My mind shuffles all the possibilities and options in front of me the way a trickster might shuffle cards. “We must send the girls away,” I finally decide. “I will not run, but the girls can. They’re never anywhere near the king, or even the regent. It will take days before anyone realizes they are gone.”
“Will the king not call them in to ask their thoughts on the matter?”
I laugh. “He does not care what they think or want. And if he does, we can simply say they have taken ill.”
“But where will we send them? Surely such a journey is fraught with its own risk?”
“That is the trick of it,” I agree. “Unless . . . unless we did not send them very far. Surely there is a convent somewhere nearby where they could request sanctuary.”
“Would Pierre’s men honor sanctuary? I also fear it would be the first place they look.”
Given my own history of escaping to a convent, there is a good chance he is right. And that is when the pieces of the answer fall into place. “Unless,” I tell him, “it is a convent they do not even know exists.”
It takes him a moment to grasp my meaning. “You don’t mean the convent of Saint Mortain?”
The wheels of my mind churn furiously. “It is perfect. It is far away from court. They will be surrounded by highly skilled assassins, reachable only by boat. Best of all, neither the French crown nor Pierre knows it exists. It is the best place to hide them.”
Beast pulls at his chin, nodding slowly. “It is also a ten-day journey. Does that not present a new set of dangers?”
“You can stop in Rennes. Ismae can help you—maybe she will even want to accompany you to the convent.”
He takes a deep breath and scrubs both his hands over his face. “I do not like it.”
“If you, Aeva, Tola, and the queen’s guard accompany them—” Beast opens his mouth to argue, but I rush in. “Think! The only way they can hurt me is through my sisters. The best way—the only way—to protect me is to get them to safety. Besides, we may not have much choice.”
I can see he knows the truth of what I am saying, but his eyes also glint with his absolute distate for the plan. “I am not going to leave you here alone to face d’Albret and the regent. And you cannot simply commandeer half the queen’s loyal attendants.” He is silent a long moment before he finally says, “I think we should consider marrying.”
I gape at him. Marry?
“As your husband, I can offer you some measure of protection. Not only physically, but legally.”
My mind is a swirl of all the reasons I will not—cannot—ever marry, none of them having to do with Beast. Sensing that, he hastily retreats. “I can see by your silence it’s a poor idea. And I have little enough to offer you.”
“No! It is not you, it is just that—”
“Hush.” He steps forward and holds his fingers up to my lips. “You do not need to explain. I should never have suggested it except that there are many things that cannot be done to you or taken from you without your husband’s permission.”
He is right. It would afford me certain protections. I would be his property instead of d’Albret’s, and d’Albret could no longer have any claim on me.
But those same protections can also serve as a lifelong trap from which there is no escape. I’m not sure that I can ever let a man—not even Beast—have that sort of power over me again. “We would need the permission of the queen and perhaps even the king,” I tell him gently. “And we are already past the point when their protection would do the most good. Besides, while marriage might protect me, it would not help Charlotte or Louise.”
His sense of frustration and impotence is so intense it borders on despair. “But know this. I love you. I will always love you, marriage or not. We are perfectly made for each other, you and I.”
He reaches out to cup my face in his hands, his touch so gentle and cherishing, that it nearly makes me weep. “We are that, my fair assassin.”
I savor that touch for one long moment before forcing myself to pull away. “I must go,” I tell him. “Hopefully the duchess will have news of the king’s meeting with the lawyer.” And then I hurry from the room before I truly begin to weep.
?Chapter 83
hen I reach the queen’s chambers, she is waiting for me. She is not in bed but sits by the fire. All her other ladies have been dismissed.
“Your Majesty.” I curtsy, and she motions me over. She is still fully dressed. “May I help prepare you for bed?”
“Not just yet.” There is a chill in her voice that I have not heard before, not with me. She pulls her gaze from the fire, her eyes heavy and solemn. “Lady Sybella, is there something you wish to share with me?”
My mind races over everything I have not told her. The dicing and dagger throwing at her wedding. The assassination attempt. The sneaking and spying on the king. My recent visit with Marguerite. “There are many things I could share, Your Majesty, but I am not certain they are things you truly wish to know.”
Her eyes flash in a rare show of temper. “I think it best if you let me decide for myself.”
I’m so stunned that it takes me a moment to find my voice. “Where would you like me to start? My past? The methods I have used to keep you informed here at the French court—”
She holds out a hand to halt my words. “Start with Pierre’s visit to Rennes before we left for France. You can be certain his lawyer brought it up, and it was a great revelation to me.”
I close my eyes. Merde. “Your Majesty—”
“Please,” she says, her voice softening somewhat. “Sit down.”
I give a faint shake of my head and grip the back of the chair instead. “Your Majesty, I told Captain Dunois when it happened, and it was he who suggested I not bother you with it. His reasoning was that he was going to double the guard, and that with the injuries Pierre and his men had sustained they would not be returning anytime soon. He did not see any reason . . .” My words become twisted, tangled. “He was thinking to protect me, Your Majesty. And I let him.”
How can I explain to her the sharp, bitter thorns that sprang up around my heart that day? With so many seeing to her safety as my sisters huddled in their rooms, recovering from Pierre’s attack? I was blinded by my desire to hoard every crumb and scrap of protection I could for my sisters. I was glad I did not have to tell her and greedily accepted the gift Captain Dunois offered.
“That sounds like the captain.” The loss she still feels seeps into her voice. “And is a far more satisfactory explanation than the one Pierre’s lawyer offered.” She shoots me a tart look. “However, it would have been nice to know about this so I did not appear an idiot in front of my lord husband and the officious lawyer.”
“I am sorry, Your Majesty. I should have told you and asked to be released from your service. If I had known Pierre would parade our family’s soiled linens before the king and queen of France, I would have.” I curtsy and bow my head, hoping she will feel the fullness of my regret. “I am deeply sorry.”