“I am not sent by the duchess,” I tell him as I search his face for any hint of the dark smudge that I am so desperately praying for.
“I know. You are sent by the abbess of Saint Mortain.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
AT HIS WORDS, everything inside me grows still. “You know why I am here?”
“Perhaps even better than you do.”
His words prick at something uncomfortable in me. “What do you mean?” That I must ask this question rankles me, but my need to know what hidden web is being woven is greater than my pride.
He shrugs, a surprisingly elegant gesture. “It means that I understand better than you why you have been sent. You think you are on Mortain’s business, but you are not. You are here on hers.”
I force out a laugh and hope it does not sound as false to his ears as it does to mine. “You are facing death, my lord. It is not surprising that you would say anything you can think of to stay my hand.”
He shifts then, rises to his feet. Good! If he comes closer to the light, mayhap I will see a cursed marque. I silently raise my bow.
He ignores the arrow pointed straight at his chest and stands just on the other side of the iron bars. “Did she tell you why I must die?”
“You betrayed the duchess, did everything in your power to hand our kingdom over to the French regent. I do not think there is much to explain.”
“Your fellow handmaiden chose not to kill me once. Perhaps she knew something you did not?”
My heart twists painfully. “Matelaine?”
He frowns slightly. “No, Ismae. When she first discovered I was the one behind the plots here at court, she chose not to exact justice. Have you asked yourself why?”
Even though there is hardly any room, I take a step closer. “No. I was too busy trying to puzzle out why you had killed the second handmaiden sent after you. Surely you recognize that now, in addition to your crimes against the kingdom, you have committed crimes against Mortain.”
His frowns deepens and he appears genuinely puzzled. “A second handmaiden?”
I laugh again. “Playing dumb will not help you, not when I stand here with an arrow pointed at your black heart.”
He spreads his hands wide, as if giving me a clear shot at his chest. “If you think I am eager to cling to this life when all I have ever cared for is gone—my family, my lands, my honor—then you are sadly mistaken.” Crunard grips the bars with his hands. “I welcome death,” he whispers.
“Then you shall have it,” I whisper back. But even though every fiber of my being wishes to see this man dead for what he did to Matelaine—and to the duchess—I find I cannot release the arrow.
He leans forward. “Do you see one of your precious marques on me?”
Shock travels along my bones that he would know of such things. “It is probably hidden by your clothing.” I motion with the bow. “Strip.” While I am eager to see if he bears a marque, I am equally eager to wipe the smug certainty from his face.
There is a whisper of movement to my left as I feel Balthazaar unfold himself from the shadows, and I wonder how long he has been there. He leans close enough to whisper in my ear. “Let me have him.”
Scowling, I turn my arrow on him. “He is mine.”
Balthazaar holds his hands up in a placating gesture and slips back into the shadows. I return my attention to Crunard and watch as he pulls off his doublet, then unlaces his linen shirt and pulls it over his head. His chest is still broad with muscle, even though the hair upon it has gone white. But there is no marque.
Before I can respond to that stark fact, the hellequin grabs my arm and pulls me aside, out of Crunard’s hearing. “Do you see a marque on him?”
“No,” I admit, making no effort to hide my disgust. Hopefully, his accursedly sharp hearing will not pick up on the despair I feel—that even with the Tears, I do not possess this most basic of skills.
“Have you seen all you need to see?” Crunard’s dry voice cuts through my thoughts. “For it is cold and damp and I would rather not catch a fever and die that way. Better for you to simply kill me with your arrow now. It would be a far more merciful death.”
“You assume that you deserve mercy,” I snap, “when I am sure of no such thing. And yes, you may put your clothes back on.”
While he dresses, I ponder my options.
I cannot say with utter certainty that Crunard is meant to die. If Mortain Himself or the duchess’s justice demands it, that would be one thing, but I do not trust the abbess’s word that he must die. Especially with the unsubtle insinuations Crunard is throwing around.
I huff out a sigh. “Very well.” At Balthazaar’s eager look, I give him a shove, releasing some of that frustration on him. “No, you will not hunt him,” I say. “But I will take him back to Rennes to face the duchess’s justice, and she can decide his fate. Unless Mortain marques him on the way. Then I will kill him.”
The hellequin studies me a moment and then gives a single nod. “So be it,” he says.
My mind spins furiously, devising a plan. It will be easy enough to get Crunard free of his prison. Harder to get him out of the city. I turn to Crunard, who is watching us both with hungry eyes. “As you heard, you will be coming with us. But if you make one noise when you should not, make any attempt to escape, I will cheerfully kill you, then drag your body back to the abbess and the duchess. Is that clear?”
He nods. “Most clear, demoiselle.”
In the end, I decide that moving quickly is better than sitting around devising the perfect plan. I slip back out to the antechamber and the two drugged guards, remove the key from the jailor’s belt, then return to Crunard’s cell. As I fit the key into the lock, I pause, for some reason reminded of the old tale of the girl whose curiosity drove her to open a box that let loose all sorts of evils upon the world. I too feel as if I am on the brink of answers, answers that have the power to move through my life like a storm surge. I cannot help but wonder what will be left when I am on the other side.
“Come along,” I tell him, slipping one of my knives into my hand where he can see it. “And quietly.”
He nods, then steps out of his prison slowly, as if unable to believe I will not slam the door in his face. I turn to Balthazaar. “Tie his hands behind his back.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Crunard reluctantly turns around. As the hellequin tends to that, I close the door, lock it, then toss the keys inside. At his raised eyebrow, I shrug. “It will give them something to puzzle over.” Then I grab Crunard’s arm and shove him in front of me. Balthazaar falls into step behind us like a sinister shadow.