“She was kind and pious,” I finally say. “Always remembering to honor God and His saints. Bluebells were her favorite flower, and there was an entire meadow of them behind the keep one spring. The taste of honey made her nose stuffy.”
Beast smiles, a heartbreakingly wistful thing. “I remember that,” he says softly.
Of course he knows that. I rack my brain for something to comfort him. “She was strong of spirit and laughed a lot.” At least at first, and that was what caused me to lower my guard and befriend her, in spite of all my vows to never grow close to any of d’Albret’s wives again.
A deep silence grows in the room, fed by our separate memories.
“I came back for her.”
“What?” I ask, certain that I have not heard him correctly.
“I came back for her.” Beast repeats the words casually, as if coming back for her were the most natural thing in the world.
But it is not. For despite all the wives d’Albret has ill used, and all the vassals and innocents he has wronged, no one—no one—has ventured forth to speak for any of them or to claim justice on their behalf.
My world is so completely upturned by this revelation that it takes me a full minute to find my voice. A thousand questions fill my mind, but none of them are anything a daughter of Mortain would be hungry to know. “What happened?” I finally ask, careful to keep my voice neutral and my eyes on the new bandage I am preparing.
“When three of my letters to her went unanswered, I knew something was wrong, so I obtained a leave of absence and came looking for her.
“When I arrived in Tonquédec, I was refused entrance. And when I thought to linger, I was encouraged to be on my way by a party of twelve armed soldiers.” His hand drifts up to the scar that bisects the left side of his face. “They sought to improve my appearance somewhat.”
“But they let you live?”
Beast cuts a scornful glance at me. “There was no letting about it. I fought my way free.”
“Against twelve of d’Albret’s men?”
He shrugs, then winces as his shoulder pains him. “It did not take long for the battle fever to come over me.” He flashes a grin that is two parts death and one part humor. “I killed eight of them, leaving four to limp back and explain the disaster to d’Albret.” Then the grin fades, and the depth of pain and despair I see in his face takes my breath away. “As soon as we’ve secured the duchess’s crown against the French, I will pay another visit to d’Albret and call him to account.”
I decide that it is a very good thing I did not tell him that Alyse died trying to help me.
Chapter Twenty-One
IN THE MORNING, WE MAKE ready to leave. Anton and Jacques are desperate to saddle up the dead Frenchmen’s horses, grab their new weapons, and follow us to Rennes, but we refuse their offer. There are at least twelve more leagues between here and Rennes, all of them crawling with d’Albret’s scouts. We will need the gods’ own luck to get there. Which means it is too dangerous for them to travel with us. “Better to meet us in Rennes in a fortnight,” Beast tells them.
So they content themselves with the plan they cooked up over breakfast. Guion, Anton, and Jacques saddle up the French soldiers’ horses and hoist the dead men across the animals’ backs. They take a tabard Yannic stripped from a d’Albret scout and tie it around one of the dead soldier’s arms. “Maybe that will prod the French to tangle with d’Albret’s men and buy you a little time,” Guion says.
It is a pleasant thought, but in my experience, the gods are not nearly that accommodating.
Then Guion and the two boys lead their grisly retinue south, while Beast, Yannic, and I head north. Our path to Rennes will be like trying to thread a needle, weaving our way through d’Albret’s men to the west, and Châteaubriant to the east with all its ties to the Dinan family and therefore to d’Albret. Not to mention the added spice of French sorties scattered throughout. But we have no choice. We must keep moving, especially if we do not want to risk d’Albret’s stumbling upon this innocent family.
Well, perhaps not so innocent now, after their encounter with the French.
I feel as if the huntsman’s snare is closing in around us, and it has me fair twitching in my saddle. Since I do not wish to spook my horse, I force myself to stillness, an art I have mastered during my long years with d’Albret.
I glance over at Beast. He is still pale, and it seems as if he does not sit as tall in the saddle as he once did. No matter how strong a man he is, he is only human. Or at least, mostly human. It is a wonder he has made it this long, and I can only hope his strength holds until we reach Rennes. Guion told us of a small abbey run by the brothers of Saint Cissonius where we can take shelter for the night.
Unless d’Albret has thought to post guards at all such places.
Hopefully they will have medical supplies as well, for my own stores of healing herbs are running dangerously low. And while Beast’s fever has gotten no worse, neither has it gotten any better. For once, he is being smart and not wasting his dwindling energy. Or at least, not at the moment. Who knows what he will do if we come across some lost goat or wandering child?
I came back for her. The memory of his words still echoes in my head. It makes no sense that five simple words should shift everything so sharply, but they do. It is as if I have woken up in a world as different from yesterday as spring is from winter. It is the difference between a world with hope and one without. I wish to crawl back into my younger self and hand her this knowledge, this small spark of light, and see how it would shift her perceptions of the darkness all around her. Or would it have been more cruel, that glimmer of hope causing her to look for a rescue that never came?
The farther we get from Nantes, the more I am plagued by doubts. While this taste of freedom is as sweet as I dreamed it would be, I cannot help but wonder about the cost. For so long, I was convinced it was my destiny to kill d’Albret. As relieved as I am to be gone from him, I fear I have shirked my fated duty.
But there was no other choice, I remind myself. To have ridden boldly back into his arms after drugging the entire garrison and freeing Beast would only have ensured my slow and painful death.
I also cannot help but worry about the convent and my role there. It was the one place I felt safe from d’Albret, hundreds of leagues away on an island inhabited by assassins. But I have gone against their teachings, their rules, defied Mortain’s will and replaced it with my own. If they cast me out, what then?