“I am most pleased at this new development,” Crunard says. “Although it does create problems of its own. even so, I vote aye.”
I sigh in relief on the duchess’s behalf. Just as Duval is reminding them to speak of the Nemours offer to no one, there is a faint whisper of sound behind me. I whip my head around in time to see the latch lifting.
Moving quickly, I pull my long dagger from my ankle sheath and cross the room to stand behind the door.
It creaks open, momentarily blocking my view and trapping me between it and the wall. Madame Hivern again? I wonder. Or perhaps Fran?ois?
Or maybe Sybella, for why is she in Guérande if not to protect our duchess?
Almost as if sensing the relaxing of my guard, the intruder slams the door into me. I swear as my shoulder crashes into the unforgiving stone, then I spring forward, dagger ready.
Too late. The intruder is already fleeing down the hallway. I step into the corridor in time to see him disappear around a corner. Determined to catch up, I break into a run.
The labyrinth of palace hallways work to my advantage, for every time he turns a corner, he must slow down just enough that I can catch sight of him. One of the circular stairways looms ahead, and the spy takes the steps two at a time. Cursing my cumbersome court garb, I lift my skirts and follow. when I am but halfway up the stairs, I hear the click of a door opening and then shutting.
when I gain the landing, I am dismayed to see a dozen chambers stretching out as far as the eye can see. Swearing in frustration, I approach the first one on my right but sense no spark of life behind it. The first room on the left is similarly empty. I pause at every door until the fifth, where I sense a pulse of life.
I stop long enough to draw my knives, then, moving as silently as possible, I lift the latch and push open the door.
There is a whisper of movement at the open window, then nothing. I race over and peer outside just in time to see a dark figure disappearing through an archway at the side of the courtyard.
At least he is limping. Hopefully, he broke his bedamned leg when he jumped. I sheathe my knives and return to tell Duval of this new twist.
Two days after Duval informed the Privy Council of Nemours’s offer, his brother Fran?ois invites me to play chess. I accept, wondering if there is some ulterior motive to the invitation.
Fran?ois is waiting at a table in the grand salon, his attention on setting up the chessboard, which gives me a moment to study him unobserved. That he would betray his own sister makes him dishonorable. That he is Duval’s brother makes him fascinating.
He glances up just then and I smile shyly, as if I have been caught admiring him. He rises to his feet and bows. “Good morning, demoiselle.”
“Good morning,” I reply as I take my seat.
“Duval let you out for the morning?”
“Duval is busy with the duchess and her councilors.” I grimace with distaste, and Fran?ois clucks his tongue in sympathy.
"What will you choose, my lady, white or black?” I look down at the ornately carved pieces in front of me.
“Black, I think.”
His brows raise in surprise. “You give up the first move then?” “Is not the defensive position the stronger?” I ask sweetly. He laughs. “You have been spending too much time with my
brother and his strategies. Very well, I shall go first.” He reaches for his king’s pawn and moves it forward two paces. I respond by moving a knight’s pawn forward one pace.
Fran?ois gives me a sly look. “No hesitation; I like that in a lady.” It would be hard to miss the double meaning in his words.
“I hesitate when it is called for, my lord, and your game has not called for it yet.”
He laughs, and I am pleased at how artfully I fall into this flirtation. “A challenge,” he says, his eyes glittering at the prospect.
I let my face grow sober. “Speaking of challenges, what did you think of the estates meeting? were you as shocked as everyone else with Count d’Albret’s threat of war?”
Fran?ois’s cheerful face turns grave. “I was. He is not known for idle threats.”
I cannot tell if he is concerned for the duchess or his own aspirations. “Your poor sister already has her hands full with France, she does not need d’Albret’s rebellion on top of everything else.”
“Indeed, she does not.” He smiles tightly. “But I am certain Duval will take care of it. He always does.” He sneaks his bishop out from behind the pawn and takes my knight. when he looks up, our eyes meet. “Your move,” he says softly.
I keep my expression light and turn the conversation to other matters. “Your brother serves Saint Camulos,” I say as I consider the board. "What saint do you serve, if any? Saint Amourna, perhaps? Or Saint Salonius?” The moment the name crosses my lips, I wish to take it back. As Fran?ois is a bastard, there is a very real chance he was dedicated to Saint Salonius, patron saint of mistakes.
Overlooking my blunder, he claps his hand to his heart. “You wound me, demoiselle! Arduinna?”