As I stare down at Julian’s poor, wounded body, true understanding dawns. In order to defeat d’Albret, I have only to love more than he hates.
And I do. My heart is filled with the love I bear, love that I was too terrified to give voice to for fear d’Albret would use it against others in order to hurt me. But they are all gone, far beyond his reach. Only I remain.
Julian’s sword is but inches from my hand. Now, I think. Now. Fueled by all the fierce love inside me, I reach out, grasp the sword hilt still slick with my brother’s blood, then surge upward, aiming to drive it deep into d’Albret’s belly.
D’Albret discerns my intent just in time. He kicks out with his foot, knocking the sword from my fingers, then his hand reaches out and closes around my throat.
I smile. I know d’Albret will not kill me this way, for I was born with the birth cord wrapped twice around my neck and did not die. And I still have the knife Jamette gave me—the very one I once gave her.
Still smiling, I lean in toward d’Albret as if welcoming his hands around my neck. I grip the knife handle firmly and, fueled by seventeen years of the despair I have felt on behalf of those I love, whip the knife out from behind my back and plunge it into his belly, driving it upward.
D’Albret’s eyes widen in surprise, and his hold around my neck loosens. He looks faintly puzzled, as if unable to believe what I have done. I shove upward again and twist, willing the knife to damage every organ it touches, just as he has damaged every life he has touched.
As my hand grows wet with his blood, and I watch his eyes dull, I want to throw my head back and howl with victory. Instead, I yank my knife out, and he starts to slump to the ground.
Even now, with his guts spilling out onto the fine white marble, Death does not claim him and no marque rests upon his brow. It never will. That is another thing I learned from my true father that night: d’Albret is not welcome in Death’s realm. That is the promise Mortain made to all d’Albret’s victims, that d’Albret will be barred from the Underworld, his flesh fated to linger until it rots, his soul to wander restlessly until the end of time.
Madame Dinan rushes to his side and tries to shove his guts back into his belly, staining her slender white hands with blood and gore. As she calls for the surgeons, I have a vision of her new life as it spreads before her, tending to d’Albret and his unnatural wound for all the rest of her days.
I glance again at the fallen Julian’s face, as white and still as marble. That is when I understand that it was Julian’s love that was the key to this victory. His love for me, Beast’s love for Alyse, my own love for my sisters—even Jamette’s love for Julian—has driven all of us to this moment in time, each strand wrapped around the next like links in a chain.
And now d’Albret is as good as dead. And I am finally free.
Dinan looks up to glare at me. “Seize her!”
Ah, but I am not free yet. There are still over fifty men in here, and all of them are staring at me with eyes bright with the promise of violence and their own brutal nature. What did I hope? That with d’Albret’s death, they would be released from their own dark impulses and rejoice in their freedom? No, for they were drawn to him as like is drawn to like, and they eye me now with a hunger for blood and vengeance. Besides, they will have to answer to Pierre for what happened here. I grip the knife I still hold in my hand. D’Albret cannot hurt anyone again—my destiny has been fulfilled. I will not surrender to what I see lurking in the enraged faces around me. Slowly, I lift the knife and press the tip of it to my own throat.
One of the men, seeing what I intend, leaps forward. He looms over me, the helm he wears shadowing his face. I try to pull away from his grasp, but he is as quick as he is tall. When his hand closes around my wrist—the moment our skin touches—I know.
My head snaps up, and I look into a pair of light blue eyes that burn with an unholy light.
Beast.
Chapter Fifty-One
THE SIGHT OF BEAST FILLS my heart with such joy that I fear it will burst. He is dressed in d’Albret’s colors and shoves a rolled-up leather packet into my hands. His disguise buys us some time, and while his body blocks me from the other men’s view, I quickly unroll my knives. Since there is no time to don the sheaths, I stab them through my skirt, threading the blades through the thick fabric so they will not fall out.
“Bring her over here!” Captain de Lur orders.
When I am fully armed, Beast flashes one of his fierce grins at me. “Cut the tabard off, for I will not besmirch my god by fighting in d’Albret’s colors.”
I cannot blame him. I put the tip of my knife to the tabard and cut it in half, careful that the blade does not go too far. Beast shrugs out of it and pulls his sword from its sheath. For a brief moment, the men think he means to use it on me. “You ready?” he asks.