But not before I see the glimmer of fear. She is not simply angry that Crunard is here—she is terrified.
Ismae comes running out of the palace just then and spots me immediately. If she is relieved that I have returned, she does not show it as plainly as the abbess. Or mayhap she simply had more faith in my abilities.
At the sight of Monsieur Crunard, her eyes widen in surprise. She lifts her skirts and hurries down the steps to join me in the courtyard. As she draws closer, her gaze goes again to Crunard, narrowing this time, and the heat of her glare reminds me of all that this man has done to betray his country and our convent. Unable to help myself, I search out the abbess once more, only to find she is no longer waiting upon the steps, but has returned inside.
I take Ismae’s arm and pull her a short way from Crunard so he cannot hear us. “Is he marqued?”
She glances at him again, her eyes raking over him in open disdain. “No. And why that is the case, I do not know. What will you do with him now that he is here?”
“Ismae, he knows things about the convent and the abbess. Things that may help us determine what game she is playing. He seems to think I was sent to kill him because the abbess wished to be rid of him rather than because of his actual crimes. And while it is not surprising that he would claim such a thing, if you see no marque on him, then that bears him out somewhat.”
She nods reluctantly. “It at least warrants careful consideration.”
“Can we put him in the dungeons here? It should not make any difference as to where he is imprisoned, should it?”
She pats my arm reassuringly. “If it does, we will find a way to turn it to our advantage. Let me escort you and help get him settled.”
I look at her in surprise, and she laughs. “Oh, I do not mean to see to his comfort, only to be certain the guards know he is a prisoner and that he is to be well guarded.”
I gratefully accept Ismae’s offer, for I do not know where the dungeons are, nor do I know if the men would take an order from me. But mostly, I do not wish to appear a bumbling green fool under Crunard’s sharp gaze that misses nothing. Every time I hesitate or fumble, I fear I have unwittingly given him some new weapon to use against me.
Once Crunard is safely locked behind a wood and iron door, Ismae and I make our way back to the palace proper, my mind churning like a water wheel.
“What are you thinking on so furiously?” Ismae asks.
“How to get the abbess to tell me the truth.”
Ismae laughs. “You may as well ask how to keep an ass from braying or a bird from flying. I am beginning to think she has lost the ability to tell a plain truth.”
“I fear you have the right of it. Perhaps I will simply claim that Crunard has told me everything and demand to know if it is true. As if I am giving her a chance to clear her name before I condemn her in my own mind.”
Ismae smiles. “You are frighteningly good at playing these games with her.”
“Only because I have done so my entire life,” I mutter. Just then, a page comes racing toward us, breathless as he skids to a stop.
“My lady,” he huffs out to Ismae. “You are to report to the duchess’s chambers immediately.”
Ismae grabs the boy’s shoulders. “Is it Princess Isabeau?” she asks, her fear for the young girl plain in her voice.
The page replies, “Oh no, my lady! It is Marshal Rieux. He is here and requesting an audience with the duchess.”
“Go,” I tell her. “I can find my own way to the abbess’s chambers.”
In answer, Ismae reaches out and grabs my hand. “No, come with me. Best you hear what is said as well. Besides, the abbess will no doubt already have been summoned.”
The duchess’s privy chamber is nearly full by the time we arrive. All of her councilors—Duval, Captain Dunois, Chancellor Montauban, Jean de Chalon, the bishop, and even Father Effram—are there. Ismae and I slip in unnoticed by most except for Duval, who appears to be attuned to Ismae’s presence like a bee to a flower, and the abbess, who notes my arrival with a look of dour disapproval.
Once the duchess is seated, the rest of her councilors take their seats. Ismae, Sybella, and I remain standing. Duval has us positioned just behind the duchess’s chair and motions us to expose our weapons. As I step into place beside Sybella, she reaches out and gives my arm a squeeze of greeting.
Then Marshal Rieux is announced and brought into the chamber. He is a tall man with an imposing manner and is dressed in an elegant doublet and cloak. “Your Grace,” he says with a deep bow. For all that he has come to worm his way back into the duchess’s good graces, it looks as if it pains him to bend his knee to her.
“Marshal Rieux.” The duchess tilts her head in greeting, her voice cool and distant.
“I am pleased to see you are well, Your Grace.” His words are awkwardly delivered but seem sincere nonetheless.
“With no thanks to you.” Duval throws the words down like a gauntlet.
Marshal Rieux shakes his head. “I had nothing to do with the trap d’Albret sprang before Nantes. We argued fiercely over it, and it is one of the many reasons he and I have parted ways.”
Duval glances at Sybella, who gives a tiny nod of confirmation. Rieux’s gaze follows the movement, his eyes growing wide when he sees who Duval is communicating with. “What is she doing here?”
“You have no authority to question those who serve me.” The duchess’s reprimand is swift and sharp and I wish to hug her for her staunch support of Sybella.
With some difficulty, Rieux swallows whatever further arguments he had been planning on making. “That is true, Your Grace, but she can also vouch for me. She was there and saw me arguing with d’Albret. We nearly came to blows over it. Tell them,” he demands.
All of us turn to look at Sybella, who studies him much as a cat deciding whether a skinny mouse is worth the effort. “It is true that you argued with him over that trap. But it is also true that you were at his side when he took Nantes, that you stood idly by while his men slaughtered innocent palace retainers and city folk.”
The room is as quiet as a tomb, and Rieux himself has gone pale as Sybella throws his crimes at his feet. “Yes, but what you cannot know—since you did not ride out on those sorties yourself—is that neither I nor my men participated. We had no idea his methods would be so brutal, else I would never have supported him in the first place.”
“You mean, else you never would have betrayed the duchess in the first place.” Duval’s voice is harder than stone.