Duval tosses me a glance, as if to show he is bearing my presence with little grace. “Forgive her, madame. She was raised in the country and is no doubt struck dumb by your beauty and elegance.”
“As are we all,” Baron Geffoy adds, completely missing the deep irony in Duval’s voice. Lady Katerine, however, does not.
“Is she what caused you to stray so far from your young duchess’s side?” Hivern smirks.
Duval lifts his goblet and takes a sip of wine. “I did not stray anywhere. I had business to attend to on behalf of the duchess.”
Madame Hivern looks sharply at me. "Where did you say you were from?”
“She didn’t,” says Duval, and while I do not like that he is speaking for me, I cannot even pretend to understand what is going on between them.
“Have you news of the French?” Baron Geffoy asks. He is no longer jovial but tense and bristly, and for the first time since meeting him, I think I would not want to face him in pitched battle. “There have been rumors of their troops amassing in the north.”
Duval gives a firm shake of his head. “No. There have been no troop sightings or even signs of scouting parties. Your information is mistaken. The duchess has the matter well in hand.”
Madame Hivern leans forward, eyes glittering. “Does she, Gavriel? Does she truly? For it does not appear that way from where I sit.”
Across the table their eyes meet. “That is because you choose not to see it, madame.” His words are tight and hard, like stones from a catapult. “As always, you see precisely what you want to see and no more.” He casts his unflinching regard toward the head of the table, where Baron Geffoy pays careful attention to the slices of pheasant on his plate. Duval stares at him for a long moment before returning his attention to Hivern. “Beware, madame,” he says softly. “Politics can be far more dangerous than you know.” It takes me a full beat to recognize that this is no general advice but a very specific warning. But of what?
She, too, appears puzzled by his words, but before she can speak, Duval turns to me. I barely keep from recoiling at the simmering fury in his gaze. “Since we leave at first light, it would be wise to retire early.” He rises and holds his arm out to me and I quickly get to my feet, thank Lady Katerine for her hospitality, and let Duval lead me away.
Duval escorts me from the room, his lightly banked fury propelling us at a rapid pace, and I am nearly breathless when we arrive at my chamber. I start to ask a question, but he cuts me off with a curt good night, opens my door, and fair shoves me inside, then shuts it with unmistakable finality.
I am alone, and grateful for it, but angry too. It is not my fault he and Hivern have nearly come to blows.
I cannot guess what lies between them, what sort of fallingout they have had. It seems far too heated a feud to be based on Duval’s resenting his mother’s affection for his brother. And how does Geffoy play into all this? For he sat there looking as guilty as Annith did when she was caught snooping through Sister Beatriz’s love poems.
Or was that it? Is the baron contemplating a liaison with Madame Hivern, and is Duval trying to discourage it? De Lornay claimed Duval had the morals of a monk, so perhaps that is at the heart of his and his mother’s animosity: he believes she is taking another lover far too soon after his father’s death.
My tired fingers are graceless and clumsy as I fight with the laces on my bodice. At last they come lose and I remove it, shivering as the cold air brushes my skin. I step out of my skirt and, clad only in my shift, hurry over to the enormous bed and climb under the thick covers, welcoming their warmth.
I can hear Duval pacing in the next room, restless and agitated, his anger rolling in under the door like some foul miasma off a fetid marsh. I push it from my mind. who his mother takes as a lover cannot be of interest to Mortain.
Sometime later, I am awakened by angry voices. At first, I think they are in the room with me, then realize they come from Duval’s chamber. The door is thick, so I catch only snatches.
“ . . . you will ruin everything for us . . .”
“Have you so little respect for my father that you would . . .”
“ . . . has nothing to do with . . .”
It is Madame Hivern. She and Duval are arguing. That brings me fully awake and just as I throw off the covers so I may go listen at the door, I hear another door slam with a thud. After a brief moment, there is a sharp, brittle crash from Duval’s room, a shatter of crystal that brings me to my feet. I have only ever heard that sound once before, in the abbess’s office, and before my head knows what my feet are doing, I am flying to the door, my hands fumbling at the bolt.
Duval sprawls in a chair by the fire, his head thrown back and his eyes closed. An open decanter sits at his elbow, and the rich fruity scent of wine mixes with the lingering traces of Madame Hivern’s rose perfume. Firelight glints off the shards of broken crystal on the floor, and I stop, afraid I’ll slice my feet to ribbons. “My lord?” I whisper, dread beating in my breast.
Duval’s head snaps up, his eyes filled with bleak despair. He quickly looks away, but too late. I have seen his expression, and sympathy for something I do not even understand pierces my heart. “I heard a crash . . .”
He raises one sardonic eyebrow at me, his face now a brittle mask. “And thought to save me from attacking crystal while clad only in your shift?”
I flinch at his mocking tone. Truly, why had I rushed in? even if he had been poisoned, what could I do? His soul, I think, relieved that a reason has come to me. If he were to die, I must learn all I can from his soul before it departs.
He glances at the empty decanter at his elbow. “Unless you are checking to see if your poison worked? Am I one of your targets, then?” The weariness in his voice suggests he would not mind so very much.
And while I did not like Hivern before, now, for some inexplicable reason, I hate her. “Are you drunk?” I try to put as much scorn into my words as he did.
“No. Yes. Perhaps a little. Definitely not enough.” The bleakness is back and he turns to stare into the flames.
I am torn between wanting to leave him to wallow in his despair and wanting to rush to his side and chase that look from his eyes. That I long to do this appalls me, sets panic fluttering against my ribs.
“I suggest you return to your room,” Duval says, his gaze still fixed woodenly on the fire. “Unless you have come to practice your lessons of seduction on me?” His mouth twists in bitter amusement. “That could well entertain me till sunrise.”