Authors: Robin Lafevers
Chapter Forty-eight
I do not sleep at all that night, afraid to lose one single moment I have left with Duval. Just before dawn I peel myself away from him, one small inch at a time, so that he does not wake. I hold my breath as I put my full weight onto the mattress, afraid the shifting movement will disturb him, but it does not. Indeed, he is sleeping deeply, his breathing shallow. His pulse beats in his throat, thin and thready. Truly, this is a small mercy that my god has granted me. I do not have to even raise my hand and Duval will be dead by nightfall.
Perhaps Mortain knew I could not kill him even if he bore the marque. I cannot kill the only man I have found it in my heart to love.
And no matter how much I long to stay by his side, I have promised all my choices away; to the convent, to the duchess, to Duval himself. I am caught in a web of my own making, my crisscrossing promises ensnaring me as neatly as any trap. Only duty, which once held such joy for me, is left. It is as sharp and bitter in my mouth as bile.
I am dressed and ready before Beast comes to collect me. I have no wish to be dragged from the bedside and have no doubt that Beast will do exactly as he promised. Leaving Duval is as painful as cutting out my own heart and giving it to the crows to feed on. I do not look at Beast when he arrives. I do not dare meet his eye, for if I see one drop of sympathy there, I fear I will splinter into a thousand pieces like shattering crystal.
While Duval has not been seen around the palace for the last few days, it is only the duchess and the Privy Council who know he has gone into hiding. with the rest of us en route to Nantes, he should be safe enough in my chamber. My eyes are dry as bone, my face as still as the cold marble floor beneath my feet as I move through the palace in a daze. Beast sends me a number of worried glances, small flickers of concern that prick against my skin. I barely register their existence.
How much has Duval told Beast? I wonder. will he believe me if I confide my suspicions of Crunard to him? In the end, I decide it is worth the risk. If something happens to me, no one will know where the true danger lies. "We cannot trust Crunard,” I say without looking at him.
His head does not move, but I feel his eyes swivel in my direction. “In what way, demoiselle?”
“I believe it is he who is poisoning Duval, and that he is behind much of the misfortune that has befallen the duchess. I fear he is in league with the French regent.”
He is quiet a long moment, then asks the same question Duval did. “To what purpose?”
“I do not understand the why of it, I know only that his actions point to his guilt, and I want someone other than myself to have this information. Mayhap you can help keep a close eye on him on the trip to Nantes.”
Beast turns and looks at me fully then. “He is not going with us.”
I stop walking. "What?” Apprehension makes my voice sharp.
“Isabeau is too ill to travel, and the duchess was reluctant to leave her side. Crunard offered to stay with her.”
“Duval!” I turn to head back to him, but Beast grabs my arm.
“There is little more Crunard can do to Duval,” he says gently, and I remember his promise to carry me if need be.
After a long moment of weighing my options, I nod, and he releases my arm. we continue walking. “Do you think Isabeau will be safe?” I ask.
Beast scowls. “I cannot believe he would harm a poor, sick child.”
I can only hope he is right. Trying to see to Isabeau’s safety is yet one more thing that is at odds with my promise to Duval.
In the courtyard, a score of men-at-arms are mounted. Four horses wait beside them. Crunard is there but dressed in his robes of office rather than for travel. “The duchess was not comfortable leaving Isabeau on her own, and my age will only slow down your progress,” he explains, which is in itself suspicious, for he owes me no explanations. I cannot help but wonder what he gains by staying. No matter how I poke and prod the question, I can find no answer.
"We will miss your wisdom and counsel on the road, Chancellor Crunard,” I say sweetly. “I’m sure Isabeau will be glad of your company.”
“It will be poor comfort while her sister is gone. But it is some small way I can assist.”
Beast helps me mount my horse, then climbs into his own saddle. The duchess will ride perched in front of Captain Dunois, his thick, sturdy arms keeping her safe as he guides the horse.
As we ride out of the courtyard, I keep my face forward, afraid to look back at Crunard lest something in my expression gives me away. when I hear the gates of the city clang closed behind us, I finally dare to look over my shoulder. Crunard has climbed up on the ramparts to watch us depart. Across the distance, our eyes meet.
“Demoiselle? Are you all right?” I turn to find that Captain Dunois and the duchess have pulled up alongside my horse. The duchess’s eyes are upon me, such a deep liquid brown and so very young. I wonder how I can tell her that she and I have just left the two people we care most about with yet another traitor. Coward that I am, I cannot. I have no proof with which to convince them. And even if Dunois believed me, what action could he take? Since I do not know Crunard’s purpose, I cannot be sure he wouldn’t slaughter us while we stood arguing the issue. Besides, I am hemmed in by my promise to Duval: to get the duchess to safety. If I tell her of my suspicions, she will surely not leave Isabeau. “I am fine, Your Grace. Merely pondering what awaits us at the end of this journey.”
She wrinkles her brow. “Nothing pleasant, that is certain.”
“As you say, Your Grace.”
She looks inclined to linger and I feel something stir in my chest, some small bird of panic that threatens to take flight. I cannot keep up this masquerade all morning if she chooses to ride beside me.
Captain Dunois sends me a sympathetic glance and makes some excuse to ride ahead. As they draw away, Beast moves to my side and hovers there, as if he is afraid I might even now turn and gallop back to the palace. “Leave,” I tell him sharply. “I will not forget my promise.”
This seems to satisfy him. He turns and gallops to his place at the back of the party, and I am left alone.
Chapter Forty-nine
We are two days on the road, a somber, cheerless troop, each of us lost in misery — except perhaps for Beast, who wears a faint maniacal grin the entire time. when I ask him why, he says he is imagining what he will do when he gets his hands on those who have betrayed the duchess. For the first time, I glimpse the brutal, savage part of him that earned him the name Beast, and it is fearsome.
Every time I consider telling Captain Dunois of my suspicions regarding Crunard’s treachery, he is busy giving orders, seeing to the duchess’s safety, or consulting with his scouts. There is no moment in which he is not rushed and pressed for time, no moment for him to quietly hear my arguments and give me a chance to convince him, so I keep silent.
Late in the afternoon of the second day, we reach the village of Paquelaie. These winter days are short, and we make it to the village just as darkness overtakes us. Dunois leads us to a stone hunting lodge that had belonged to the late duke, stopping only long enough to dispatch a spare soldier to fetch a village woman to cook for us.
Even though we are a small party, it takes a fair while to get all the soldiers quartered and the duchess comfortable in her rooms. As I am the only other woman in the party, I find myself attending upon her.
She is tired and pale, not being used to riding for so hard or so long, but her face has a determined set to it. There are no servants, so Dunois assigns the solders to bring hot water up to her room.
We do not speak much as I assist her in her evening toilette, for I am afraid if I open my mouth all the secrets I am holding will spill out. After she has washed away the two days’ travel, a simple meal is sent up. I keep her company while she picks at her food, then I help her into her bed, and she dismisses me for the night. But my time with her has brought all my secrets swarming to the surface. I must now do my best to convince Captain Dunois of my suspicions.
I find him in the great hall with Beast and de Lornay finishing off the remnants of a meal. The men look up from the demolished duck and capon. "We assumed you would dine with the duchess,” Captain Dunois says sheepishly.
I nod. Let him think I ate upstairs with her. It matters not, for I have no appetite and am not sure I could choke down a single bite. “I must talk with you.”
Dunois glances at Beast and de Lornay. “Alone?”
“No, they know some of it already.” I slip my hand into my pocket and close it around the heavy gold signet ring. “I believe Chancellor Crunard has betrayed us all.”
“Crunard?” His eyes widen with astonishment and disbelief, but I am relieved he does not dismiss me out of hand.
“Yes, my lord. It is a long and complicated story, one that Duval did not think you would accept without proof.”
“You have this proof?”
“Of a sort.” I have had two days on the road to arrange my thoughts into some semblance of order, so I am sorely frustrated to find myself groping for words. “I first grew uneasy about him when you told us of the chancellor not better defending Duval on the night the council discussed his arrest, for the chancellor was behind much of Duval’s actions. I grew even more suspicious when I received word from my convent that Crunard had told them Duval was involved in his mother’s plots, as that was blatantly false.”
Dunois’s thick brows draw down in a scowl. “The chancellor told them that?”
“Yes, but there is more.” I spend the next hour laying out all my evidence against Chancellor Crunard: the footpad attack on us, the signet ring, the death of Nemours, and the outright lies he told the convent.
when I am done, Dunois sits silent and brooding for a long time. At last he shakes his head. "While I can see how your reasoning has led you to believe this, I cannot help but feel there is some other explanation we are missing.”
“But what of the signet ring? Surely that is proof.”
Dunois rises to his feet. “It is strange, I’ll grant you that, but proof of treason? And on such a grand scale?” He shakes his head again. “I cannot bring myself to believe that of the chancellor. what does Duval think?”
“Duval’s mind was too consumed by the poison Crunard has given him to use reason.”
His head snaps up at this. “Poison? Duval is being poisoned?”
“Yes, my lord. Yet another betrayal to lay at the chancellor’s feet.”
His face turns to chalk. “I thought he had merely gone into hiding.”
“It is quite advanced,” I tell him gently. “He cannot move his legs. The paralysis will move to his lungs next, then his heart. Perhaps it already has.”
The silence is filled with the crackle and hiss of the fire.
“Sweet Jesu!” Dunois says, scrubbing his face with his hands. “If what you are saying is true, we cannot return to Guérande should this gambit fail. And Isabeau . . .” He looks up at me, his face haunted.
“You make certain this gambit does not fail,” I tell him. “I will think of something to free Isabeau once we have finished here.”
Chapter Fifty
The next day is Sunday, and the duchess spends the morning in prayer, but I am far too restless for such pursuits. I cross to the window and stare out at the rich woodland that surrounds the hunting lodge, wondering if my letter has reached the convent and, if it has, if the abbess believes me. I wish bitterly that Annith had written to me before I left. even if she has learned the answers I seek, Vanth will never find me here.
Like a tongue poking at a painful tooth, my mind goes back to Duval. At our parting — should I have done something different? And what of Crunard? He has always been suspicious of Duval’s disappearance. will he come looking for him once I am gone?
Or perhaps Duval will die of the poison before Crunard finds him.
That thought is like pouring salt into a fresh wound and prods me to grab my cloak and go outside. Le Palais is on a ridge that overlooks the Loire River and the valley below. The chill wind whips at my hair and tugs at my cloak as I stare down at the city ramparts. what are those traitors plotting? I do not trust them, and I do not like Anne being this close to whatever they have planned.
I hear a step behind me, and I turn to find the duchess bundled up in her ermine-lined cloak, picking her way along the path. “Shouldn’t you be resting, Your Grace?”
“I cannot. My mind will not hold still.” She comes to stand next to me and together we stare down into the valley, to the imposing high walls of Nantes and the blue and yellow banners flying from the ramparts.
“I was born there, you know,” the duchess says. “The night I came into this world, my father carried me to those very ramparts and held me aloft so I could behold my kingdom and so his subjects could behold their next ruler.” She sounds bemused, as if she cannot quite understand how she came to be here while her enemies are there.
“That gate,” she says. “See? That far one? That is the very gate through which Duval carried Isabeau and me to safety nearly eight years ago.” Her voice catches in her throat. “I wish he were here,” she whispers fiercely. “If ever I had need of his counsel, it is now.” She sends me a stricken look. “I had thought he would ride out and meet us on the road. Dunois will not honor the call for his arrest; surely he knows this. why did he not come, Ismae?”
As I stare into her unflinching brown eyes, I find I am unable to keep secrets from her any longer. It is exactly what her other advisors do, and I do not wish to repeat their mistakes. “He is ill, Your Grace. Gravely ill.”
Her hand flies to her mouth. “The plague?”
I shake my head. “He is being poisoned.”
Her eyes grow round with horror and she takes a step back. “Poison?” she says faintly.
“Yes, but not at my hand,” I rush to assure her.
"Why did no one tell me of this sooner?” she demands.
“Because he did not wish for you to know, and I was hoping to find an antidote or cure before having to give you such dire news.”
“But I take it you have found no cure.”
“I have not.”
She is silent as she stares down at the city below us, gathering her courage to ask the next question. “Is he dead?”
“Very likely he is by now, as he was at death’s door when we left Guérande.” Remembering how I left him fills me with a nearly overwhelming urge to grab the nearest horse and ride back to Guérande to protect his unconscious body from Crunard’s further machinations.
She turns on me then, her voice harsh with anger. "Who would do such a thing?”
I take a deep breath. “Chancellor Crunard, Your Grace.” And then I tell her all the ways her most trusted guardian has betrayed her.