“I thought you and Marshal Rieux were her appointed guardians. How much influence do you hold if she sees fit to ignore your counsel?”
“It is that brother of hers. I believe he encourages her stubbornness.”
“Do you need me to take care of him?” The casual way in which d’Albret asks this sends a chill up my spine.
“No, no. Do not worry. At the next council meeting, I will make it plain she has no other choice.”
"Well, do it before the French eat up the entire countryside, will you? I grow bored waiting for this spoiled child to agree to do what she has already promised. If she is old enough to rule a country, certainly she is old enough to marry.” There is a moment of silence, then d’Albret speaks again. “And what of Rieux? Is he still in favor of the match?”
“Absolutely, my lord. He believes joining your forces with Anne’s is the only way to keep the duchy safe from the French. when it is time to act, Rieux will support us. You can be certain of it.”
D’Albret’s voice drops lower then, and I can no longer make out the words. Shaking with anger, I back away from the door and hurry down the hallway.
It is worse than I feared. Madame Dinan does not simply wish Anne to marry d’Albret but has fully committed herself to his cause. Indeed, she has promised him that he shall marry the duchess. And what can she possibly say at the council meeting that will prove Anne has no choice? I am so deep in thought on my way back from the east tower to the solar that I almost stumble upon Sybella before I see her.
She is thinner than before, more drawn and pale. Her features are sharper, as if she has grown even more brittle and fragile since I saw her enter the city gates. She has a fresh scar upon her cheek, and I am certain I can see madness lurking in her eyes. It is hard to believe she is the same person who coaxed Annith and me into all sorts of mischief at the convent, from stealing jugs of wine to teaching us how to kiss when Sister Beatriz said too little on the subject.
“Ismae?” she whispers as if she has seen a ghost.
“Sybella!” Suddenly, I am afraid for her, although I cannot say why. without thinking I throw my arms around her, hugging her close, whether for her comfort or my own, I cannot be certain.
For a brief moment, she relaxes into me, returns the embrace as if drawing strength from it, but then, too soon, she pulls back, her eyes unnaturally bright. A thousand questions crowd my mind, and nearly as many worries, but before I can voice a single one of them, we hear the echo of boots upon stone. Sybella looks frantically toward the sound, true fear flaring in her eyes. “Trust no one,” she finally whispers. “No one.”
And then she is gone, her light, hurried steps carrying her out of sight just before Chancellor Crunard rounds the corner.
“My lord chancellor!” I say with a curtsy.
He frowns for a moment, as if he can’t quite place me. “Demoiselle Rienne,” he says at last. He glances at the empty corridor. "What are you doing in this part of the castle?”
I debate how much to tell him. “My convent’s business, my lord.”
“Indeed? My correspondence with your abbess did not indicate you were to take any action against Count d’Albret.”
I blink, wondering how deep in the abbess’s confidence he is. And how he knows that I am spying on d’Albret. “I am not only to act, my lord, but to be the convent’s eyes and ears as well.”
He purses his lips. “True enough. Have your eyes and ears given you any answers in the Nemours debacle?”
"What do you mean, my lord?”
The chancellor spreads his hands, rings glittering. “I mean, Duval handled this Nemours matter most poorly. The Duke of Nemours is dead, is he not? Furthermore, I have just heard a most disturbing rumor.” He leans in close, his breath stale against my cheek. “His mother is plotting even now to put his brother on the throne in Anne’s stead. Could there be any connection?” He cocks his head like a bird and studies me with a piercing eye. “And how is it that you have been here nearly a fortnight and have not learned of this?”
My heart begins to beat painfully. He knows! “I have only just discovered this myself, my lord, but I’ve heard rumblings only. I have been trying to ascertain Duval’s involvement, but he and his mother are most estranged. I do not believe she speaks to him of her plans. Indeed, they barely speak at all.”
Crunard’s eyes glitter coldly. “That you know of. what if the estrangement is feigned? Perhaps Duval is only waiting for Hivern to line up enough barons behind François, and then he will make his move, displacing his brother and claiming the throne for himself.”
"Why would you think that, my lord?”
"Why would I not? what possible evidence do you have that he is trustworthy?”
None, except my own heart, and that is not nearly enough.
“Someone close to the duchess is working for the French. It could very well be Duval. Do not let your youth and naïveté cloud your vision, demoiselle.”
“I assure you, my vision is clear, my lord.”
“Good. See that it remains so. Be vigilant, demoiselle. Do not let his charm or good manners sway you to his cause. The abbess would not be pleased to hear of it.” And with that final warning, he takes his leave.
That night, when I get in bed, I do not lie down but instead lean back against the bolster and wait for Duval. Once again, I cannot be certain of my own desires. I do not care for this new awkwardness that has sprung up between us, even as I know I should use it to my advantage and sever the fragile ties we are beginning to form. This seems especially prudent, given Crunard’s warning earlier today. My wanting to trust Duval does not make him trustworthy.
And yet I feel in my heart that he is.
I try to be honest with myself, to remember when I first started trusting him. was it before I began to have feelings for him? Or after?
It is clear the chancellor wants me to keep Duval under suspicion, which in and of itself makes me hesitate. I have no good reason for my reluctance and would be hard-pressed to justify this to the reverend mother. The truth is, while I take great pride in serving Mortain and the convent, I do not wish to be a political pawn of the chancellor’s.
The faint snick of the door pulls my thoughts away from the chancellor, and my pulse quickens as Duval slips into the room. “Ismae,” he says, then closes the door behind him. Instead of going to his customary chair, he makes his way toward me. Twin bolts of panic and anticipation shoot through me. Does he think to kiss me again? Pursue something more than a kiss? I hardly dare to breathe, waiting to see his intent.