I ask her if she knows an antidote for Arduinna’s snare, but she has never heard of it. Furthermore, she has no antidotes at all for poisons absorbed through the skin, as purgatives do not work in those cases. My shoulders sag as my last hope crumbles to ash. Seeing my distress, the old woman pats me on the arm as she bids me goodbye. “It is a dark god you serve, daughter, but remember, He is not without mercy.”
* * *
As I travel back to Guérande, the herbwitch’s words roll around in my head like loose pebbles, clattering and bumping, shaping and smoothing. I walked into that cottage as one person but left as another. There is now a thin blanket between me and the harsh, cold abandonment I have felt ever since I was old enough to understand what my mother did to me in her belly.
My mind flows over old memories. with this new bit of knowledge, many of my mother’s small gestures and comforts are suddenly clear. They were expressions of the very love I thought she had denied me. They were not simply duties borne but small rebellions of her own as she thwarted her husband in the only way she could.
Even though one burden has been lifted, I return to the palace exhausted and defeated and out of ideas. I pray that I will not meet anyone on the way to my chambers, and I do not. Once I am in my room, I see a crow sitting outside the window. My heart clutches in my chest. My message of that morning cannot have reached the convent yet. Is it new orders from the abbess? A reprieve?
When I open the shutter, the crow flies in. He is a large fellow with a crooked left wing. Sybella’s crow. He is tame only for her, so it takes me a moment to wrest the message from his leg. when I do, I see that it is indeed Sybella’s writing, and I am filled with foreboding.
I tear the message open and read the words scrawled within.
Rieux and d’Albret have taken Nantes. They entered the city with men-at-arms, seized the duchess’s palace, and manned the ramparts. We are besieged from within.
My heart ceases its racing and gives one slow, painful thud in my chest. The very men who are supposed to support and guide our duchess have risen up in open rebellion.
The implications of this are huge. Nantes was the duchess’s fallback position, the biggest, most fortified city in Brittany. Her home. Indeed, she has only been waiting for the plague to leave the area so she could return.
But now it is taken from her. And without a sword raised or shot fired. The only piece of good news I can wrestle from the wreckage is that with Rieux removed to Nantes, there is no longer any doubt that Crunard must be the traitor.
Chapter Forty-five
Crunard is alone when the guard ushers me into his chambers. I drop a respectful curtsy. “My lord, I have received urgent news that I must give the duchess and request you accompany me, as she will need your guidance once she has learned what I have to tell her.” I had considered waiting to discuss the news with Duval before taking it to the duchess or her council, but I do not know how quickly we must act. Plus, it is hard to say what condition Duval will be in by this evening.
“Have you news of Duval?” Crunard asks sharply. I meet his eyes steadily. “No, milord, I am afraid not.” A spasm of irritation crosses his face. "Well, you have piqued my interest. Of course I will accompany you to the solar.” "We should send for Captain Dunois to meet us there, my lord.”
Crunard raises one gray shaggy eyebrow but sends a page to fetch the captain of the armies.
Captain Dunois reaches the solar just as we do. The duchess takes one look at our grim faces and dismisses her ladies from the room. "What is it?” she asks, clasping her hands together, as if praying it will not be as bad as she fears.
Chancellor Crunard smiles wryly and shrugs. “It is not I who called this meeting but Demoiselle Rienne.”
Everyone’s eyes turn to me, and it is all I can do not to twitch and squirm out of my skin. I have been trained in subterfuge and concealment, not this standing out in the open like the town crier. To calm myself, I address my words to the duchess. “I have received grave news, Your Grace. I have learned that Marshal Rieux and Count d’Albret have taken Nantes.”
There is a moment of stunned silence, then Captain Dunois asks, “Are you certain?”
“How have you learned this?” Crunard asks, and I cannot help but wonder if he is behind this newest disaster.
“The ways of Mortain are both glorious and mysterious. I may not divulge how I know, but it has most definitely happened. If you do not believe me, send a scout to verify my claim.”
Crunard looks to Dunois, who gives a sharp nod. “Consider it done.”
“If it is so,” Crunard says, “this is well and truly a disaster.” He looks visibly shaken, so either he is a superb liar or this is not part of whatever game he is playing.
“Marshal Rieux?” the duchess says to me, her brown eyes filled with distress. “Are you certain?” she whispers.
Meeting her gaze, I nod solemnly. The man who was appointed by her father to guard her has just betrayed her instead.
She draws in a long, shaky breath, then asks, "What does this do to our position?”
Crunard and Dunois exchange a bleak look. “It is not good,” Captain Dunois says. “As marshal, he commands the troops. It will be hard to raise the barons to fight against him. If Marshal Rieux and d’Albret combine their troops, well, our only hope will be to hunker down and prepare for the coming siege.” The duchess glances in alarm from Dunois to Crunard. “Not our only hope, surely?”
“I am afraid so, Your Grace,” the chancellor tells her, and even though he but agrees with Dunois, I find I cannot trust his counsel. “It is as Captain Dunois says; the marshal commands our troops. It will be hard to raise them against him. Indeed, it will be hard to raise them at all without his help.”
"What about Baron de waroch?” It is only when everyone turns to stare at me that I realize I have spoken out loud. Flustered, I continue. “Did he not go through the countryside raising the peasants and farmers to revolt against the French in the Mad war? why could he not do that again?”
Chancellor Crunard sends me a dismissive look. “It will take more than peasants and farmers to repel the French, demoiselle.”
“Ultimately, yes,” Captain Dunois says, his voice thoughtful.
“But perhaps they can hold off the French forces long enough for help to arrive.”
"What help?” Crunard asks sharply.
That is when I realize that Duval — dear, ever-suspicious Duval — has told no one of the preparations he has been laboring over.