I busy myself with picking it up and turning it inside out. I can feel his eyes on me, the room full of unspoken dreams and desire. I concentrate on the shirt, checking the seams carefully, the cuffs, any place a smear of poison might hide. However he is being poisoned, it is not from his garments.
“It is clean,” I say, then slowly turn around to hand the shirt to him.
Duval is all business and takes the shirt and slips it over his head. I use that moment to inspect him for a marque. Other than his scars, there is nothing on his chest or his throat, which confirms he has not eaten nor drank this poison. But the room is lit only by the fire and a brace of candles, so I cannot tell if the grayish pallor to his skin is due to the poor light, the effects of the poison, or the marque of Mortain. But of course, it does not matter. I cannot kill him, marque or no.
“If it is not you poisoning me, who is it?” he asks as he tugs his sleeves into place.
“There are so many who wish you ill, my lord, it is difficult to say.”
He gives a wry grimace, then shoves his arms into his doublet. "What is the antidote?” he asks.
“I won’t know until we determine which poison has been used.” even then I might not know. I was not taught how to remove the effects of poison, only how to best administer it. It will also depend on how much he has taken in and how much damage it has done to his body.
“How long do I have?” he asks.
I wrap my arms tightly around myself and keep my voice calm. “That you are not dead yet bodes well. Many poisons that will kill you in large amounts only sicken you if taken in small doses.” I do not tell him that some of those small doses can have lasting results.
The grim lines about his mouth lead me to believe he knows I am honey-coating my words. “The best we can do for now is keep your strength up. eat and sleep, my lord, for the stronger you are, the better you will be able to fight the effects.”
when he sits down to the tray, he attacks his dinner as if it is an invading army he must vanquish. when he is finished, he lies down in front of the fire and falls immediately to sleep. But I do not. I spend the long, dark hours of the night fighting despair and looking back over the past few days, trying to pick out symptoms I may have missed.
what I told him is true; there are hundreds of possibilities. Many noble houses in France and Italy have their own poisoners on staff, each with his own secret recipe or concoction. There are dozens upon dozens of poisons that can be taken in through the skin alone. How will I ever determine which one is being used against him?
And if I cannot figure it out, he will die.
Chapter Forty-four
When morning comes, Duval is gone. I tell myself that his being well enough to leave is surely a good sign.
The night has brought some clarity but no solutions. I do not think the convent is behind Duval’s poisoning, for who would they use to do it? I have not seen or heard from Sybella since d’Albret left. Besides, the note from the abbess made it quite clear that this task was my last chance to prove to the convent I was serious about my duties and my vow.
Which means someone else is behind the poisoning.
I think of Duval’s chessboard and how the white queen stood surrounded by fewer and fewer allies. The answer, of course, has to be one of those left standing: Marshal Rieux, Captain Dunois, and Chancellor Crunard.
Of those, only Crunard has free access to the convent and only Crunard has accused Duval of spying for the French regent. even angry as Marshal Rieux was, he suspected Duval only of acting in his own self-interest rather than Brittany’s. And of course, what better way to deflect suspicion from one’s own actions than to lay the blame at someone else’s feet.
Like the tumblers in a lock, my mind shifts and moves. with hindsight, everywhere I look I can find traces of Crunard hidden in the background or under layers of deceit. He was one of the few who knew I was traveling with Duval to Guérande and would know extra assailants would be needed. The lone captive from that attack was killed immediately after Crunard returned to the city. I even saw him meet with the French ambassador. And while the chancellor spoke with Gisors sharply, he himself has pointed out how easy it is to fake that.
If all of that is true, then he must also be behind Duval’s poisoning. I assume such poison can be found in a town of Guérande’s size. Or perhaps he obtained some directly from the convent. Or —
I hurry to my trunklet, take the key from my neck, and fit it to the lock. I remove the tray of weapons and look to the poisons beneath. Frantically, I examine the bottles and jars. They are all full except one: the jar of Arduinna’s snare. That is half empty.
All the symptoms fit: rapid pulse, dilated pupils, dry fever, disorientation, paranoia, numbness in the extremities, and, in the end, death.
Crunard has used my own poisons to destroy Duval. He had access to this very trunk when he traveled with my things when they were sent from the convent. A lock is easy enough to pick.
With shaking hands I return the vials to the trunk and lock it. I push to my feet and try to think. If it is Crunard, then to what end? Did he not think that the convent would issue the order? Or is it more than that? It is possible he has been feeding the convent false information all along, but again, to what end? And while I do not fully understand how the marques work, I know they are more complex than I — and perhaps even the convent — first thought. It would be easy enough for him to feed us information that supports his claims and withhold information that does not. when my own reports contradict his, how easy it is to dismiss them as the work of an unskilled novice.
But how do I tell the reverend mother that?
She will not like the suggestion that he has used her for his own ends. Nor am I certain she will believe me. even so, I fetch a parchment and quill and do the unthinkable. I write a letter to the abbess to tell her why she is mistaken and that her liaison has given her false intelligence.
when I have poured out all my suspicions regarding Crunard, I seal the missive, then begin a second one. This message is for Annith and begs her to write me with the antidote for Arduinna’s snare. Sister Serafina must have something, some antidote she can send. If she does, Annith will surely find it. I also inquire after Sister Vereda’s health, wanting to know if she is still having visions.
when I finish, I approach Vanth’s cage. He is sleeping with his head tucked under his wing and is sorely put out at being wakened. I mumble an apology and secure the notes, then carry him to the window. “Fly fast, if you please. Much depends on this.” Then I toss him out the window. He spreads his wings and rises into the gray sky, and I watch until I can no longer see him.