Grave Mercy (His Fair Assassin #1)(52)

Indeed, rows and rows of the most beautiful gowns are spread about the room. I am stunned at the riches the convent has provided. Velvets and brocades and the finest silks, all in dazzling colors: deep blue, emerald green, and rich claret.

There is a sound in the doorway and I look up to find Agnez coming into the room holding a large twig cage at arm’s length. In it sits a large, rather fiendish-looking crow.

“They sent this along with the trunks, demoiselle,” Louyse explains. "We tried to put it in the stables, but it unsettled all the horses, so the ostler insisted we bring it inside. Is it a . . . pet, my lady?”

“Of a sort. Put the cage over by the window,” I tell Agnez. As she sets it on the floor, the crow squawks and lunges for her finger. She squeaks and springs back, nearly tripping in her haste to be away from the bird.

“That’ll be all,” Louyse says to her sharply, although it isn’t really the girl’s fault.

with one last suspicious glance at the crow, Agnez quickly takes her leave. Louyse shakes her head. "Will you want help dressing?” At my blank look, she adds, “Before you go to court tonight?”

“Perhaps in an hour or so, thank you.”

She pauses at the door. “Oh, I nearly forgot. Two letters came with the trunks. They’re on the table over there. And the smallest of the trunks is still locked. They do not appear to have sent a key. would you like me to send up one of the footmen to break it?”

“Let me see what the letters say before I decide.”

“Very well, milady.” She dips a curtsy, then departs, leaving me alone with a very ill-tempered crow who is trying to shred his cage with his wicked-looking beak.

I hurry to the table and pick up the first letter. even though I recognize the reverend mother’s handwriting, I turn the note over and examine the seal. Annith has a wealth of tricks for opening correspondence, and she has taught me the signs to search for if I suspect tampering, but I see none of them on this seal. It is the same black wax the convent always uses, smelling faintly of licorice and cinnamon, and it is all in one piece, with no smaller, thinner layers to indicate it has been resealed. Satisfied, I tear open the seal, hoping for a new assignment. There are so very many here at court whose throats I would happily slit.

Dearest Daughter,

I hope this finds you well and adjusting to life at court, and I trust your training at the convent is serving you well.

Sister Vereda casts her bones into the flames daily, searching for guidance, but has Seen nothing yet. When she does, I shall send a message. However, if your heart and eyes are open to Him, He will no doubt guide your hand.

Remember that you are also our eyes and ears at court. Report to me all that you learn, no matter how small a thing it may seem.

In addition to gowns and finery, we have sent a small trunk of the tools and supplies your service to Mortain will require. Vanth bears the key.

Yours in Mortain,

Abbess Etienne de Froissard



My hand crushes the note and in my frustration I cast it into the fire. These are not the instructions I was hoping for. waiting, waiting. Always more waiting. Had they taught us to wait as well as they taught us to kill, I might be better at it.

Sighing, I pick up the second letter. It is from Annith.



Dearest Sister,

I would be lying if I didn’t allow how jealous I was at all your new finery. The entire abbey stitched and sewed, altering the gowns to Sister Beatriz’s exacting measurements so they would fit you and do the convent proud. Although how they will reflect on the convent when your association with us is secret, I know not, and Sister Beatriz only told me to stitch faster when I pointed that out.

I am near to bursting with curiosity to hear how court is, how many you’ve killed since you left, and all the other details. I think Reverend Mother suspects I am sore put out that you have been given this task and not me. She has assigned me to work closely with Sister Arnette so that I will not feel left out, but of course, it does no good.

Write me when you can so I can see with my own eyes how you fare, else I shall surely die of boredom. Still no word from Sybella.

Your sister in Mortain,

Annith

When I finish the letter I ache with homesickness, not for the convent but for Annith and her sharp, clever mind. I would dearly love to put all that I have learned before her and see what she makes of it. I briefly consider writing it all down, then realize Vanth could not possibly carry all the pages it would require.

Instead, I hurry to the cage and see that the crow has a small packet affixed to his left leg. eyeing him warily, I reach into the cage, crooning in a soothing voice — only to wrench my hand back as he snaps at it with his sharp beak.

“Stop that,” I scold. “’Tis my key, not yours.” I try again, this time moving more quickly, and pluck the packet from his ankle. His vicious beak just misses my fingers and jabs futilely against the cage. “Traitor,” I chide.

I unwrap the packet, and a small gold key on a chain falls into the palm of my hand. Grasping it, I hurry over to the trunklet and fit the key into the lock. I lift the lid and bite back a laugh of pure pleasure. The trunk contains daggers of all sizes: a large anlace to wear against my back, a small easily hidden dirk, a long thin stiletto to slip into the top of my stocking, a needle-like stylet for the base of the skull, and a tangle of leather sheaths so that I may keep them all close at hand. There is a plain garrote as well as one hidden in a fancy bracelet. Sister Arnette has also included a small crossbow, no bigger than the palm of my hand. The quarrels are honed to a fine point.