Grave Mercy (His Fair Assassin #1)(43)
"What shadow just crossed your face?” Duval asks, and I curse his eyes that always see too much.
“I was thinking of your father’s late chamberlain.”
Duval grows somber. He tucks my arm closer against his. “That will not happen to you.” His words sound almost like a vow, which discomfits me greatly.
To distract us both, I cozy up to him and flash my most brilliant smile, one I have copied from Sybella. “That is settled then. Shall we go?”
He blinks. “If you are not careful, I will begin to think you are enamored of me.”
At his words, something flutters happily in my breast, pleasure, perhaps, but I am at last finding my footing in this game we play. “It is what we want the court to think, my lord.”
The grandeur of the Breton court can scarce be described. The rustle of fine silk and brocades, the whisper of plush velvet and softest leather. The air is heavy with perfume, from the shy scent of violets and bold bouquet of roses to the subtler scents of vetiver and sandalwood. The very air drips with richness and opulence that puts every place I’ve ever been to to shame.
I cannot imagine a gathering where I would be less at home; a turnip mislaid in a rose garden. I feel Duval’s eyes upon me and risk a quick glance at him. "What?” I ask, reaching up to discreetly adjust an escaping tendril of hair.
He bats my hand away. “Leave it. It looks charming thus.”
My cheeks grow warm at this unexpected compliment. Then he leans down. “Just how many of those pearls are poisoned?”
The warmth of his breath tickles my ear in an unsettling manner, but his words embolden me, reminding me of my purpose. I turn back to the gathered nobles with a lighter heart. Surely now that I am here, Mortain will reveal His wishes to me.
It is like watching a large group of birds of prey, all hooded eyes and hungry gazes, all waiting to pounce. what tasty morsel they hunger after, I know not. Gossip? Intrigue?
The nobles cluster in small groups, much like the chickens at the convent when they find a nest of slugs. All of the ladies are as poised and graceful as Madame Hivern, and while there are varying degrees of beauty, the style is the same: bold and well practiced, artfully achieved, demanding to be noticed.
“First things first, I think,” Duval murmurs. “I must introduce you to the privy councilors so you do not kill one of them in error.”
“If Mortain wills it, my lord, it will not be in error.”
"Even so, I suggest you consult with the duchess before dispatching any of them.” He leads me to two older men standing a bit removed from the others.
It is easy enough to guess who they are. The man on the right is built like a bear and stands as if he has been riding a horse for a fortnight. Surely he must be Captain Dunois. There is something about his quiet, unassuming strength that makes me inclined to trust him at once, a sentiment that I remind myself has no place in this game we play.
The other man is taller, with iron-gray hair and a surfeit of square yellowed teeth that put me in mind of a braying ass. He must be Marshal Rieux, and it is clear from the way he stands and surveys the room that he is much in love with his own opinion.
Captain Dunois greets Duval warmly, but Marshal Rieux is vexed and takes no pains to hide it. “You picked a fine time to disappear,” he snaps.
Duval meets the older man’s eyes steadily. “Indeed, I would never have left if I’d known someone would call an estate meeting over my sister’s wishes.”
Marshal Rieux doesn’t flinch. “The barons have every right to be addressed and apprised of the situation, and sooner rather than later.”
I glance at Duval. Does that mean that the marshal called the meeting? If so, he would surely bear a marque, but he does not. Or at least, not one that I can see. Duval takes a step toward Marshal Rieux. “So it was you who called the meeting?”
Marshal Rieux’s manner grows cold and distant. “You forget yourself, Duval,” he snaps. “You are naught but a bastard, tolerated only for your sister’s sake. You do not have a formal place on the council, or a voice. You are in no position to demand answers from me.” without giving Duval a chance to respond, he turns on his heel and stalks away.
Captain Dunois watches him a long moment before turning back to Duval. "Were you intending to have that effect on him?”
Duval gives an irritated shake of his head. “No, he is just more prickly than a damned hedgehog. was it Rieux that called the meeting, do you think? Is that why he grew so angry?”
“No, I think he grew angry because he did not call the meeting and does not like being reminded that someone disregarded not only Anne’s authority but also his own.”
“Since Chancellor Crunard has been away from court nearly as long as I have, that leaves Madame Dinan. But to what purpose? Does she mean to put her half brother’s marriage proposal before the barons? Surely she knows Anne will refuse him. what does she gain by forcing the issue in such a manner?”
Captain Dunois shrugs. “Perhaps it is intended as a show of support and strength to deter our French guests?”
“French plague is more like it,” Duval mutters. “Perhaps now is as good a time as any for us to greet the French parasite.”
Dunois bows. “You will forgive me if I do not linger to watch the resulting tempest,” he says, then takes his leave.
with a sigh, Duval begins leading me across the room. “If the French ambassador bears a marque, do feel free to kill him at once. It would save us all a great deal of trouble.”