Duval opens the door. A brief flash of surprise crosses his face when he sees that it is me. “My lady?”
I give him a wry smile. “I have actually come in search of Ismae,” I tell him.
It is hard to be sure in this dim light, but I think a faint tinge of pink spreads across his cheeks. You would think he and Ismae but thirteen years old and experiencing their first bout of puppy love. “She is here.” He opens the door to let me in, then bows. “I will leave you to speak in private.”
“No.” I reach out and grab his arm. “You need to hear what I must say.”
“Very well.” He turns and leads me into his chamber, where I find Ismae curled up in front of the fire, sipping a goblet of wine.
When she sees me, she sets the wine down and leaps to her feet. “Sybella! Where have you been? None of the pages we sent could find you.”
With a guilty start, I remember the series of knocks on my chamber door. “I was packing.”
“You are going?” she whispers.
Unable to speak, I nod.
She takes a step closer. “It is not right,” she says fiercely. “It must be someone else’s turn. I will go.”
Duval looks at her in alarm. “No one will go. We do not need the information at the cost of your lives.”
“I am not here to whine about my fate. I am here to extract a promise from you.” I slip the ring from my finger and hold it out to Duval. “Give this to your lady sister. Make her wear it. Should your last line of defense fail, it will be her best way out.”
Duval stares down at the ring. “I cannot do what you suggest.”
I grab his hand, shove the ring into it, then close his fingers around it. “You must. Trust me. Death will be preferable to d’Albret getting his hands on your sister. He has had far too long to plan all the ways he can break and humiliate her and bring her as much pain as he thinks she’s brought him. Whatever else happens, you must not let him get his hands on her. Her death will be long and unpleasant.”
He looks faintly sick but accepts the ring. “Do you promise?” I ask.
He looks into my eyes. Whatever he sees there convinces him. “I promise.”
Something inside my chest relaxes somewhat. “Thank you.”
“No—thank you. And for what horrors you have suffered, and what further horrors you will be subjected to, I am genuinely sorry. Know that my sister, that all of us hold this sacrifice of yours close to our hearts.”
His words bring tears to my eyes, but I blink them away and get down to business. “Ismae, I came to see if I could borrow your rondelles.”
“My offer was a serious one. I wish to go in your place.”
“I know you do.” I reach out and take her hands in mine. “Which is why you are so very dear to me. But you have duties you must see to here. I fully expect you and Duval to be the last ones standing between the duchess and d’Albret should the city not hold.”
She throws her arms around me and I savor the feel of her holding me close, treasuring me. Then I pull away. “Now. About those weapons . . .”
After some discussion, Ismae gives me her rondelles and half of her poison supply. Now all I must do is wait until daybreak to be on my way. As I leave Duval’s chamber, the urge to seek out Beast is nearly overwhelming. I promise myself I will face him in the morning, and I will tell him everything. Once I have made my confession to him, I can meet death with a clean conscience.
Before the sun has cleared the horizon I am dressed and heading toward the stable. It is not lost on me that of all the things in my life I have dreaded, telling Beast this simple truth is one of the most terrifying.
I find him in the stables, supervising the preparation of the mounts. Instead of using the thick staff they have given him as an aid to walking, he is waving it around, pointing and ordering the others with it. Yannic is with him, and more charbonnerie than I can count. My heart beats so loud I am surprised they do not all turn and stare at the sound, but they are so absorbed in their work that they do not even see me at first.
I try to call out to Beast, but I open my mouth and no words come. I must have made some small sound, however, for Beast turns around, his eyes widening in surprise at the sight of me, and he limps his way over to where I stand.
“I was hoping you’d come to see us off, else I’d have to come looking for you.”
That heartens me, that he planned to say goodbye.
“I have something I would talk to you of in private.”
Beast raises his eyebrows and follows me out into the stable yard. Afraid I will lose my nerve, I look down at my hands, which are clutched together so tightly that my fingers have turned white. I relax my grip. “There is something I must explain to you. I have meant to tell you many times, but there was never a good moment.”
He does not so much as flinch, although his eyes become as unreadable as polished steel.
“At first I did not tell you because I was afraid you would not trust me, and I needed your trust so I could get you to Rennes safely. I had hoped that once we were here, no one would have to know my identity. It is not something I am proud of. But that did not—”
“Sybella?”
“Yes?”
“Please know if there were any other way to accomplish this, I would use it.”
“Accomplish what?” I ask, puzzled.
The look in his eyes is tender, and he moves closer so that I wonder if he plans to kiss me. Then his hand flashes, sure and quick, and the world grows black.
Chapter Thirty-Five
THE NEXT THING I KNOW, all the devils of hell are hammering at my jaw, just under my chin, but I do not care nearly as much as I might, for I feel safe. I appear to be in a cave. A warm cave of stone that completely surrounds me, pressing firmly into my back, sheltering me.
I hear a soft whicker—a horse?—then a man’s low voice. “You didn’t tell us we could bring a bit of skirt along.”
A second voice. “It’s not a bit o’ skirt, dolt. The captain would never bestir himself for a trollop.”
“Well, what is she, then?”
“Damned if I know.”
“Enough,” a familiar voice growls.
A throat clears. “If you don’t mind my asking, what’s wrong with her, Captain?” The tone is much more respectful now.
There is a pause, and then the cave wall behind my back rumbles. “She fainted.”
I wrench my eyes open, then clamp them shut as harsh bright sunlight pierces my brain and a wave of nausea washes over me. Slowly, my mind sharpens enough to understand that I am not in a cave but clamped between thick, strong arms. The firmness at my back is not a wall of stone, but an armored breastplate. We are moving with a gentle rolling gait.