Grave Mercy (His Fair Assassin #1)(81)

“Is she happy there, do you think?”

“She is.” I do not tell Isabeau the rest of the story, of how Arduinna grew so jealous that she vowed that from then on, love would always bring pain. Or of how in the sorrow of missing her daughter, Dea Matrona brought bitter winter to our land.

By the story’s end, the medicine has begun to work, and the young girl’s eyes drift closed. Her chest rises and falls easily, and her breath is no longer labored. Perhaps I fool myself, but she looks more at peace. If I trusted Madame Dinan at all, I would leave some of the medicine with her, but I do not. If only I had coltsfoot or hyssop. even comfrey or balm would help, but all I have is poison, and I am loath to give it to the girl’s governess.

In the quiet of the room, I hear the muffled sound of raised voices in the next chamber cease suddenly, and then the sound of a door being thrown open. I rise quietly and go to the solar, shutting the door to Isabeau’s room behind me.

Anne strides into her antechamber, face white. Duval storms in behind her. “How dare she?” he explodes.

At his display of temper, I hurry forward, putting my finger to my lips. “Isabeau has finally fallen asleep,” I say. "We do not want to wake her.”

That checks Duval’s outburst somewhat, but I can still see his pulse beating, furious and erratic, in the hollow of his throat.

“I cannot believe she has done this.” The note of heartbreak in Anne’s voice is harder to bear than Duval’s anger. “She is supposed to serve my interests, not her own.”

A look of pain crosses Duval’s face, as if he is saddened that she has had to learn this unpleasant lesson so young. “Your Grace has enough experience with the Breton court to know just how little truth there is in that notion.”

“But she was my governess,” Anne says. “I was her charge. Not the treasury or the armies or the royal household.”

“For the love of Mortain, will someone please tell me what has happened?” I ask.

Duval whips his head around and spears me with his intent gaze. “Have you received no orders from the convent?” he asks.

“No! why?”

“Perhaps your crow is not working properly,” he mutters.

I dismiss his jab at the convent and turn to the duchess. "What has happened?”

“My governess, Madame Dinan, has plucked from her sleeve a betrothal agreement between my father and Count d’Albret. One that, apparently, I signed.”

This is well and truly disastrous. I glance quickly at Duval and he gives a nod of confirmation. So far all the betrothal agreements have been verbal, giving them all equal weight in the eyes of the law. But if there is a signed agreement with d’Albret, that may very well be more legally binding. The duchess might have no choice but to marry the brute. “Did you get a chance to speak to them of your plans with the Holy Roman emperor?”

Duval and the duchess exchange a look, one I do not care for at all. “They would not hear of it,” he says. He lifts his finger and wags it at me. “‘Not so fast,’ they said. ‘You were wrong about the english sending aid and you gave us false hope with Nemours. we shall make the decisions now and you shall merely carry them out.’”

“It is worse even than that,” the duchess says, following Duval’s pacing with worried eyes. “They flayed Gavriel with their lying, twisted tongues, and blamed him for Nemours’s death.”

"What?”

Duval drops his head and rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands. “They said it was my fault for having kept Nemours a secret, for not having assigned a larger body of guards to him.”

“Did you point out that Nemours was perfectly safe until they learned of his existence?”

“Oh, yes, and you can imagine how well that went over. Marshal Rieux nearly flew across the table to strike me, and would have if Crunard had not held him back.”

we are all silent as we consider the full magnitude of this disaster. when the duchess finally speaks, her voice is laced with desperation. “Surely there is something we can do.”

“Oh, there is much we can do,” Duval says grimly. “But each action will have a cost. we can begin negotiating with the Holy Roman emperor now, the Privy Council be damned, but it will turn them more firmly against me. we can send a letter to the ecclesiastical council pointing out that the agreement was made without your consent and you had no idea what you were signing.”

Anne halts her pacing and whirls around to face Duval, determination writ plainly on her face. “Yes!” she says. “Yes to both of those things.”

“The rest of the Privy Council will not be pleased. They already think that you and I collude too much and that I am overstepping my station. They may follow through on their threat to bar me from your meetings.”

The duchess lifts her chin. “Then I will consult with you in private.”

Duval hides a smile. “Very well. I will arrange a preliminary meeting with the Holy Roman emperor’s envoy tomorrow, and if you will show me where you keep quill and ink, we shall draft your letter to the ecclesiastical council. D’Albret shall not have you. Not while I still draw breath.”

A chill scuttles across my shoulders just then, and I wish Duval had not made such a vow. It is never wise to taunt the gods.