Grave Mercy (His Fair Assassin #1)(67)

Two days after Duval informed the Privy Council of Nemours’s offer, his brother Fran?ois invites me to play chess. I accept, wondering if there is some ulterior motive to the invitation.

Fran?ois is waiting at a table in the grand salon, his attention on setting up the chessboard, which gives me a moment to study him unobserved. That he would betray his own sister makes him dishonorable. That he is Duval’s brother makes him fascinating.

He glances up just then and I smile shyly, as if I have been caught admiring him. He rises to his feet and bows. “Good morning, demoiselle.”

“Good morning,” I reply as I take my seat.

“Duval let you out for the morning?”

“Duval is busy with the duchess and her councilors.” I grimace with distaste, and Fran?ois clucks his tongue in sympathy.

"What will you choose, my lady, white or black?” I look down at the ornately carved pieces in front of me.

“Black, I think.”

His brows raise in surprise. “You give up the first move then?” “Is not the defensive position the stronger?” I ask sweetly. He laughs. “You have been spending too much time with my

brother and his strategies. Very well, I shall go first.” He reaches for his king’s pawn and moves it forward two paces. I respond by moving a knight’s pawn forward one pace.

Fran?ois gives me a sly look. “No hesitation; I like that in a lady.” It would be hard to miss the double meaning in his words.

“I hesitate when it is called for, my lord, and your game has not called for it yet.”

He laughs, and I am pleased at how artfully I fall into this flirtation. “A challenge,” he says, his eyes glittering at the prospect.

I let my face grow sober. “Speaking of challenges, what did you think of the estates meeting? were you as shocked as everyone else with Count d’Albret’s threat of war?”

Fran?ois’s cheerful face turns grave. “I was. He is not known for idle threats.”

I cannot tell if he is concerned for the duchess or his own aspirations. “Your poor sister already has her hands full with France, she does not need d’Albret’s rebellion on top of everything else.”

“Indeed, she does not.” He smiles tightly. “But I am certain Duval will take care of it. He always does.” He sneaks his bishop out from behind the pawn and takes my knight. when he looks up, our eyes meet. “Your move,” he says softly.

I keep my expression light and turn the conversation to other matters. “Your brother serves Saint Camulos,” I say as I consider the board. "What saint do you serve, if any? Saint Amourna, perhaps? Or Saint Salonius?” The moment the name crosses my lips, I wish to take it back. As Fran?ois is a bastard, there is a very real chance he was dedicated to Saint Salonius, patron saint of mistakes.

Overlooking my blunder, he claps his hand to his heart. “You wound me, demoiselle! Arduinna?”

I shrug. “You are most charming, so it seems fitting to me.”

Fran?ois’s brown eyes grow serious. “There is more to me than that, demoiselle.”

“Is there now?” I ask, putting just a touch of doubt in my voice so that he will be compelled to prove it to me.

In spite of the seriousness that has fallen over him, he smiles. “I was dedicated to Saint Mer,” he says, "With the hopes that I would have a naval career.” He gives a self-deprecating grimace. “Until we discovered that I become deathly seasick and am of absolutely no use to anyone on a boat.”

I laugh, as he intends me to, but I am more than a little surprised to find that I grieve for him as well. It is no small thing to be dedicated to a saint you cannot serve. “And your sister the duchess?” I ask.

“Ah, Saint Brigantia,” he says, then falls silent.

Of course. The patron saint of wisdom.

“You are not close to your sister, are you?”

He looks up at me again, and this time his normally open gaze is unreadable. “I was not given a chance. From the time of her birth, Duval was her champion; I could never get close.”

I study him. It is not the faint bitterness in his voice that surprises me but the faint echo of abandonment. “You miss him,” I say in surprise.

Fran?ois picks up his rook and studies it. “Aye, I miss him. we spent our youth doing everything together. He was my older brother, the one who taught me how to hold a sword and how to draw a bow and where to fish for the fattest pike. when Anne was born, that all fell away, and he became consumed by duty.” He moves his rook down eight spaces. “Check,” he says quietly.

I study the board a moment, trying to force my mind back to the game. At last I move a pawn. It is a feeble move, and Fran?ois looks at me with mild amusement. “Does speaking of my brother distract you so very much?” he asks.

“No,” I say, managing a dismissive laugh. “It is just that I am so very bad at chess, as I warned you.”

He smiles, but it does not reach his eyes. Something behind me draws his attention. “Gavriel, you finally decided to come up for air?”

I look over my shoulder, surprised to see Duval glowering in the doorway. “No,” he says shortly. “I came because I must speak with Demoiselle Rienne. If you’ll excuse us?” His voice is filled with ice and I cannot fathom why.

“But of course.” Fran?ois stands.