Grave Mercy (His Fair Assassin #1)(46)

She dimples prettily at this, making her look impossibly young, and her affection for Duval is plain on her face. In that moment, I am fiercely glad she has a brother to protect her from this marriage they have planned for her. It is unthinkable that she has been promised to d’Albret. Surely it cannot be Mortain’s desire to see the duchess wed to such a foul man.

Duval grabs my hand and pulls me forward. “Ismae Rienne is sent from the abbess at the convent of St. Mortain.”

The duchess’s eyebrows shoot up. “Mortain? The patron saint of death?”

“The very one, Your Grace. It is but another thing your advisors would keep from you.” Duval quickly explains the convent and its purpose.

when he is done with his explanation, she turns to me. “You are truly trained in death?”

It feels too bold to meet her gaze, so I look down at the floor. “Yes, Your Grace.”

“Sit, sit.” She waves her hand and chooses a chair for herself. After an uncertain glance at Duval, who nods, I sit also.

“How do you kill a man, demoiselle?”

I am certain her advisors would be shocked if they could see the hungry curiosity in her eyes. "With a knife. Or poison. Or by strangling. There are many ways. Hundreds of them. It depends on the circumstances and Mortain’s wishes.”

She leans forward slightly in her chair, her brow furrowed. “How do you decide who to kill?”

“Yes,” Duval drawls from where he stands by the fireplace. “How do you decide who to kill?”

And there he has me, for while the rites of Mortain are closely held, if Chancellor Crunard can know of them, so can the duchess. Just as I must know what weapons I have in my arsenal in order to do Mortain’s work, so must the duchess know what tools are available to her in her struggle to maintain her country’s independence. “Your Grace, I would tell you of our mysteries, but our knowledge is sacred and revealed only to a chosen few.” I glance at Duval, indicating that he is not one of the chosen few.

when she sees where I am looking, her expression grows unyielding. “I trust my lord brother with my life,” she says. “I have no secrets from him and want him to know of these rites as well. Now tell us.”

I fair grind my teeth in frustration. Is that why he arranged this meeting, knowing she would demand answers and that I would have to give them? "We are mere instruments of Mortain, Your Grace. His handmaidens, if you will. we do not decide who to kill or why or when. It is all determined by the god.”

“You mean saint, do you not?” she asks.

I have forgotten the conventions of the Church that must be followed outside the convent. “But of course, Your Grace. Forgive me. The saint.”

She nods graciously. “How, then, does the saint inform you of His wishes?”

“One of our nuns, Sister Vereda, has a vision. The saint communicates through her, then she and the abbess direct our hands.”

“How does Chancellor Crunard fit in?” Duval asks.

“He acts as liaison to the outside world and keeps the abbess up to date on the politics at court.”

“And you have only the sisters’ word that there has been a vision?”

I turn on Duval. “Their word is above reproach. They serve Mortain.”

“He raises an interesting question,” the duchess points out. “How can you be so certain their visions are correct? How do you know they serve Saint Mortain and not their own interests? And what if they make a mistake?”

“They don’t.” I direct my answer to the duchess and do my best to pretend Duval is not in the room. “If they did not speak truly, then we would not see the marque of death on our victims and we would stay our hands.”

The duchess is intrigued by this idea. “Marque? what does that look like?”

“It looks as if the saint has dipped His finger into the darkness of a man’s soul and anointed him with it. Sometimes the marque will show how a man is to die.”

“And that is how you will know how to strike here in Guérande, away from your seeress?”

I shake my head. “It is our plan for the abbess to communicate the visions to me by crow. But should I happen to see such a marque without an order from her, I am allowed to strike.”

“Mon Dieu!” The duchess sits back in her chair and looks at Duval. “Do all the Privy Council know of this convent?”

Duval shakes his head. “I believe only Crunard works with the abbess. Marshal Rieux has some vague knowledge of it, and Dunois has probably heard rumors among his men, but as he is French, he was not made privy to Breton secrets by our late father. Madame Dinan has no knowledge — or should not — which is why I requested she be kept from this meeting.”

The duchess tilts her head and studies me. "Who else knows Ismae’s true identity?”

“Only Chancellor Crunard.”

“Then I agree we should keep it that way.” I stand as she rises to her feet. She holds her hand out to me. “I am glad you are here, Ismae. It is a comfort to know that you and the patron saint of death are helping Duval guard my flanks.”

I kiss her ducal ring, awed that the daughter of a turnip farmer is being raised to her feet by her sovereign. “It is my greatest honor to serve, Your Grace.”

She smiles again, transforming her young face. “I welcome you to my court. Your skills will come in most handily with my fractious barons,” she says in jest.