Grave Mercy (His Fair Assassin #1)(88)

The maiden evades them. Once. Twice. But the third time, the hellequin surround her. My heart begins to beat faster. Surely this is too frightening for young Isabeau?

I look to see how she is faring, and my breath catches in my throat when I see how close the hellequin have drawn to the high table. Some inner alarm — perhaps Mortain’s own whisper — sounds in my head, and I am on my feet, pushing through the cavorting mummers, reaching for the crossbow hidden beneath my overskirt.

The entire court gasps as a hellequin leaps onto the table in front of the duchess and draws a knife. Most think it is part of the play. Duval and Dunois know better and reach for their swords, but they are too far away. with a heartfelt prayer to my god, I slap the quarrel in place and pull the trigger.

The quarrel catches the hellequin in the back of the neck, just below the protection of his mask. He freezes; the knife drops from his spasming fingers, and he topples forward.

The duchess just manages to leap away in time to keep from being crushed by his falling body. Dark red blood splatters onto her pale face.

The pandemonium is instantaneous.

Ladies scream, courtiers shout and scramble away. Men-atarms pour in from the corridor and surround the mummers, who look in shocked silence at the dead hellequin.

Captain Dunois’s eyes widen in admiration. "Excellent shot.”

I incline my head in acknowledgment of his compliment. “Catch Isabeau,” I tell Duval just before she crumples. But Duval’s reflexes are quick and he snatches her before she hits the floor. "Waroch! De Lornay! Question them.” He nods his head toward the stunned mummers. “Your Grace, I think we should get you back to your quarters,” he says to the duchess.

Pale and trembling, the duchess nods shakily and follows him as he carries their sister back to the solar. Marshal Rieux stares at me as if he fears I, too, have sprung from the mummer’s drum. "What is the meaning of this?” Rieux thumps his hand on the table.

Chancellor Crunard steps in to smooth things over. “I think explanations are best made in private. Perhaps we should all adjourn to the duchess’s chambers.” His eyes seek out mine. “You as well, demoiselle,” he says.

Now that the moment is over and the danger passed, my body begins to tremble. So close. Too close. Ignoring the whispers and the pointing, I follow them out of the hall. was the assassin a parting gift from d’Albret? Or an opening shot fired by some new enemy?





Chapter Thirty-eight


"Who is this woman?” Marshal Rieux demands.

I ignore his question, go to the ewer near the duchess’s canopied bed, and pour water into the basin. I grab a linen cloth from the stand nearby, wet it, then carry it to her. “May I?”

She looks at me in puzzlement.

“You have blood on your face,” I explain.

Her eyes widen in horror and she gives a frantic nod. Gently I begin sponging the spatters from her cheek. Now that she is safe, I am calm. The god truly guided my hand, for I could never have made that shot otherwise. Let the others say what they will, they cannot take that away from me.

"Who is she, Duval? we knew she was not your niece. I, for one, did not begrudge you a lightskirt — ”

“Careful.” Duval’s voice is a warning growl.

“ — but clearly she is much more than any of us guessed.”

“Some knew.” Duval shoots a glance Crunard’s way. It is an excellent strategy. This whole idea was cooked up between the chancellor and the abbess, so let Crunard answer to his irate fellow council members.

“Chancellor Crunard? Did you know about this? who is she and what just happened out there?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Crunard’s signet rings flash as he steeples his fingers. “She has been sent to court by the abbess of St. Mortain.”

I feel all the eyes in the room staring at my back.

“I thought they were the stuff of nightmares,” Rieux mutters quietly.

“But no,” I say innocently. “I am saint sent to aid our duchess and our country, Marshal Rieux. Unless our duchess’s triumph is your nightmare, you have nothing to fear from me.”

He turns accusingly to Anne. “Did you know her identity, Your Grace?”

The duchess raises her chin. “I knew that she served Saint Mortain and that He had sent her to me in my hour of need.”

"Why were the rest of us not told?” the marshal asks.

Crunard shrugs. "We thought the fewer who knew, the easier to keep her identity hidden. Surely, Marshal, you do not tell me every bit of your military strategy?”

Rieux’s face reddens, but he cannot deny the truth of Crunard’s words.

“I do not see why you are so angry.” It is the duchess herself who speaks. “If it were not for Demoiselle Rienne’s quick actions, I would even now be lying in a pool of my own blood.”

There is a resounding silence, then Marshal Rieux rushes in. “You misunderstand us, Your Grace. we are overjoyed that you were not injured. But are we so sure that poor man was not merely part of the entertainment?”

"We are sure,” I say.

Rieux whips his head around to stare at me. “How?”

My eyes meet his. “Because Saint Mortain guided my hand.”

Rieux’s lips flatten into a thin line and he takes a step closer to me. I do not know what he intends, but Chancellor Crunard stops him. “Marshal Rieux!”