I drop to my knees as my frantic fingers begin gently probing his body for signs of injury. “Are you all right? Can you speak?”
He turns to look at me, the expression on his face both distant and disturbing. “You care,” he says, almost offhandedly.
“What hurts?”
He answers with a hollow voice. “It is just a bruised rib.”
I nearly reach out and clout his head in relief, like Jacquette. “Then why do you look like Death?”
He blinks, turning to stare back up at the clouds. “Because those knights are of the house d’Albret, and riding at their helm was Pierre d’Albret. Every one of those men knows exactly who I am.”
?Chapter 63
he city of Angoulême comes into sight just as dusk is beginning to fall. As we approach the gates, Maraud puts a hand on my arm, drawing me back to the edge of our group.
I glance at his hand, and he quickly removes it. “So now that we are here, I need to know what our plan is. We are entering not only your enemy’s territory but, with d’Albret’s arrival, mine as well.”
I want to ask why they are enemies, but instead say, “Will d’Albret and his men spend the night in the city?”
He glances up at the darkening sky. “Most likely. It is a convenient stop on the way to his holding in Périgord.” He is silent a long moment. “Why are we spending the night in Angoulême? I thought you were escaping. It makes no sense to run to one of the count’s strongholds.”
“Is there another way to reach the route north?”
His eyes scan the poplar trees that line the road like upright soldiers. “Where north?”
“Poitiers. And we will need horses to get there.” Poitiers is only a stop on the way to Plessis-lès-Tours, but I do not want to share our destination with him. He has traveled these roads far more than I have, and I do not wish to give him so much information that he thinks he can begin plotting against me.
He tilts his head, thinking. “There are not any horse markets in Angoulême this time of year.”
“We do not need to buy them. They are already mine.”
His eyes narrow as he begins to sense where this is leading. “Where are these horses of yours stabled?”
It is hard not to squirm under that gaze. Obtaining horses has always been one of my greatest challenges. “At the count’s stables in Angoulême.”
Maraud stops walking and gapes at me. “Are you mad? Surely that is too dang—”
“Is it any less dangerous than stealing a horse? When the punishment for such is death?” It is hard to explain why I do not want to return to the convent—or face those who used to run the convent—empty-handed. To have lost Margot, to have achieved nothing in five years, and to have abandoned the few tools they gave me feels like too great a defeat.
“But the count—”
“Is not in residence. I told you, he is spending Christmas with the Duke of Orléans and will not be home until after Epiphany. No one at his castle in Angoulême knows me.”
“So how do you plan to collect these horses of yours?”
“It is simple. In exchange for their entertainment, the mummers are given hospitality in the castle’s lower halls or stables. Tonight we’ll make our way with the other mummers to the castle, settle ourselves into the stable, and wait. The best time for us to leave the city will be during the performance. All eyes will be on that. If anyone does see us, we can claim to be latecomers or part of a surprise ending act.”
Maraud considers this. “Will the count’s stable master not think you are stealing his horses?”
I send him a scathing look. “No. They bear the convent’s brand, proving they are not his.”
“Yes, but will that be enough for him to let you take them?”
“I do not intend to ask permission,” I mutter.
“This isn’t Brittany.” Maraud’s voice is gentle. “Not everyone even knows of the Nine or Mortain, other than as something from stories long ago. I think we should find horses another way.”
“How? Do you have a bag of gold on you that you have not told me about?”
He shrugs. “I have a few coins from our performances.”
“As have I, but not enough to buy decent horses.”
His face brightens. “I could find a dicing game. I’m good with dice.”
“Good enough to turn a handful of coppers into the funds needed to buy two healthy palfreys or rouncies?”
“Given a day or two, yes.”
“We don’t have a day or two. We have tonight and tomorrow, then we must leave. Besides, do d’Albret’s men not frequent taverns and gaming houses?”
Maraud’s face falls. “Yes. And their games of dice often turn to much worse.”
“As you said earlier, there are no fairs with horses for sale or marketplaces for such.” I gesture at the city around me. “Where do you propose we buy them?”
He rubs his hands over his face. “So we steal them.”
“If we are caught in the act, we will hang,” I remind him.
“So we do not let ourselves get caught.”
I shoot him a look. “I am not a thief.”
“But you are an assassin,” he points out.
“That is entirely different.” While I have been light-fingered in the past, I have always taken from those who had plenty—or who helped themselves to things that didn’t belong to them. “Stealing a horse from someone like Herbin or Jacques could easily threaten their livelihood. The only one who can afford the loss of two horses is the count. And since I already have two in his stables, there is no need to steal from him.
“Truly, my plan is as sturdy as a three-legged stool,” I tell him. “No one at the palace knows or has ever seen you. I have only been there for one brief night over a year ago, dressed in finery at the countess’s side. No one will know us. There is no disadvantage to stealing from the palace, except that it is not stealing.”
“Except for the palace guards. And d’Albret.”
“But d’Albret will never see you! We won’t be performing. Even if we were, you’d have your mask on the entire time.”
Recognizing the superiority of my plan, he sighs and changes the subject. “How will we get out of the city gate?”
“I was planning on using the sally port in the east wall.”
“Isn’t it guarded?”
I shrug. “By only two men, not an entire gatehouse full.”
* * *
The first leg of my plan crumbles just as we enter the city. The guards greet us cheerfully as Rollo has already plied them with japes and jests. He himself waits for us just inside the gates, motioning us to gather around. “There has been a change in plans.” Maraud shoots me a dark look. “We will not be staying at the palace.” As my heart plummets to my stomach, Rollo reassures us. “They have given us the guild hall. It is much nicer than the one in Jarnac.”
I should keep quiet, but staying in the stables is such a core part of my plan that I cannot. “But why?”
Rollo shrugs. “The knights that nearly ran us down have called upon the castle’s hospitality, and they have granted it.”
“Clearly,” Maraud says grimly as Rollo walks away, “they know better than to refuse.”
?Chapter 64
Sybella