Grave Mercy (His Fair Assassin #1)(111)
Captain Dunois gives a snort of disgust, but the duchess holds out a hand to silence him. “Did you know they have taken Ancenis?”
Marshal Rieux slowly wheels his horse around. “Ancenis?”
The duchess nods. “At this very minute, they occupy your own holding.”
Her announcement has the desired effect. Shock registers on Marshal Rieux’s face, then disbelief. “You lie.”
“Marshal Rieux! Remember who you are speaking to,” Captain Dunois reminds him.
"Why should I believe this claim?” the marshal asks.
"Why would we lie?” the duchess says. “It is easy enough for you to confirm. Send a rider, if you like.”
Rieux hesitates a moment, then nods at two of his men. They peel away from the party and turn their horses toward the road for Ancenis. “It will still gain you nothing,” he says, but his voice rings less certain.
Captain Dunois spurs his horse forward. “Jean!” he says. “Surely you do not mean to let the French benefit from this rift between you and the duchess.”
The marshal says something I cannot hear, for the two men have drawn closer now and speak in low, urgent voices. I cannot say what compels me to look away from these fierce negotiations, but something does, some small flicker of premonition, or perhaps it is Saint Mortain Himself whispering in my ear, saying, There. Look there. However it happens, my gaze is drawn to the ramparts of the keep and I see a slender shadow detach itself from the stone wall. The slim figure walks to the very edge of the ramparts, so close that I fear she will throw herself off the crenelation to her death.
But no. She stays just inside the edge of the stone and looks out across the river and the fields and the fighting men. At me.
even from so far, I feel when our gazes meet, and in that moment I know that it is Sybella. The furtiveness of her movements tells me she has put herself in serious danger by being there. when she is sure she has my attention, she draws her arm across her body, then flings it out, as if she were throwing something. Scattering seed to the wind, perhaps? Or casting crumbs on the water of the moat? I glance down at the moat to see if there is some clue there. That is when I see the postern gate open and two columns of troops pour out. Troops clad in blue and yellow tabards. D’Albret’s colors.
I look back up at Sybella and she makes the gesture again.
She is not throwing something. She is telling us to flee.
Chapter Fifty-one
A dozen men, two dozen men. I stop counting as I near fifty. “Captain Dunois!” I cry out.
At my warning, Marshal Rieux looks up. His eyes register the reinforcements, and then he and the rest of his party wheel around and gallop back for the city. Their job is done; they have distracted us long enough for d’Albret to spring his trap. Dunois’s normally ruddy complexion pales when he sees the troops pouring from the gate. “Your Grace, we must get you to safety.” He begins barking orders. "Waroch! De Lornay! You take the men to meet the approaching line. You three” — he points to the two largest of his guardsmen and myself — “come with me. we will guard the duchess’s retreat.”
As we turn our horses around, the south postern gate opens and a second column of mounted soldiers streams out. They mean to box us in.
And then Beast’s horse is next to mine. A wild gleam lurks in his eyes and I wonder if he is already drunk on the prospect of battle.
“A kiss for luck, demoiselle?”
I look into his dear, ugly face. He is not coming back. Neither is de Lornay. They will buy the duchess some time, and that is all they can do against the two hundred soldiers riding toward us. If he wants a kiss from me before he goes, I will give it willingly. I nod, and he slips his great tree trunk of an arm around me, pulls me close, and plants his lips on mine. The force of the kiss bends me back over the saddle, his thick arm nearly pulling me from my horse.
It is a magnificent, lusty kiss and I feel nothing but deep regret that it may be his last.
Just before he pulls away, he whispers in my ear. “Duval said to give you that should I get the chance. It is from him.”
He puts his spurs to his horse and rides to the small group of men he must lead to their deaths. De Lornay draws near then. He says nothing but unties one of the two crossbows that hang from his saddle and hands it to me. “This will strike from greater distance than the peashooter you carry.” He winks, then turns and gallops to Beast’s side.
Captain Dunois is already riding away, leaning low in the saddle and protecting the duchess’s body with his own. The two rear guards have taken up position behind him. even as I fall in with them, I cast one last look over my shoulder.
Battle fever burns bright within Beast now. He shouts an order that divides his men into two parties so they can delay both vanguards of the oncoming forces. “On my signal,” he says, but before he can give it, a long blast from a trumpet stops him. My head turns toward the sound.
Soldiers on horseback are riding hell-bent toward us. De Lornay is the first to recognize their colors. “The garrison from Rennes!”
He and Beast exchange an elated grin, then Beast gives the order to charge. Beast looks back and sees me hesitating. “Go!” he roars.
And of course, I must. I cannot waste this chance he has given us. I spur my horse and gallop after the others.
when I gain the copse of trees, I allow myself one backwards glance, just in time to see Beast rise up in his stirrups, battle-ax in one hand, sword in the other. Then d’Albret’s forces are upon him. The sound when they meet is deafening, the clash of weapons, the scream of metal, the terrified whinny of the horses.