Grave Mercy (His Fair Assassin #1)(21)
“Besides,” Sir Crunard adds, “no one would place an unwed maid in your care without female family members to chaperone. It is much more believable that you have simply taken a mistress.”
I clear my throat, and the abbess raises an eyebrow, giving me permission to speak. "Would it not work for me to be installed in his kitchens? Or as a maid?”
She waves her hand, brushing away my suggestions. “You would not have access to court then, which is the whole point of this exercise.”
"Except,” Duval points out, “I am not known to favor mistresses. Not to mention that if I did, it would certainly not be one who was greener than a winter apple.”
I set my teeth at his words. I am not that unpolished.
Reverend Mother leans back in her chair and tsks. “You exaggerate, milord. Ismae has been well trained in all things, including how to act as a man’s mistress.”
Clearly now will not be a good time to confess to playing truant during most of Sister Beatriz’s lessons.
“But more important,” Duval continues, "With the way things are at court, I cannot assure her protection.”
“I do not need protection,” I say, offended at such a suggestion.
“No, she does not,” the abbess agrees. “She merely needs an opportunity to act.”
“You would leave such life-and-death decisions to a novice?”
“Of course not,” Reverend Mother snaps. "We leave such life-and-death decisions in the hands of Mortain, where they belong.” She turns to me. “You’ll leave with Duval within the hour. Go pack a small bag to take with you. we’ll have the rest of your things sent to his residence in Guérande. You may go.”
Dizzy at the speed with which my world has been turned upside down, I stall, trying to think of one last argument I can make. I have joined the convent to withdraw from the world of men, not to be thrust upon the mercy of one.
The abbess leans across her desk. “Have you forgotten your vow for complete and unyielding obedience in all things?” she asks in a low voice. “You are but a novice. You still have much proving to do before you can take your final vows.”
I swallow my remaining protests and go to my room to pack.
Chapter Ten
Before I finish packing, there is a knock at my door. when the reverend mother walks in, I am stunned into silence. She has never visited my quarters before.
She closes the door behind her, eyes alight with a cold, blue fire. “You see how conveniently this aligns with our plans, don’t you?”
It is true. Duval has given her an opening to carry out the very subterfuge she’d been planning minutes before he burst into her office. “It is what you wanted, Reverend Mother.”
“It is what Mortain wants, child,” she says sharply. “Or else it would not be so easily arranged. Settle your mind to this, Ismae. even if Duval is guilty of nothing more than temper and poor manners, this arrangement will serve us well, for there are many at court who bear watching. I would know with whom Duval spends time, who his allies are, what correspondence he sends. And receives. Keep an eye out for anything from the French regent. Be truthful with him whenever possible. It will be the quickest way to lull him into trust. I am not overly fond of coincidences and would like to better understand why he was in that room. He has complete access to the duchess, and her complete confidence as well. I want to be certain he is serving her interests.”
“Is that whose interests we serve, Reverend Mother? Does serving the duchess serve Mortain? I am not being impudent,” I rush to add. “I truly do not understand.”
Her face softens. “But of course it is the same, child. every day thousands of Breton voices beg our gods to keep them safe from the French and to keep our duchess strong. You can be certain France does not pray to our gods. Nor will the French honor the old saints as we do should they succeed in conquering our land. France is too closely aligned with the current pope, who would see all forms of worship but his own purged from the world. Of course Mortain does not wish that.”
She lifts her hand from the folds of her gown and I now see that she carries something wrapped in soft, worn leather. “You have made only two kills, not three, but you are close to completing your training. This assignment is your final test. Once you pass it, you will only have to say your vows to be fully committed to this convent.”
Dismayed that she would think otherwise, I meet her gaze, willing her to see the truth of my words. “I am fully committed already, Most Holy Mother.”
“I know. which is why I am giving you one of Mortain’s own daggers.”
I blink in surprise. I have never heard of such a dagger before.
“Full initiates carry them, and since you will be acting as such, I would see you properly armed with a misericorde.” She unwraps the leather and reveals an ancient dagger with a handle made of antler and chased with silver. The blade is a handbreadth long and worn with age. “This knife possesses an old, ancient magic, one of Mortain’s greatest gifts,” she says, holding it out to me. when I take it in my hand, it is warm.
“On a living man,” she continues, “the misericorde needs only to pierce the skin in order to release the soul from the body. Because the dagger was fashioned by Mortain Himself, only a cut or scratch will send a person’s soul to Him, quick and sure. It is meant as a weapon of grace — a way to invoke death and release the soul from painful days spent lingering and pondering one’s sins and wrongdoings.”