“Do you like it?” Sybella lifts her skirt and twirls prettily, as if it is some magnificent dress that she wears and not merely sewn-together rags. “I am sneaking out with Beast tonight when he and his men patrol the city. All the various troops and mercenary factions are teeming with pent-up energy and frustration, and they have nothing to fight. Except each other.”
Ismae arches an eyebrow. “I can’t believe he agreed to let you come with him.”
Sybella flashes a cheerful smile. “Oh, he did not. He does not even know that is what I intend. But I shall go mad if I must sit here one more day, twiddling my thumbs with embroidery.”
“And you, Ismae?” I ask. “Are you going out to rein in the mercenaries as well?”
Sybella’s face sobers. “No, she is leaving for Nantes in a few hours.”
“You convinced Duval, then?”
Ismae snorts. “Let us just say that all his arguments were to no avail.”
“Which means,” Sybella says, plucking the wine goblet from my hands, “that you are to attend upon the duchess while we are busy. But not until we get you freshened up.”
“Isn’t that where you’ve been, with the duchess?” Ismae asks.
“No. I . . . needed some time to think, to cool my temper after my meeting with the abbess.”
Sybella begins combing my hair, her fingers gentle and light. I close my eyes and let the sheer comfort of the touch lull me into calmness. Now, I think. Now I will tell them. As I open my mouth to do that, there is a knock on the door. We all stiffen. “If it is the abbess, I’ve not returned,” I warn them.
But when Ismae opens the door, it is Duval’s deep voice that we hear. “I’m not going to argue any more about this,” she tells him.
“Good. I am not here to argue, but would like to see you before you leave.”
“Of course.” Before following him out into the hall, she comes and gives Sybella and me a hug. “Be safe, you two.”
“And you,” Sybella says. “And remember, the abbess at Brigantia will grant you sanctuary if it comes to that.”
“It won’t.” Then it is my turn to hug her before she is gone.
Chapter Forty-One
FOUR DAYS LATER, THE FRENCH ambassador arrives. With the mud of his journey still clinging to his boots, he comes striding into the hall where the duchess is holding court. As he steps through the door, Duval’s head snaps up, and he grows still, like a wolf who has just sensed another predator.
Sybella and I stand just behind the duchess’s chair. We exchange a glance, and, almost as if we have rehearsed it, our hands go to our weapons. Not that we will kill him on sight, but we will simply remind him to step carefully.
The ambassador is tall and leanly muscled, with a great beak of a nose and piercing green eyes. As he draws toward the dais, Duval motions subtly with his hands for the soldiers to begin clearing the others out.
As the people make their way to the door, the duchess looks up from the stolid burgher whose claim she has been adjudicating and sees what is happening. Although she keeps her face serene and composed, I can see the faint trembling in her fingers before she tightens her grip on the arms of her chair.
“Gisors.” Duval’s voice is pleasant, for all that his body is fairly humming with tension. “I did not expect to see you again. Ever.”
Gisors ignores him and executes a flawless bow, his attention never wavering from the duchess. “My lady.” There are small gasps from around the room, as he pointedly does not use the respectful form of address her title demands. Sybella’s hand closes around the hilt of her knife, her eyes narrowing in anticipation. The ambassador catches her movement and becomes slightly more circumspect. “I pray my visit finds you in good health.”
“It does, Lord Gisors. And I hope you have had a pleasant journey.” The duchess clings to the protocol and courtesies required by her position.
“I apologize for appearing before you in such an unworthy state, but the message I bring cannot be delayed.”
“By all means, then, let us hear it,” Duval says. Gisors continues to ignore him and waits for the duchess to nod her agreement.
“I have been sent by His Majesty to accept your unconditional surrender of Brittany, her offices and estates and lands and armies. Once you have surrendered these, I am authorized to offer you safe passage to the court of your new . . . husband.” He manages to imbue the word with utter contempt.
The entire room is as quiet as a crypt, with not even the sound of breathing to disturb the utter silence his words have effected.
Duval leans forward. “And this message comes from His Majesty the king or from the French regent?”
“It matters not, for they speak as one. My lady? May I report to His Majesty that you agree to the terms?”
By the tense line in the duchess’s jaw, I can tell she wishes to tell him that no, he may not, but even now, under such circumstances, her grace and bearing hold. “I fear I cannot make such an enormous decision without careful consideration, my lord. I would give you and your king”—she manages to infuse your king with as much acid as Gisors did the word husband only moments ago—“in a few days’ time.”
“Time is the one thing we do not have much of, my lady.”
“Nevertheless, I must insist. I have my people to consider and their interests must come first.”
Gisors opens his mouth to argue, but Duval motions for sentries to step forward and escort him away. Unless the man wishes to be dragged from the room, he has no choice but to comply. “I will expect an answer by tomorrow, my lady.”
“You may expect all you want, but you will not get it,” she mutters under her breath.
When he is gone, she turns shakily to Duval. “I think I will return to my chambers now,” the duchess says.
“But of course.” Duval leaps up and helps her to her feet. He glances at Sybella. “Find Beast for me, would you?” She nods and hurries off. Together, Duval and I escort the duchess to her chambers.
Once she and I are alone in her room, I slip the heavy headdress off her head and place it on the bureau.
“Have you ever been in love?”
Her question surprises me so much that I nearly drop the brush I hold in my hand.
Without waiting for an answer, she says softly, almost to herself, “I have. Once.” I begin brushing her hair. “I was very young.” She closes her eyes. “Do you think you can fall in love with someone when you’re that young?”