time! Backed her refusal of d’Albret, voted for the alliance with Nemours. I cannot see what purpose lies behind his actions.”

Frustration bubbles through me and I cannot tell if my own logic is flawed or if Duval’s mind is too far gone. “My lord, he told the convent that you were involved in your mother’s plot of treason — that you were a traitor.”

His head snaps up and a bewildered look crosses his face. “He did?”

“Aye.”

“Then why did they not order my execution?”

I say nothing, but his addled wits are not that far gone. “Oh.” He looks down. “Is that why my feet are numb?”

“No, my lord. I swear it. I have ignored their order. Here, you need rest.” I jump up to catch him as he stands and sways. He sags against me and I propel him to my bed. Louyse has already turned back the covers, so I lay him down in my place. Propping his legs on the bed, I yank off his boots and, after checking them one more time for traces of poison, let them drop to the floor. Then I swing his legs under the rich, thick quilts. He tries to push up on his elbows to argue with me, but I place my hand gently on his chest and push him back down. It takes frighteningly little effort. His eyes flutter shut, and my heart leaps into my mouth. I lean in close to check his breathing.

“Are you trying to steal my breath?” Duval asks.

“No, milord. Only trying to — ”

“Kiss me?” The yearning in his voice shakes me to the core.

“Yes, my lord. That is it.” And I lean in and kiss him, a long, slow kiss, as if I would drink the poison from his body. His eyes close again, and his breathing grows steadier. The lines of tension ease somewhat, but not altogether. The shadows under his eyes are darker; his cheeks are more gaunt. He is in need of a shave, and the color is high in his cheeks. My heart is so full — full of love and full of sorrow — that I fear it will burst.

His hand twitches and spasms, so I reach out and cover it with my own. He grows still then, and turns his hand up so that our palms are touching, our fingers linked. “Don’t leave.”

“I won’t,” I tell him. Nor you either, I long to say, to make him promise not to die. But I cannot insist he make a promise he cannot keep. Instead, I lower myself to the floor and keep watch over him through the night.

I awake to a faint kiss on the back of my hand. I open my eyes to find Duval’s head propped on his hand as he watches me. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” I mumble, embarrassed. I try to disengage our tangled fingers, but he holds on long enough to give one last squeeze, then lets go.

I rise to my feet and try to ignore the various aches and pains from sleeping in such a cramped position. As I smooth my skirts and try to regain my composure, Duval gets up from the bed and crosses to the ewer and basin, where he splashes cold water on his face. His legs are steadier than they were yesterday, and I can only hope this is a sign that a decent night’s rest has done him some good. when he turns around, beads of water still dripping from his face, I see that his eyes have cleared somewhat.

I hand him a linen towel. As he dries himself, I move to the tray of food. “You really should try to eat some more before you go.”

“I will.” He puts the towel down and comes to grab a wedge of cheese from the tray. He looks to the window to check how close to dawn it is.

Very close.

As he stuffs his pockets with the rest of the food, I frown in puzzlement. He appears much better this morning. Surely that is a hopeful sign.

when his pockets are full, he comes and puts his hands on my shoulders, his eyes alight with urgency. “They must get Anne to Rennes. Guérande is not strong enough to withstand a long siege, but the citizens of Rennes will rally around her, and the town has the means to defend itself. It is the best place for her until help arrives. Convince them, Ismae.”

“I will try, my lord.”

“And beware of denouncing Crunard in front of the others. They have known him far longer than you and will be more likely to side with him should it come to that. You will need solid proof to convince them of your accusations.”

There is a sound outside my door. Louyse. He brushes a quick kiss on the top of my head, then disappears into the passage in the wall. A moment later, Louyse bustles into the room, full of her usual morning cheer. She pauses briefly and looks confused when she sees I am wearing my cloak over my night shift. I rub my arms and give a little shiver. “It is cold this morning.”

“That it is, demoiselle!” As she sets out my clothes, a plan forms in my mind. The remaining members of the Privy Council will be meeting first thing this morning. It will be the perfect time for me to search Crunard’s chamber. Surely I can find something that will convince the others of his guilt.





Chapter Forty-six


When I arrive at Crunard’s chambers, the door is closed and there is no guard posted. I knock and call out, “Chancellor Crunard?” There is no answer. I glance down the hall in both directions. It is clear. Indeed, the palace is very quiet today, and I wonder how many courtiers have heard what has happened in Nantes. Assured that there is no one to see, I try the door. It is locked, but that does not stop me.