I scowl down at the foolish girl, but while her presence is puzzling, she is easily enough dealt with if she discovers me. I close the door softly behind me, then step over her and make my way down the stairs to the main floor. Sensing no guard or sentry, I step out into the night.
The moon is nearly full and shines down onto the palace courtyard with the light of a thousand candles. My heart slams against my ribs as a shadow flies overhead, then swoops in among the trees in the outer court. An owl. It is only an owl, hunting for its dinner.
I wait a moment to be certain the movement has not caught anyone’s attention, then skirt along the palace wall toward the old tower. I am filled with an unfamiliar calm. I know in my heart that what I am planning is the right thing to do. The sensation is as welcome as it is unfamiliar. This time, my hands are steady as I remove the key from the small pouch at my waist and then fit it to the lock.
There is a satisfying snick as it turns and I send a heartfelt thank-you to the cautious silversmith and his skill. As soon as I step inside, I am swarmed by the spirits of the tower, their icy presence chilling me to the bone.
Hugging the crumbling wall for support, I descend until I come to the second door. The key works here, too, and then I am standing in front of the final door. I move to the side, out of the line of the jailor’s sight. I can hear him shuffling across the floor, muttering unintelligibly to himself.
When I am certain that he is not near the door, I slowly bring my face up to the grille and peer in. If I could get close enough to his ale pot, I could drop some of my own sleeping draft into it, but it is too far from the door. My only choice is to call him over and use the night whispers powder. With my hood pulled low he will not be able to recognize my face when he wakes up. I cannot help but wonder if I am truly doing him a favor by not killing him outright. There is a good chance d’Albret’s wrath will fall on him if the prisoner is found dead, and the punishment will be swift and brutal.
Unless the prisoner is well enough to travel. Then all the jailor will have is a groggy head. At least until my next visit to break the knight out.
Just as I pull the twist of night whispers from my wrist sheath, there is the scrape of a boot on the stairs behind me. I glance around the antechamber, but there is no place to hide. I shove the packet back in its hiding place, grab the handle of my knife, and whirl around to face the stairs.
The tall, dark figure scowls in disbelief. “Sybella?”
“I could not sleep for the rattle and clank of the ghosts. Did you know this tower is haunted?”
“You could hear the sounds of haunting all the way from your chambers?” His eyes are wide with disbelief.
“Of course not.” I glance out from under my lashes. “I came to the chapel to pray for your safe return. That’s when I heard the rattling.”
The harsh planes of his face relax slightly. “While I appreciate your prayers, you have put yourself in harm’s way, prying where you should not.”
“How was I to know my prayers would be answered so quickly?” I smile, as if with true gratitude. Then I grow serious once more. “
He studies me for a long, silent moment, then seems to make a decision. “Here. Let me show you these ghosts.” He lets go of my arm, then pounds once on the grilled door. As footsteps shuffle toward us, he glances down at me. “How did you get in?”
I blink, as if I do not understand his question. “I opened the door and walked in.”
“Impossible,” he hisses. A dark eye peers through the grille. He looks up so his face can be seen, then there is a rattling sound as the latch is lifted.
Interesting that the jailor opens the door so easily for my brother. Just how deeply is Julian in d’Albret’s confidence? I had thought him peripherally involved in d’Albret’s schemes, just enough to keep from drawing attention to himself, but now I must rethink that.
The door opens, and the strange little man makes a crooked bow. “That,” I say, looking at the creature, “is no ghost, but a crippled old man. Or a gargoyle.”
Julian shoots me an exasperated look, grabs my arm, and half drags me across the small room. I cover my nose with my hand. “And that is most definitely not an otherworldly stench,” I say.
“Behold.” Julian thrusts me toward a second door that also has a barred window at the top. “Your ghost.” Julian takes a torch from the wall and shoves it through the bars.
“Sweet Jesu,” I whisper. The man groans and tries to turn away from the bright flames. His face is beaten and misshapen and lumpy and crusted with blood. He is half naked, with naught but rags to cover him, and two great wounds in his left arm ooze darkly. I cannot believe this is the same creature who so valiantly fought off the duchess’s attackers but a fortnight ago. D’Albret has taken yet another bright, noble thing and ruined it. “Who is he?” It is no great trick, putting revulsion and disgust in my voice, for the prisoner has been treated like the vilest of criminals, a violation of all decent standards for ransom. We would not treat our oldest hound this poorly.
“Just a prisoner from the battlefield. Now come. If anyone else learns that you have been here, I do not think even I can save you from our father’s wrath.” With that, Julian sets the torch back in the wall, then drags me from the dungeon.
Once outside the cell, I take in great gulps of the sweet, cold air. “Is our lord father planning to ransom him?”
“No.”
“Why doesn’t he just kill him, then, and be done with it?”
“I think there is some old history between the two of them, and our father has planned some special revenge. I believe he intends to use the man to send a message to the duchess.”
I keep my voice light. “The man does not appear capable of getting a message across his cell, let alone to Rennes.”
“You misunderstand me. The knight will be the message. When his hanged, drawn, and quartered body is delivered to the duchess, it will serve as a warning that even her strongest and most loyal men cannot stand against the d’Albret name.”
The vileness of this plan makes my stomach roil. I smile and poke Julian playfully in the ribs. “My, but you are fully in our father’s confidences now. Have you risen so very high in his favor?”
We have reached the top of the stairs. Julian ignores my question and turns to face me. “How did you get in, Sybella?” It is his most serious voice, the one he always uses when he worries we are in danger.
“The door was unlocked,” I tell him. “Was it supposed to be otherwise? If so, you’d best check with the guards and see who was last on duty, for it was not when I came upon it. “
He still looks unconvinced. I step closer to him and ignore the sharp wave of revulsion that rises up from deep within me. I place my arms around his neck and rise up so that my lips touch his ear. “I am telling the truth, but you may search me if you like. It would make a very fine game.” My heart is thundering so hard in my chest, it is a wonder he does not hear it. Afraid that he will, I do the only thing I can think of to distract him. I place my mouth on his.
His eyes widen in surprise, and then he wraps his arms around me, drawing me closer so that our hearts beat against each other and I can feel the entire length of his body against mine. He pulls away long enough to sigh my name.
We stop at my chamber door, and even though I know Julian is waiting for me to open it, I turn as if to bid him good night. “I am glad you are back safe and sound,” I murmur.
He steps closer to me and leans forward to nuzzle at my hair. “You know I hate being parted from you. I came back as soon as I could.”
I put my hands on his chest and play with the gold braid on his doublet to keep him from pressing closer.
It does not work. He ignores my hands between us and moves his lips from my hair and brings them down to my mouth. Despair fills me, and I scramble to think of some way to turn his own desire against him, but I cannot. Not now, when I am tired and chilled and the panicked dregs of discovery still run through my veins.
Then, praise Mortain, the door behind me opens and I nearly tumble backwards into the room. Julian’s head comes up, black fury in his eyes. I whirl around to see who has interrupted us, wanting to get my body firmly in front of Julian until he can get his temper in check.
It is Tephanie. Dear, awkward,
“I did—thank you, Tephanie.” My voice is calm, steady, and holds the faint note of scorn Julian would expect.
I glance at Julian as if to apologize for this overly dutiful servant. His temper has dissipated, and in its place is a faint mocking expression. “It is late, and I am sure your attendant would like some sleep before the night is over.” He turns to Tephanie. “You may leave,” he tells her.
Hidden behind my skirt, my hand reaches out and grabs her arm, an iron grip that holds her in place. She curtsies and murmurs, “It is no inconvenience, my lord, but a great honor to be able to serve my lady in any way she wishes.”
I tilt my head at Julian. “Do you hear that, my lord brother? She is honored to serve me in any way she can.”
He looks at me, then at Tephanie, and I see in his eyes the exact moment he concedes the battle. “I cannot argue with such devotion, then. I bid you both good night.”
After Julian takes his leave, I stumble into my chamber and nearly sag to the floor. My knees weaken, my guts turn watery, and I cannot stop trembling.
“My lady?” Tephanie’s simple face is clouded with worry. “Are you all right?”
“I am fine.” Uncertain of my ability to school my features just yet, I do not look up.
Ignoring my words, she hurries to my side. I brace myself for her barrage of questions, but she surprises me by saying nothing. She simply takes one of my ice-cold hands in hers and begins chafing some warmth back into it.
Something about her touch, the simple, undemanding nature of it, makes me want to weep. Or perhaps it is still the aftereffects of my fright.
Once again, Julian has interfered, ruining my plans and destroying my hard-won resolve. Even worse, I suspect he is more fully in d’Albret’s confidence than I had thought. How far will his loyalty go? Which is his greater desire—to keep me safe or to serve our father?
And the knight! Sweet Jesu, what they have planned for him! To be hanged, drawn, and quartered is the most hideous torture I can imagine. He will be hanged by the neck—but not so long that he actually dies. No, they will cut him down before he escapes into that sweet oblivion. Then they will slice him open and remove his entrails while he watches, finding endless ways to keep him conscious and alive as they do so. When that is done, they will throw him to the ground, secure each of his limbs to a horse, and send them all galloping off in different directions until he is ripped apart.
Fearing I will be sick, I force the image from my mind. Sensing my shivering, Tephanie leaves my side long enough to fetch my night shift, then quickly helps me undress by the fire. She slips the clean gown over my head, presses a cup of heated wine into my hands, and goes to warm the bed.
When she has finished, she curtsies, still not meeting my gaze. “Will that be all, my lady?”
I study her bowed head and flushed cheeks and wonder what makes her so loyal to me when all the others revel in my fall from favor. But loyal she is, and determined, too, with her stubborn insistence on serving me in the face of Julian’s not insignificant displeasure. “Stay.” I intend it as a command but fear it sounds more like a plea.
She blinks in surprise, then curtsies an acknowledgment. While she makes ready for bed, I crawl between the covers. Even the warmth from the heated bricks cannot remove the trembling from my limbs.
Is the prisoner cold in his dungeon? Or is he well past consciousness and too far gone to feel anything at all?
The bed dips as Tephanie crawls in. I give her a moment to settle, then scoot back toward her heat, as hungry as any ghost for her vital warmth.
Just as I finally stop shivering and begin my downward tumble into sleep, I feel a pair of soft, tender lips press against my hair. Or perhaps it is but a dream. Either way, it seems like a promise of absolution.
MY FATHER AND THE REST of his men are back in time for the midday meal. They have not taken the time to wash, and they reek of horses, sweat, and old blood, but that is not why my appetite evaporates at once. It is the sight of d’Albret in such high spirits, for he is only ever that cheerful when he is planning something truly heinous. As I take my place at the table, Julian sends me a look of warning—Tread carefully.