Grave Mercy (His Fair Assassin #1)(85)

“D’Albret assaulted her in the hallway.”

Duval grows impossibly still and I am reminded of a viper before it strikes. "What do you mean, assaulted?” His voice is deceptively quiet.

“I mean, he backed her up against the wall and fumbled at her skirts.” Anger at the memory makes the words come out harsher than I intend.

Duval’s face grows pale.

“Mumbling all the while about how I would like it if I would only give it a chance,” the duchess adds.

I look at her in horror. “I did not know that.”

“You were too far away to hear.”

Duval’s entire body is as taut as a drawn bowstring. Rage fills his eyes, but he tries to tamp it down for his sister’s sake, as concern wars with fury. “Are you all right?”

“I am fine. Ismae arrived in time.”

He turns then and bows low to me, which shocks me to the core. “Our debt to you is immeasurable,” he says. when he rises, his face is calm and still. "We will kill him,” he announces, then looks at me thoughtfully. “Unless you already have?”

“Alas, no, milord. He ceased his attack when I approached, and he did not bear the marque.”

“Saints take the marque! Look harder.” He begins to pace.

A faint glimmer of amusement touches the duchess’s features. “She fair gutted him looking for it,” she says.

At her words, I feel sheepish. “I admit I did not stop to give thought to maintaining the deception we had in place.”

“Good,” Duval says. “Perhaps others will think twice before trying something similar.”

I clear my throat. “There is more.”

Duval stops pacing and stares at me. “More?” even the duchess looks at me curiously.

“Madame Dinan set the duchess up. She made an excuse to leave her alone in the hallway when she knew d’Albret would be there.”

“How do you know this?”

“I met her on the stairs. I was heading toward the duchess and she was moving away. She tried to detain me.”

Duval explodes. “That traitorous sow!”

The duchess looks uneasy at this rare display of temper from Duval. I try to say something to turn the conversation to strategy rather than anger, though Mortain knows I have plenty of that as well. "We knew she favored her half brother, but I never guessed she would go this far in pursuit of his claim.”

“None of us did,” Duval says. "We must ban him from court. Her too.”

The duchess promptly agrees, but this plan worries me. "Excuse me, Your Grace, but I think we must tread carefully here.”

Duval’s head snaps up. "What do you mean?”

"We cannot risk word getting out that the duchess was assaulted. In this world of ours, it matters not what actually transpired. The mere suggestion that she was exposed to such a situation could be enough to bring her virtue into question. what would that do to her chances of marriage?”

All the blood drains from the duchess’s face, and Duval swears a black oath and resumes pacing.

“I will not marry the baron, no matter if he is the last man in Christendom!”

“Nor would we let you, Your Grace.” Duval’s pacing is making me dizzy. I keep waiting for him to step in and say something helpful, to come up with some strategy that will find us a way out. Instead, he is indulging in a fit of temper.

“I know,” he says suddenly, and I breathe a sigh of relief. "We will issue an edict stating that you repudiate the betrothal agreement with d’Albret and have no intention of marrying him. If we do so publicly, he will have no choice but to accept it.”

I shake my head. "Will that not simply back him into a corner and cause him to take even more drastic measures?”

Duval spears me with a feral gaze. "What do you suggest instead?”

And there he has me. I have no brilliant strategy or clever tactics. That is Duval’s gift, not mine. “I have no better plan, my lord. In truth, I am sorely disappointed in my god’s justice so far.”

Duval stares at me a long moment, his eyes bright as if with fever. “Perhaps that is because you mistake death for justice, and they are not the same thing at all.”





Chapter Thirty-six


In the morning, Vanth arrives bright and early, pecking at the window even before Louyse comes in to stoke the fire. I throw off the covers and hurry over, my toes curling away from the cold stone floor. when I open the shutter, Vanth hops in and cocks his head as if to ask what took me so long. “I was sleeping,” I tell him, then grab for the note on his leg before he can peck me.

He squawks in annoyance when I retrieve the missive, then flutters off to his cage and puts his head under his wing.

Much to my frustration, it is not instructions from the abbess but instead a note from Annith. I check the seal, then crack it open and read.

Annith writes to say she has never heard any rumor or gossip about initiates of Mortain taking permanent lovers but begs that I tell her why I wish to know. Luckily for me, she spends little time pressing me on that issue; she is much preoccupied with her own situation.

Sister Vereda has taken ill, she writes, and has not had a vision in over a week.

Is that why I have received no orders from the convent? Because Sister Vereda is ill? If that is the case, then surely I must be even more watchful for Mortain’s marque.