I am unable to help myself. “How do you mean, one such as Duval?”
“One who will put duty and honor before everything, no matter the cost to him. Or you.”
Her words please me, for if even she says such things about him, it confirms what I myself have come to believe: that he is loyal and true to the duchess. “Too bad you do not hold your own honor so highly, madame.”
A delicate frown creases her brow. "What do you mean?”
“I mean that you are a traitor to the crown of Brittany, and for that you must die. Saint Mortain has willed it.”
She puts her hand to her forehead. “Is that why it grows warm in here?”
I am impressed that she does not faint or scream or cry out for help. “Yes, my lady. That is the poison beginning to work.”
“Poison?” Her face relaxes somewhat. “Thank you for that. I am not overfond of sharp things. Or pain.”
Her composure surprises me, as I have always thought her high-strung and overwrought. "Who besides Fran?ois is involved in your plots and conspiracies?”
At her son’s name, she grows rigid with fear. “No! Not Fran?ois! Do not lift your hand against him!” She rises up from the bed, crosses the distance between us, and grabs my shoulders. I wince as her slender fingers bite into my still tender wound. “It was me, all me. Fran?ois wanted nothing to do with it. You must not kill him. Promise me!”
“I cannot make such a promise. If my saint bids me act, I must, but if Fran?ois is innocent, Mortain will not raise a hand against him.”
She pushes away from me, her cheeks flushed. “Do not sit in judgment of us, stupid girl. You do not know what it is like, having your life run by men. Men who care not one whit for you beyond the pleasure you can bring them in bed or the pretty way you decorate their arms.” She clenches her fists. “You have no idea what it is like to have no choices, not one thing to call your own, not even your children.”
“But I do, madame,” I say softly. “I assure you, no woman has the choices you speak of. She cannot choose whom she marries or which family she is born into or even what her role in this world will be. I do not differ from you in that regard, only in what I did with what I was given.”
"What could I do when I was but fourteen and the aging French king decided he must have me in his bed at any cost? what choice did I have when he died? So I chose the duke. He was young and handsome and kind and, most of all, smitten with me. That power — the power to attract men — was the only weapon I had.”
To my horror, I find myself sympathetic to her.
“And once I’d borne children — do you know how hard it can be for a bastard? How dispensable they are? I tried to do all in my power to assure them some measure of respect and safety in their lives.”
Her words make me think of my mother for the first time in years. would that she had tried to protect me as well as Madame Hivern protected her children.
Madame Hivern shoves her golden hair out of her eyes and gives me a scornful look. “This love you feel for Duval is nothing to the love you would bear your child. Believe me in that, if nothing else.”
A child. Something I have never even allowed myself to think about. Knowledge wells up from deep inside me. If I did have a child, I would protect it and serve it with every breath I drew.
It hits me with the unwelcome force of a crossbow bolt: we are alike, Hivern and I. Both women, both powerless over our own fates. who is to say I would not have done exactly as she if I had been born into her circumstances? The life I would have led with Guillo spreads out before me, his offspring hanging from my skirts. would I have grown to love them? Protect them? Could I have done any differently than Hivern had?
She sways on her feet, then stumbles over to the bed, all the will and fight seeping out of her at once. “How much longer will this take?” she asks, and I find I am nearly drowning in my reluctance to kill her. Not fully understanding my own intentions, and with a quick movement I am not sure is my own, my fingers reach up and snuff out the flame. I go to the window and throw it open, letting the cold, cleansing air rush in and chase away the cloying, sweet scent.
Hivern’s teeth begin to chatter. "W-what are you d-doing? It’s c-cold.”
I want to shout at her that I do not know what I am doing, that mayhap I have gone mad. Instead, I cross to the bed. “Stand up.” I grab her by the arm and haul her to her feet. "Walk.”
She looks at me as if I am addle-brained, and perhaps I am. “I don’t want to walk. I want to sleep. Isn’t that what you want?”
"Walk!” I command. “I have an idea, a plan to protect you and Fran?ois.” That gets her feet moving.
Her gaze fuzzily tries to focus on mine, urgent. "What is it?”