"Why were the rest of us not told?” the marshal asks.
Crunard shrugs. "We thought the fewer who knew, the easier to keep her identity hidden. Surely, Marshal, you do not tell me every bit of your military strategy?”
Rieux’s face reddens, but he cannot deny the truth of Crunard’s words.
“I do not see why you are so angry.” It is the duchess herself who speaks. “If it were not for Demoiselle Rienne’s quick actions, I would even now be lying in a pool of my own blood.”
There is a resounding silence, then Marshal Rieux rushes in. “You misunderstand us, Your Grace. we are overjoyed that you were not injured. But are we so sure that poor man was not merely part of the entertainment?”
"We are sure,” I say.
Rieux whips his head around to stare at me. “How?”
My eyes meet his. “Because Saint Mortain guided my hand.”
Rieux’s lips flatten into a thin line and he takes a step closer to me. I do not know what he intends, but Chancellor Crunard stops him. “Marshal Rieux!”
Nostrils flaring in annoyance, Rieux checks himself. "Whoever this woman is,” he says, “she should not be privy to our council meeting. You are dismissed, demoiselle.”
I make a great show of ignoring him and look to the duchess. It is she whom I serve, not him. “I await your command, Your Grace.” I can hear Rieux’s teeth grinding in frustration.
I see plain on her face that she is loath to dismiss me because Rieux has ordered her to. “If Your Grace allows it,” I explain gently, “I have duties I must see to regarding your assailant.”
She nods her head graciously. “By all means, demoiselle. See to your duties.”
"Where has the body been taken?” I ask Duval.
His eyes narrow as he realizes what I am planning. “I will show you myself,” he says. "We are done here.”
"We are not done, Duval!” Marshal Rieux says in frustration.
“I am,” Duval says, then takes my elbow in an iron grip and escorts me from the room. when we are alone in the hallway, I shift my elbow. He immediately lessens his hold and grunts an apology. we go the rest of the way to the dungeon in silence, the twitching under Duval’s left eye discouraging any questions. There is a lone guard standing outside a row of cells. "Where is the body?” Duval asks.
He points to a larger cell. “In there, my lord.”
Duval leads me inside. If the guard thinks this odd, he is wise enough to keep it to himself.
The hellequin’s body has been laid on the floor, the crossbow bolt removed from his neck. No one has thought to remove the ugly red and black mask. I kneel on the hard stone floor and gently lift it from his face. what strikes me most about the man is his ordinariness. He is neither handsome nor plain, looks neither highborn nor of peasant stock. It is as if he is a blank canvas, waiting for an artist and his paints to bring him to life.
Duval comes to stand beside me and stares down at the body. “Do you know him?”
“No, my lord. I have never seen him before.”
Duval frowns as he ponders this. "Where did he come from then?”
“I will do my best to find out.”
It takes him a moment to realize my intent. “Is it safe, do you think? with someone as dangerous as this?”
even though his concern pleases me, I shrug, pretending a confidence I do not feel. “Anyone could have sent him. we are no closer to knowing who moves against the duchess than we were a sennight ago. what other path is open to us? Besides, he is dead now, what danger can he be?”
"Even so,” he says, his face grim. “You will be careful, Ismae.”
“Always, my lord.” I give him a reassuring smile, then turn back to the dead hellequin. I close my eyes, take a steadying breath, then slowly lift the barrier between life and death. At first, there is nothing, so I step more fully into death. Still, there is nothing but a great, black abyss and then I realize that the hellequin has no soul with which to communicate — I feel only a gaping void. Is that the price of acting without Mortain’s blessing? To be emptied of our divine spark?
There is a slow, deep tug from the void. To my horror, the darkness reaches out to me, embracing me and pulling me into its nothingness. I struggle to resist, but its grip is firm, unyielding. It is like night falling, only darker, blacker, more absolute. And so very chilling. Just as one’s skin sticks to ice atop a pond, so does my soul cleave to this freezing emptiness. In no time at all, the normal chill of death disappears, and in its place I feel numbness. emptiness.
Hands are on my face, slapping gently at my cheeks, a voice murmuring. I feel a faint trickle of warmth begin to work its way into my body. with immense effort, I open my eyes.
Duval is kneeling beside me, his eyes wild with concern. I shiver uncontrollably. “Praise God!” he says, then hauls me up into his arms and holds me close against his chest.