Grave Mercy (His Fair Assassin #1)(37)

“None of us are trained to kill those who have served us well and faithfully,” he says. “It is a special agony all its own, and I would spare you if I could.” There is a note of sorrow in his voice and I know — know— that he has had to do this very thing. His sympathy makes the pain of losing Nocturne worse, as if my feelings for her are not some childish affection I should have put aside long ago. “I am not weak.” To prove my words, I reach down and grasp my knife handle.

“I never said that you were.” His voice is still gentle, as if he sees how much this is hurting.

which only makes me resolved to prove that it is not. “If you will cease your endless prattle, I will do it.” I feel rather than see him step back, and I am suddenly able to breathe now that he is no longer near. I turn my full attention to Nocturne, wanting to find some way to let her know how much I will miss her.

I place my cheek along her neck, breathe in her familiar horsy scent. “Thank you,” I murmur in her ear. “For carrying me so faithfully, and for being my friend.” I whisper this last part so softly that I am afraid she will not hear. But her ear twitches, and I know that my words have reached her. She gives a faint whinny, as if to let me know she understands. “I hear there are many carrots where you are going,” I tell her. Then, before I can falter, I grasp the misericorde and put it to her throat.

Nocturne’s spirit leaves her body in a red-hot gush. A faint breeze rustles by, bearing the scent of sweet green grass and the sense of galloping into the wind. I lay my head down on her neck and pray I will not weep.

Then Duval grabs my arm and pulls me to my feet. If I didn’t know he had nerves of iron, I would have said there was a faint glimmer of panic in his face.

"What are you doing?” I wrench my arm out of his grip.

He stares intently at the cut on my arm. “If one blade was poisoned, why not all of them?” As I look at him blankly, he gives me a little shake. “You might have been poisoned too.”

Now that he has mentioned it, there is a faint burning sensation in my arm. I glance down at the cut. “I am fine,” I assure him.

“You cannot know that. Perhaps even now it is working its way to your vital organs.” He takes my arm again and keeps a firm hold on it as he leads me to his horse.

He does not know I am immune to poison, and I am reluctant to share this. If he himself was behind our attack, better not to hand such secrets to him. when we reach his horse, he stops long enough to feel my brow. “No fever yet,” he mutters.

“I am fine, I told you.”

He ignores my protestations and puts his hands around my waist. I barely have time to gasp before I am perched on the horse’s back, the imprint of his hands still burning against my skin. He springs up into the saddle, then takes the reins in hand. “Grab hold of me or else you’ll tumble off,” he instructs over his shoulder.

Gingerly, I place my hands along his sides.

“Hold on,” he repeats, then puts his heels to his horse. we fly forward, and I barely have time to grab the thick folds of his cloak to keep myself from spilling off.

He gallops back the way we’ve come. The overturned cart is gone now and there is no sign of anyone nearby. He takes a side street, then another, and soon we come to a wider street with finer houses.

Duval pulls up in front of one of them. His horse has barely come to a full stop before a groomsman rushes out to take the reins. Duval dismounts only long enough to introduce me to his steward, then remands me into the keeping of his housekeeper, Louyse, a round, pleasant-faced woman who welcomes me cheerfully, if curiously.

when he starts to give her orders to send for a doctor, I stop him. “Milord. If I had been poisoned, I would be dead by now.”

He scowls at me and begins to argue, but I cut him off. “Look how quickly it felled my horse. Surely someone my size would be dead already.”

His face clears somewhat at my words. “Perhaps. But why would only one of their blades be poisoned?”

“I do not know. I only know that I am well, and that is enough.”

He nods curtly. “Very well. Louyse will see that you have anything you may need.” He surprises me by taking my hand. It is for the servants, I tell myself. To convince them of our masquerade. “Promise me you will send for a doctor if you start to feel ill.”

I want to laugh at his concern. No, I want to wrap it around me like a blanket and use it to soothe my most recent loss. Instead I say, “I promise,” knowing it will cost me nothing.

Then he leaps onto his horse, calls four of his men to ride with him, and leaves. As they clatter out of the courtyard, I realize I do not know if they head for the palace or back to the scene of our attack. My desire to know is so strong, I take one step forward as if to run after them, but then I notice Louyse’s puzzled look.

I give her a wan smile, and she smiles back broadly. “Come, demoiselle. You are no doubt weary from your journey.”

I marvel at how well trained she is, for I am certain she heard Duval say poisoned, and yet she neither sends me curious glances nor asks me any intrusive questions.

Instead, she leads me inside. A great hall looms to my left, and the sun sparkling through the oriel window casts a glow on the tapestries covering the wall. It occurs to me that I should at least try to search Duval’s home now that he is gone, but in truth, I cannot muster the desire. I am tired down to my bones, and my movements feel as if I am wading through water.