“Don’t be such a baby,” Charlotte scolds as she scoots even closer to watch.
She has always been a curious child, I try to tell myself. Has always been inquisitive, snooping and sneaking, collecting details about the world around her like a miser collects coin. And who can blame her? In our household, the more one knew, the better one could avoid deviously set traps. She has also lived among our family for ten years now, long enough to be touched by their darker impulses.
Which is why she must never return to them. That and her own personal safety, although she is, thankfully, too young to realize that.
“Uh, my lady?”
Tephanie’s voice is a welcome distraction. Not only is she better at comforting Louise, but I can ask if she has noticed this type of behavior with Charlotte. When I turn to greet her, my world tilts, like a crystal goblet that teeters on the edge of a table before shattering.
A heavily muscled man holds her close, a long hunting knife pressed firmly against her throat. His face is one I know well, from both my nightmares and my childhood. Indeed, his looks favor his father’s so much that it is like twisting a dull, rusty blade in an old wound.
Bitter acid of fear and anticipation floods my body, drawing my skin tight over my bones, my muscles tensing with readiness.
Mortain has been gone from my life for less than a week, and already the family that raised me has found a way back in.
?Chapter 10
he sight of my brother Pierre sends me reeling down a deep hole full of ugly memories and heartbreak and death. So much death. My mother, Pierre’s mother, Charlotte’s and Louise’s mothers. Our brother Julian. Even my own death, narrowly escaped.
The man who raised me and committed those atrocities, gutted with a knife.
Pierre is one of that man’s children who eagerly embraces his legacy of cruelty.
Mayhap this is the reason Mortain bid me live—to protect my sisters from the horrors visited upon me.
Two men stand on either side of Pierre. Like him, they are dressed in red and yellow tabards. The man on the right is tall and wide-shouldered. A beard covers most of his face, and his eyes are as hard as flint. His height and long limbs mean he will be fast, with a long reach.
The other man is shorter, but thicker through the shoulders and chest. He holds himself with a careless strength that bespeaks a seasoned soldier. However, it is his eyes that disturb me most, for they are flat, as if no soul or heart or anything decent lives within.
I shift my focus to the scar on my brother’s left eyebrow, the one I gave to him when I was ten years old and he tried to kiss me a second time. I am older now, and far more deadly. “Pierre.”
At our brother’s name, Charlotte looks up from the bush and slowly stands before taking one careful step away from me. Whether to give herself room to run or to disassociate from me, I do not know.
“This is convenient. I come looking for one sister and find all three. I knew your pet would prove useful.” His casual grip on the knife at Tephanie’s throat sends a shard of ice through my gut. He doesn’t care if he kills her or not. He grins, a cruel twist of his lips that has haunted my dreams for as long as I can remember. “You didn’t think I’d forgotten you?”
I force my own lips to curve in a mocking smile. “Of course not.” I had, however, hoped he would not remember until we were safely in France. “But I did think you had returned to Périgord for the winter.” I fill my voice with arch amusement. The scent of fear would only embolden him further.
“What I want could not be found in Périgord. If you and the girls come easily, I will not have to hurt this sow you seem to have grown so fond of.”
Terror tries to chase all the breath from my lungs, but I rein it back in. “Is this some newfound brotherly responsibility you are feeling toward our sisters?” As I talk, I pull Louise nearer so she is tucked close against me, shielded by my skirts. “You are not a nursemaid, and the girls mean nothing to you.”
“They belong to me now and are the bargaining chips I will use to form new alliances and rebuild our family’s influence. Now bring them here, or I will be forced to do something you will regret.”
Even though I can feel Tephanie’s eyes on me like a frightened calf, I do not dare look at her. “Kill her or not, I don’t care.”
Louise gasps. I squeeze her hand, trying to reassure her it is naught but a lie. “And you may take the girls as well. I have grown weary of them.”
Pierre smiles, pleased at his easy victory. Overconfidence has always been his great weakness. “Ah, but I will not leave you behind. You are still of marriageable age and hold some value. Besides, you have much to answer for.” His eyes glint darkly, hinting at the malevolent punishments he has in mind.
Ignoring the cold fear that trickles along my skin, I keep my voice light. “Dear Pierre. I forget you were never the clever one in our family. Let us talk this through. Surely I will serve you better by waiting upon the duchess. My presence here could do much to repair the damage our family has done to her.”
“Not clever, eh? How do you suppose I got in here undetected?”
“By wearing Viscount Rohan’s colors, which is practically cheating.”
The vein in his forehead throbs as he takes a step forward, dragging the forgotten Tephanie with him. “Cheating? This is not some game of cards we are playing.” He stops and cocks his head like a curious vulture. “Or is it? I’d forgotten how you could make anything into a game.” His eyes gleam with a spark of admiration, and I fear I will be sick. If there is anything about me he admires, I must cut it out like rotting fruit. “Tell me, was it a game when our brother Julian died? Did you enjoy luring him to his death?”
“No!”
“You may as well have swung the sword yourself. And our father’s death was by your hand.”
Charlotte jerks her gaze from Pierre to stare at me, and Louise shoves her face into my skirt.
“He is not dead,” I say coolly.
Pierre’s eyes bore into mine, alight with cold fury. “You left him lying in a pool of his own viscera. Even when the surgeons stitched him back together, he did not regain consciousness. He is as good as dead. Do not fool yourself, Sybella. You are no more suited to the duchess’s court than a wolf is to a lapdog. You are a d’Albret. You lie like one. You kill like one.” He takes a step closer. “Heartlessness and cruelty are your weapons of choice. Your d’Albret blood is thicker than your desire to be a lady in waiting to some mewling queen.”
The need to scream at him that I am not of his blood is so strong, I fear it will burst from my throat. But I can feel Louise trembling beside me. See Charlotte watching Pierre and me carefully. With all the death and upheaval they have gone through, I cannot tell them we do not share the same blood.