Grave Mercy (His Fair Assassin #1)(20)

Mouth pursed in thought, the abbess folds her arms in her sleeves. “How do you propose we rectify this? Are we to consult with you every time the saint bids us act?”

Duval runs his hand through his hair and turns to the window. “Not necessarily. But we must find a better way to coordinate our efforts. Because of your novice’s actions, the duchess has lost valuable information.”

I feel as if I’ve been slapped. “Might have lost,” I correct under my breath.

He looks at me in surprise. "Excuse me?”

I willingly bow to my god and my abbess, but I’ll be damned if I will bow to this man. I raise my head and meet his gaze. “I said might have lost. It is not certain that these men had any vital information.”

He strides toward me then, coming so close that I must tilt my head back to meet his glower. He places his hands on the arms of my chair, imprisoning me. “But we will never know, will we?” His voice is soft and mocking and he is so near I feel his words move across my skin.

“Duval!” The reverend mother’s sharp voice breaks through our tense silence. “Quit intimidating my novice.”

He flushes and pushes away from my chair.

“I was not intimidated,” I mutter under my breath.

He glances angrily at me but says nothing. A small tic begins at the base of his jaw. He appeals to Chancellor Crunard. “Tell them. Tell them how delicate the balance. How each bit of information has the power to sway that balance.”

“He has no need to tell me,” the abbess says sharply.

Crunard spreads his hands. “Then you know it is true. The circling vultures grow bold. The regent of France has forbidden that Anne be crowned duchess. It is our enemies’ wish to make her France’s ward so that they may claim Brittany for their own. They also claim the right to determine who she will marry.”

Duval begins pacing. “Spies are everywhere. we can scarce keep track of them all. The French have set up a permanent entourage within our court, which has made some of the border nations uneasy.”

Crunard adds, “Not to mention that their presence makes it impossible to see our duchess crowned without their knowledge. But until we place that crown upon her head before her people and the Church, we are vulnerable.”

I cannot help but feel sympathy for our poor duchess. “Surely there is some way out of this mess?”

I have addressed my question to the abbess, but it is Duval who answers. “I will forge one with my bare hands, if need be,” he says. “I vow that I will see her crowned duchess, and I will see her safely wed. But I need information against our enemies if I am to accomplish this.”

The room falls so silent that I fear they will hear the pounding of my heart. Duval’s vow has moved me, and that he has made it on sacred ground proves he is either very brave or very foolish.

At last the abbess speaks. “I will concede your greater experience in the matter of gathering information,” she says.

At her words, Duval relaxes somewhat. The fool. The look she has given him is one that all of us at the convent have learned to fear, and I, for one, do not care for the gleam in her eye one bit.

“Your concern for our country is admirable, and it is true that few are as committed as you.” Her compliments lull him further into an illusion of safety. “And,” she continues, “I know you are as anxious to help us as we are to help you.”

Duval’s face creases into a frown as he tries to recall expressing such a thing. My heart swells with pride at how neatly the reverend mother is boxing him in. She glances at Chancellor Crunard, who gives a slight nod.

"We will be happy to work with you. And in order that we may do so more smoothly, we will place Ismae in your household for the next few weeks.”

The shock of her words forces all the air from my lungs, which is the only thing that keeps me from shouting No!

Duval sends me a horrified look — as if this has somehow been my doing! He opens his mouth to protest, but the abbess talks over him.

"We need someone at court. I don’t like being so far away when there is such turmoil surrounding our duchess. Posing as your mistress, Ismae will have access to all the people and information the convent requires. More important, she will be in a position to act when needed. And” — she gives him a beatific smile — “coordinating our respective duties will then be possible.”

I cannot help but admire the neatly set trap she has built around him. I would admire it even more if I had not been the bait. “But Reverend Mother — ” I start, but she silences me with a look.

Duval, however, does not owe her the same blind obedience. “You are mad,” he says simply, and the reverend mother’s face hardens. “I shall do no such thing. I do not have time to play nursemaid to one of your novitiates.”

“Then any chance we have of coordinating our efforts is lost,” she says, her entire demeanor cold and distant.

“You are blackmailing me,” Duval says, aggrieved.

“No, only agreeing to the cooperation you yourself have requested.” And there it is. He is well and truly trapped, and he knows it.

when he huffs out a sigh of resignation, I know she has won. “I will not claim her as mistress. we shall say she is my cousin.” That barb finds its home. Am I so very repugnant?

The abbess looks incredulous. “And who will believe you? Your family and its ties are too well known for that to work.”