Grave Mercy (His Fair Assassin #1)(40)

when he looks up, I am sorely vexed to be caught staring, so I step inside the room, holding my head high and fighting the shyness that plucks at me. “Good morning.” My voice is cool and remote.

“I will be with you in a moment,” he says, returning his attention to the letter in front of him.

Torn between annoyance and relief, I saunter to the two trestle tables that have been set up to hold the overflow of papers and maps from his desk. A map of Brittany is spread out, and small, colored pebbles are scattered across it. I squint my eyes and see a shape and pattern to the pebbles. The dark ones mark the towns and villages that France took easily during the Mad war. Is he trying to determine where the French will attack if they do not get their way? A shadow passes over my heart. Sweet Mortain, not another war.

Duval finishes his letter and sets it aside before looking up at me. “How did you sleep last night?” There is a gleam of amusement in his eyes — eyes that are very nearly blue from the reflected color of his doublet — that I do not care for.

“Poorly, I am afraid, milord. My sleep was much disturbed.”

“I am sorry to hear that,” he says, even though he knows full well he is the cause. Before I can point that out to him, he holds up his hand. “Peace,” he says. "We have much to discuss this morning before I leave and very little time.”

It costs me to let him have the last word, but I nod in agreement nevertheless.

Duval tosses his quill on the desk and leans back in his chair. “I was correct. Someone has called the meeting of the estates without the duchess’s knowledge or consent, and she is most aggrieved. All the barons of the realm are now gathered here in Guérande like eager vultures. even worse, the French envoy will no doubt witness the entire spectacle and report back to the French regent.”

“Perhaps he will bear a marque,” I say with hope. “Then I can kill him before he carries tales back to the French.”

Duval grimaces. “By all means, if you see a marque on the French ambassador, kill him with my blessing along with Mortain’s. However, if you think that will stop the leak of information from our court to France, you are more naive than you appear.”

I bristle at his words, wanting to argue that I am not naive, but it has become clear that the convent has woefully underprepared me for this assignment.

Or perhaps it is the convent that is underprepared. It is a most unsettling thought, and I push it away. “Did you learn anything further from the footpad who attacked us?”

A grimace of embarrassment crosses his face. “No.” He rises to his feet and stalks to the window. “I’m afraid I clouted him a bit too soundly. He has yet to wake up.”

“Did you search through his belongings? was there nothing that hinted at who they were or why they were there?”

“No, they had no standard or signed note of instruction stuffed neatly in their purses.” His mocking tone prods me to my feet as well.

“Of course not. But had they been paid? what coin did they carry? were their cloaks of Flemish wool, or their boots of Italian leather? we can learn much from these details.”

Duval’s brows lift in respectful surprise. “They carried French coin, but that tells us little, as half the coinage in the realm is French. Their cloaks were of cheap make, but their boots were of the finest leather, so they made some attempt at concealing their origins.”

I try not to look smug, but before I can enjoy my small victory, he changes the subject.

“I have a number of meetings today. As you can imagine, the duchess has much to sort out with these newest developments, and I would be there to offer her guidance.”

"Will they not question my presence, my lord?”

He looks at me in amusement. “They would indeed, demoiselle, which is why you will not be there.”

“But what am I to do? Shall I question the footpad when he awakes? Or perhaps I should attempt to learn who it was that called for the meeting of the estates in the first pla — ”

He raises his hand to stop my flow of words. “None of those. In fact, you will have a meeting too, of sorts.” I do not like the smile playing about his mouth. “A seamstress, one of the duchess’s, will be here shortly to fashion a gown for you to wear tonight when I present you at court.”

“A . . . gown,” I splutter. He cannot be serious. He cannot think I will sit and be poked and prodded with pins and silk while he is off attending to matters of state. “That is not in our agreement, my lord.”

“A good subterfuge requires preparation and attention to detail. Surely the convent taught you that much? If you are appear tonight as my mistress — ”

“I thought we had settled on cousin,” I say stiffly.

He leans against the wall near the window and folds his arms across his chest. “You must realize the futility of that now. My bloodlines on both sides are too well known for me to pull a cousin out of my lineage like a conjurer’s trick.”

My cheeks flame red at this reminder of my earlier blunder. He purses his lips and taps his finger against them, studying me. “In fact, that is what you can do once your gown has been properly fitted. You can study the noble families of Brittany so that when you meet them face to face tonight, you will not make similar mistakes.”

I raise my chin. “I have already studied them, my lord, but unless they carry their shields or colors or display their coats of arms, I have no way of recognizing them.”