Crunard follows my gaze and gives Gisors a brusque nod. “I think I have said all there is to say.” The heat of his anger comes through clearly in his voice. Gisors’s nostrils flare, then he gives a precise bow and strides off. when he is out of sight, Crunard turns back to me. “Have you really not seen Duval today?”
“No, my lord.” Since it is no lie, I am confident he can hear the ring of truth in my words. “I have not seen him since last night after we left the duchess’s solar. Did you not find him in his chamber?”
Crunard shakes his head. “He has not been there all day. His steward said he was gone this morning when he went in to wake him. If you see him, tell him I am looking for him, will you? Remind him that running away only makes him look more guilty.” His eyes are cold and hard upon me and put me in mind of a bird of prey’s.
I tip my head to the side and crease my brow in puzzlement. “Guilty, my lord? Running away? I am not sure I understand you.”
His face relaxes and he looks somewhat less fierce. “It is nothing, demoiselle. Only leftover arguments from the council meeting. That is all.”
“Very well.” I sink into a curtsy and then turn and head down the hall, careful to keep my steps slow and measured, as if I have nothing to hide.
when I reach my room, I quickly shut the door, then lean against it. That was a near thing.
A scratching at the window makes me jump. when I see that it is a crow, my pulse quickens in anticipation. Once I open the window, the crow waits patiently for me to remove the message.
Dearest Daughter,
I have received much information from Chancellor Crunard but very little from you, although perhaps your message is even now on its way to me.
The chancellor has informed me of the French whore’s plot to put her youngest son on the Breton throne. There is no question that this is open treason and the French whore must die.
See to it immediately.
It has been so long since I have used the name that it takes me a moment to realize the note means Madame Hivern.
The convent is ordering me to kill Duval’s mother.
Chapter Forty
No matter how long I stare at the note, the order simply makes no sense. The threat Hivern and François present is small compared to all the others the duchess faces. Nor have they made any open moves.
Has Sister Vereda recovered then and seen this? Or is the decision based solely on Chancellor Crunard’s report? My head is so full of questions it feels ready to burst.
When Louyse brings a dinner tray, I do not so much as glance at it. Instead, I sit staring into the fire, tying myself in knots over this problem that should not be a problem at all. The convent has given me an assignment, one made all the easier because I do not care for Madame Hivern in the least. I find her annoying and pretentious, and yet . . . to kill Duval’s mother? He may be violently at odds with her plans, but he cares deeply for his family.
And why Hivern? why has Mortain decided I am to act against her when He has let d’Albret remain unmarqued? Is it because she is fully French? But if that was the reason, why did he not marque Gisors?
And how can I tell Duval?
In the end, I cannot. I am the worst sort of coward and pretend to be asleep when he comes. As the heavy wooden door by the fireplace creaks open, I lie as still as death, forcing my breathing to be slow and even, willing the blood to move more slowly in my veins.
I feel Duval draw close to the bed, feel him looking down at me for one, two, three breaths, then he moves away. He pours a cup of wine, swallows it in one gulp, then pours himself another. He is restless and I am filled with remorse. He has been cooped up inside the stone walls of the palace all day and is no doubt eager for news, but I do not know how to speak to him without telling him of the convent’s orders. I fear I have forgotten how to lie to him, which disturbs me almost as much as my new assignment.
when he finally stops pacing long enough to eat the dinner I left by the fire, I begin to relax. My cowardice has been rewarded and I will not have to tell Duval that I must kill his mother. At least not tonight.
* * *
The next morning I tell Louyse I am not feeling well and am not to be disturbed. The first thing I do is write the abbess explaining that I was waiting for confirming evidence before sending her the reports on Hivern’s plot. I assure her I will take this lesson to heart and will inform her of events in a more timely manner from now on. Next I write Annith and ask how angry the abbess is with me. Best to know just how much trouble I am in.
I spend the rest of the day planning how I will kill Madame Hivern.
Normally, we do not worry overmuch about hiding our kills. The main purpose of the deception of posing as Duval’s mistress was to allow me easier access to the court. If the barons and nobles had learned I was from the convent, they would have been cautious and wary around me. Usually the convent feels it is wise to announce Mortain’s justice as a warning and a deterrent. even so, in this case I decide it is better to be discreet.
Poison, then. I am certain that would be Hivern’s choice if she were given one.
I take the thin gold chain from around my neck and use the key to unlock the trunklet. There is a faint tinkle of glass as I open the lid. The pearls would be easiest, but they leave signs of poison behind. Martyr’s embrace and scourge are far too painful. Amourna’s woe, so named for the pair of star-crossed lovers who were forbidden to wed, might work. So might Arduinna’s snare.
I stare down at the small clay pot of thick honey-colored paste nestled in the corner of the trunk. Arduinna’s snare is subtle and easily absorbed through the skin, but it is too imprecise for my taste. One can never be sure who will touch the poisoned object or if enough will be absorbed to kill one’s victim.
Nocturne’s malaise is painless. Hivern would simply fall asleep and never wake up, waste away into nothingness, but Madame Hivern would hate for her carefully tended appearance to wither so.
I scowl. what do I care how she feels about her death? This is what happens to traitors.
I reach for the bottle of nocturne’s malaise, but my hand grows still when I see the slender white candles beneath. Night whispers. Painless death by an intoxicating perfume, the perfect death for Madame Hivern.
If for no other reason than so I will not be filled with remorse when I tell Duval how his mother died.
Chapter Forty-one
It is well past dark when I set out for Madame Hivern’s quarters. Luck is with me, and she is not there, so I let myself in. I fortify myself with the thought that she is likely out plotting treason. I choose a hiding place behind a thick tapestry that hangs on her wall and settle in to wait.