Grave Mercy (His Fair Assassin #1)(95)

She looks at me as if I am addle-brained, and perhaps I am. “I don’t want to walk. I want to sleep. Isn’t that what you want?”

"Walk!” I command. “I have an idea, a plan to protect you and Fran?ois.” That gets her feet moving.

Her gaze fuzzily tries to focus on mine, urgent. "What is it?”

“You say you lack choices in your life, and I would give you a choice. But we must walk while I do it in order to chase the poison from your body, or else you will have no choices left to you at all.”

She looks at me, her lovely blue eyes confused and hopeful. I give her a shake. “Move. I need your head clear when you make your choice.” But that is only partially true. I also need time to marshal my thoughts.

I cannot believe I am refusing to carry out an order from the convent. I glance at the marque upon Hivern’s face. It is one thing to agree to work with Duval on behalf of the duchess, one thing not to tell Crunard of Duval’s whereabouts, but this . . . this is to move in direct opposition of the convent’s orders — and Mortain’s.

But my mind has affixed itself on my first kill, Runnion, who also bore a marque. Duval maintained that Runnion was working for the duchess in order to cleanse his soul. That knowledge has haunted me ever since, the idea that I robbed him of forgiveness.

what if I can give Madame Hivern the choice I took from Runnion?

what if I can convince Hivern to renounce her sins and thus gain forgiveness? Surely that is not going against the convent, or the saint, but simply finding another way to do His will?

If He does not remove the marque from her, it will be easy enough to set up a second kill. And then I will also know that my actions against Runnion did not cost him forgiveness.

After three turns about the room Hivern is still shivering, but it is only from the cold now, not the effects of night whispers. Only then do I lay my offer of salvation before her. “My lady, if you and Fran?ois will appear in front of the full court and swear an oath of fealty to the duchess, then perhaps I can spare your lives. But only if the oath comes from your hearts and you mean to keep such a vow, for while I might not know if you are lying, Mortain surely will, and He guides my hand in all things.”

“If you will spare my son, I will promise you anything,” she swears.

“If Fran?ois is innocent, then he should have no hesitation swearing fealty to his sister.”

She grabs my arm and falls to her knees in supplication. “He will have no problem with such a thing,” she says. “Indeed, he will be glad to do it. As will I.”

I watch her closely, but the marque does not fade. Hoping I am not making the biggest mistake of my life, I take her arm and pull her to her feet. “Very well then. Here’s what we will do.”





Chapter Forty-two


That night, the duchess once again takes dinner in her chambers, so the rest of the court does the same. I am not hungry, which is just as well since Duval will need all the food Louyse has brought me.

I dismiss the older woman early under the guise of having a headache and take the precaution of locking my door. Then I take a seat by the fire and wait. I go over my actions of the afternoon for the hundredth time hoping — praying — I have made the right choice.

When Duval arrives, his doublet is unlaced and his shirt sleeves rolled up. His hair stands on end, as if he has spent the day running his hands through it. when he sees me fully dressed and sitting by the fire, his hand goes for his sword hilt and his eyes dart around the room.

“Much has happened since we last spoke,” I say quickly to reassure him. “I did not want to risk falling asleep or missing you.”

Satisfied there is no trap waiting, he comes fully into the room and takes a seat in the chair next to mine. He shoots me a cunning glance, then pulls the white queen from the leather pouch at his belt and sets it on the arm of the chair. “It is done,” he says.

"What is done?”

A smile plays at the corners of his mouth as he fills a cup with wine. “The betrothal terms between the Holy Roman emperor and the duchess have been agreed upon.” He lifts the goblet to his lips in a jaunty manner and drains it.

“But that is good news!”

A wry smile flickers briefly across his face. “You were expecting bad?”

“In truth, I was. Things seem to turn against the duchess at every opportunity.”

His head snaps around. “Has some new disaster befallen her?”

“No, milord. Indeed, I have good news as well.”

He lifts the flagon of wine and refills his cup. “Then tell it so I may hear.”

“Your mother and brother have agreed to swear their fealty to Anne before the Privy Council and all the barons at court.”

He sets the flagon down with a thump. “They have?”

“They have.”

watching me closely, he asks, “And how, pray tell, did this miracle come about?”

I look away from his piercing gaze and stare at the flames dancing in the fireplace. while I have every intention of telling him the truth, I fear he will see far more than I want him to. “I received orders from the convent.”

There is no sound but the faint crackle and hiss of the fire. “I see,” he says at last. “Or rather, I do not, for if you received orders from the convent, surely they would both be dead?”