“Did you point out that Nemours was perfectly safe until they learned of his existence?”
“Oh, yes, and you can imagine how well that went over. Marshal Rieux nearly flew across the table to strike me, and would have if Crunard had not held him back.”
we are all silent as we consider the full magnitude of this disaster. when the duchess finally speaks, her voice is laced with desperation. “Surely there is something we can do.”
“Oh, there is much we can do,” Duval says grimly. “But each action will have a cost. we can begin negotiating with the Holy Roman emperor now, the Privy Council be damned, but it will turn them more firmly against me. we can send a letter to the ecclesiastical council pointing out that the agreement was made without your consent and you had no idea what you were signing.”
Anne halts her pacing and whirls around to face Duval, determination writ plainly on her face. “Yes!” she says. “Yes to both of those things.”
“The rest of the Privy Council will not be pleased. They already think that you and I collude too much and that I am overstepping my station. They may follow through on their threat to bar me from your meetings.”
The duchess lifts her chin. “Then I will consult with you in private.”
Duval hides a smile. “Very well. I will arrange a preliminary meeting with the Holy Roman emperor’s envoy tomorrow, and if you will show me where you keep quill and ink, we shall draft your letter to the ecclesiastical council. D’Albret shall not have you. Not while I still draw breath.”
A chill scuttles across my shoulders just then, and I wish Duval had not made such a vow. It is never wise to taunt the gods.
Chapter Thirty-five
I am scheduled to attend the duchess this morning, but when I arrive at the solar, Madame Dinan will not let me in. She informs me that Isabeau took a turn for the worse during the night, and Anne is with her. Her refusal to allow me access is sharp and pointed and intended to make clear to me that I am not welcome. ever.
The old familiar shame nearly chokes me as I return to my chamber. Duval is off meeting with the envoy, so I cannot vent my anger and frustration to him. Instead, I spend the morning tending to my weapons: oiling and sharpening the blades, replacing the poisoned pearls on my golden hairnet, generally making ready for whatever comes. My healing shoulder itches fiercely. Perhaps that is the cause of this sense of restlessness that plagues me. I feel as if we are on a vessel moving inexorably toward some unseen destination. There is no one steering or tending the sails; only the dark tides and currents carry us to their preordained destination. It is not a pleasant feeling and there is little I can do to prepare myself.
Just as I am putting away the last of my knives, there is a knock at the door. My heart lifts. Is Isabeau feeling better then? when I open the door, a page thrusts a sealed parchment in my hand, flops a short bow, then scampers away. Puzzled, I close the door and turn the message over.
The wax seal is black, and the handwriting Sybella’s. I rip it open and read the loose, looping scrawl.
Meet me where we last spoke, at noon. S
Immediately I remember her drawn, pale face, her brittle manner. Is she in trouble? As it is nearly noon now, I grab my cloak and head for the east tower.
The church bell strikes noon just as I enter the main hall in the palace, and I quicken my steps, keeping my eyes peeled for signs of Sybella as I hurry toward the east wing.
At the top of a wide staircase, I nearly bump into Madame Dinan. “Madame,” I say, dipping a curtsy and cursing my ill luck. She is in a hurry herself, however, and barely pauses to acknowledge me. “Demoiselle Rienne. The duchess asked that I fetch her embroidery,” she says in passing.
I frown. She has never explained herself to me before, and I cannot fathom why she would do so now. “Very well,” I say, then continue down the stairs.
She stops. “Are you on some errand for Duval?” she asks.
I decide it is as good an excuse as any. “Yes, madame,” I say, and start to leave, but she speaks again.
"Where is Duval? I have not seen him all day,” says this woman who has ignored me most of my time at court. That is when I realize she is trying to detain me.
without bothering to answer, I turn and race down the stairs, a sense of dread growing within me. I am nearly there, only one more corridor. As I turn into the last hallway, I hear a man’s voice — a deep, cajoling rumble that slithers across my skin. D’Albret! every instinct I possess comes alert. I hear another voice then, a young girl’s voice. Not Sybella.
Anne.