“But—”
“When you are done, come find us in the solar.” Realizing she will never leave unless I order her to, I add, “You are dismissed.”
After a moment’s hesitation, she bobs a curtsy and then, still clutching her knife, hurries from the room.
When she is gone, I sit down so Jamette can dress my hair. In truth, I can do a better job myself, but it irks her to have to serve me, so I relish giving the task to her. It is almost not worth it, for she is intentionally ungentle and there are some days, like today, when I fear she will tug all the hair from my head. It makes me long for Annith and Ismae, their gentle hands and soothing ways. Not to mention their razor-sharp wits. My heart twists with longing, hot and bitter.
As I glance resentfully at Jamette’s reflection in the mirror, I see she sports a new ring on her finger, fashioned of pearls and a ruby. A prize, no doubt, for carrying reports of my movements and actions back to my father. I cannot help but hate her for it; I already feel trapped and suffocated. Knowing that she relays my every move to him makes it nearly impossible to breathe.
After I have dressed and broken my fast, there is nothing for it but to join the other ladies in the solar. I dare not attempt any spying today, as my father and his men will no doubt be extra alert in the days to come. I must be content with what I accomplished yesterday, for I did accomplish much, I remind myself. I saved the duchess from d’Albret’s trap and got Tilde and Odette to safety. There are many weeks when I am not granted any such victories.
With a resigned sigh, I grab my embroidery basket. At least I will have something entertaining to occupy my mind: plotting how best to kill the two marqued barons. Smiling, I open my chamber door and nearly bump into—“Julian!” I say, all the joy I have been feeling crumbling to dust. “What are you doing here so early?”
“I come to wish you a good morning, fair sister.” He glances over at Jamette, who is making calf eyes at him. “We must speak privately for a moment, if you please.”
Looking disappointed, she curtsies, and before I can think of an excuse to keep her near, she is gone. “What is it?” I ask, my face a picture of concern.
Julian’s face is carefully blank. “Where were you last night?”
My heart thuds painfully against my ribs. “I was here in my room—where were you?”
He ignores my question. “Then why did you not answer when I knocked?”
“I took a sleeping draft for the vile headache I had.”
Julian’s face softens and he lifts his hand to tuck a strand of my hair in place. “I could have soothed away your headache, had I but known.”
With all my secrets that he keeps hanging in the balance, I smile up at him and tap him playfully on the chest. “Then next time, knock louder.”
When he smiles back, I know that he believes me. As he lifts my hand and places a lingering kiss upon it, I wonder—for the hundredth time—how on earth I let the convent talk me into returning to my family.
Chapter Five
AFTER A WEEK OF RAIN and being trapped inside the castle with d’Albret and his raging suspicions, we are all at our wits’ ends. I even more so than the others, for I have two kills I am eager to make, which is nearly impossible with so many underfoot.
Since I have had nothing but time on my hands, I have considered my options carefully. Sister Arnette believed that arming me was her greatest challenge, since so few of Death’s handmaidens have ever had to maintain such a deceptive role for so long. She gave me nearly a dozen knives, most of them long and thin and easily concealed. I have lost four of them along the way, having to leave them with their victims. I also have a thick gold bracelet that holds a garrote wire, but I have no crossbow or throwing rondelles, since they are too difficult to hide or explain away.
Since these barons are allies of my father, I must be subtle. If I leave a trail of murdered men behind me, d’Albret will turn his household upside down in search of the one responsible. A stabbing might be blamed on some soldierly quarrel or a thief in the night, but a garroting would never be. And two such incidents would make d’Albret suspicious and wary.
Although poison is my least favorite weapon, it is often the best choice when subtlety is required. Besides, with the plague having so recently come through Nantes, it will be easy enough to make it appear as if these men simply fell ill and died.
Getting the poison to them is more difficult than it should be. I cannot just slip it into their food, for they eat with the rest of the household, and as much as I dislike everyone here, I am not willing to poison them all. At least not yet.