I move toward the bed and fetch the sacred bone dagger from under my mattress. The reverend mother has given it to me for some purpose. Perhaps easing Nemours’s death is precisely what the misericorde is to be used for. I do not know if it is some whim of my own or some higher purpose of the god, but I am filled with an urgency to grant Nemours a small act of mercy.
Even as I secure the misericorde at its customary place at my waist, a plan begins to form in my mind. I go to my small trunk, unlock it, and withdraw a long, thin dagger. I place it in a supple leather sheath and then strap it to my left ankle. I slip the plainest garrote bracelet on my wrist, and last, I remove the small crossbow and attach three of the quarrels. The bow is designed to be carried by a thin chain at my waist, under my overskirt. If someone were to press close against me, they would feel it, but other than that, it is undetectable.
I do not expect to be questioned at the palace, but I have an excuse prepared just in case. I carry a small offering to leave on Saint Arduinna’s altar in the chapel in the hope that she will smile on today’s hunt.
The castle is nearly empty since all the nobles are off chasing stag or boar or whatever it is that has caught their fancy today. The servants and attendants are busy at their tasks, relieved, no doubt, to be spared from dancing attendance on so many nobles and courtiers.
I pause for a moment, wondering where Nemours’s body might be. Remembering the strange, unerring way I found Martel’s grave, I cast out my senses, searching for Death.
It is harder here, with so many sparks of life flickering about their duties, but even so, I am drawn to Death like a moth to a flame. As I follow the trail, I quickly realize the path leads to the small chapel where Anne and Nemours first met.
The chapel is empty and I make my way to the bier, the soul’s despair guiding my steps more surely than the small, sputtering candles in the nave. when I reach the body, the soul seems to recognize me and rushes toward the familiarity and life that I offer.
I open myself to it, let it warm itself against me, surprised when it curls up and settles into me like a despondent hound with nowhere else to go.
We sit together for a while, this soul and I. when I am certain no stray mourners or triumphant gloaters will appear to pray over this mystery corpse, I allow myself to turn my mind fully inward to Nemours’s soul.
I have brought with me the means to unite you with your god at once, if you wish it.
when the soul stirs hopefully at my words, I rise to my feet and step closer to the bower. The poor twisted body has been straightened, but the grimace of shock is still on his face. I slip my hand through the slit of my gown, and my fingers close on the handle of my misericorde. My hope, my small plea to Mortain, is that by my setting this dagger on Nemours’s flesh, his soul will be able to depart immediately.
Before I can draw the dagger from its hiding place, a scrape on the stone behind me stays my hand. "What an interesting surprise.” Count d’Albret’s deep, grating voice destroys the sanctity of the chapel. “I had not thought to find Duval’s cousin grieving next to a lowly wool merchant from Castile.”
Stiffly, I turn and face the count. I have not seen him since my attempt to examine him for a marque and I brace myself, unsure whether to expect mockery or anger. I find neither. Instead, his dark eyes glitter with unholy mischief. I cannot help but wonder if it was his hand that pushed Nemours. “Surely not a surprise.” I keep my head bent low, as if reluctant to cease my prayers. “I was convent raised and have been taught to honor the dead and pray for their mercy.” I blink innocently. “Have you come to pray too?” I know full well he has not. whatever he has come for, it is not prayer.
“I am afraid I have come out of morbid curiosity, demoiselle,” d’Albret admits without a hint of shame. “I confess to being fascinated by this poor merchant who met his death in our fair city. Besides,” d’Albret continues, “I have little belief in accidents.” He looks pointedly at me. “Or coincidence.”
“Ah,” I say. “Then you and my lord Duval have something in common.”
There is a movement back by the door of the chapel, and the duchess and her governess enter. I drop into a deep curtsy. “Your Grace.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see d’Albret sketch a perfunctory bow. “My dear duchess,” he says. “Have you come to pray for a lowly wool merchant as well? Surely he is blessed beyond his station.”
The duchess meets d’Albret’s insolent gaze. “I would pray for any poor soul who met his death under my roof.” Her voice is sharp with disapproval. “And you, sire?”
D’Albret shrugs and throws his arms out to his sides. “I have been found out! My motives are nowhere near as fine as you ladies’.”
The duchess smoothly changes the subject. “I am curious as to why you chose not to join the others in the hunt today.”
D’Albret’s hooded eyes capture Anne’s and I feel my pulse quicken at the affront in them. “They do not hunt for prey that interests me.”
The duchess pales; her fingers gripping her prayer book turn white. My hand hidden on the dagger in the folds of my gown tightens as well, and I imagine what it would feel like to stick d’Albret like a pig.
Perhaps he senses my thoughts, for he makes another short bow. “I will leave you to your prayers.”
Still pale, the duchess nods, and d’Albret departs. Anne turns to Madame Dinan. “You may leave us as well. I know you have no love for this task I have set myself. I shall pray with Demoiselle Rienne.”
And while it is clear her governess does not want to be here, she wants the duchess left to my influence even less. “But Your Grace — ”
“Leave us.” The duchess’s voice brooks no argument. After a moment’s hesitation, during which a multitude of resentments crosses Madame Dinan’s lovely face, she curtsies and leaves. when she is gone, the duchess turns to me. “She does not like you, you know.”
“She no doubt thinks you should not be in the company of Duval’s dubious cousin, Your Grace.”
A smile of satisfaction crosses her lips and I am suddenly aware of just how much she enjoys thwarting her overbearing governess’s wishes. Then her smile disappears. “So, why are you here?”
“You do not believe I came to pray for the man’s soul?”
“Oh, I believe you pray, but I cannot but wonder if it is something else that brings you.”