“So you are saying she is guiding this?”
“No, it is but one among many possibilities. We have all been given a part to play, and play it we must. Only at the end, if then, will we know if we were hero or villain.”
Anger spikes through my gut. I am sick of these riddles. “I refuse to accept that.”
“You are not meant to accept it. To accept it would change the outcome of the dance.”
“Then what am I to do?” I spit out.
He is quiet so long that I fear I have finally gone too far and offended him. Just as I open my mouth to apologize, he speaks.
“Remember,” he says simply, “you and Genevieve are not only mortal, but part god as well. It is not simply Mortain’s blood that flows in your veins, but his divinity, too.”
Against my thigh, the small pebble burns like a brand.
Chapter 6
The news I must share with the queen fills me with dread. I’ve no desire to drag this fresh disaster to her door, nor the possible repercussions. But I made the mistake of not telling her in the past, which proved worse. And Genevieve’s actions will affect her most directly.
I wait until Elsibet steps away from the bed, then curtsy. “Good morning, Your Majesty.” While the queen smiles in welcome, she is pale and her skin clammy. I snag Elsibet’s elbow. “I need to speak with the queen alone. Can you make the others disappear?”
She shoots me one quick glance of concern. “But of course, my lady. Heloise? Could you assist me?”
Heloise collects a covered basin from the bedside, then hurries after Elsibet, casting a curious look my way.
When we are alone, the queen frowns. “Lady Sybella.” She lowers her voice. “Is everything all right?”
I cannot help but wonder when she will ever be allowed to find the happiness—or even simply the peace—that she so deserves. “I’m afraid matters are developing faster than we would have wished.”
She sits up a little higher against the pillows. “Which matters are those?”
“The men who accompanied Monsieur Fremin have gone missing.” I keep my voice casual, as if merely discussing the latest gossip. “The lawyer is most overwrought and went at once to the king. He seems to think that I am behind their disappearance.”
Her eyes never leave mine. “But that is ridiculous. How could a lady like yourself have had anything to do with men like that?”
“That is precisely what I pointed out, Your Majesty. Indeed, when they went looking for me this morning, they found my room empty, not just of me, but of my sisters as well.”
The queen says nothing, but a small satisfied smile plays about her lips. Truly, one could not ask for a better ally.
“I told the king that it was obvious that Monsieur Fremin, not liking the king’s decision, sent his men to take the girls by force.”
She smiles briefly. “I am certain you are correct. Let us hope the king will now put the matter to rest.”
“Unfortunately, the king is inclined to give more weight to Monsieur Fremin’s words than mine.”
She frowns in surprise. “Why?”
Merde, this is hard. “Because he has learned of my involvement with the convent of Saint Mortain and the nature of my service.”
Her already pale face grows even whiter. “Who would have told him such a thing?” she whispers.
I close my eyes briefly. While news of my exposure alarms her, what I have to say next will hurt her. “That is the one piece of good news. It appears the convent’s hidden initiate returned to court.”
Her eyes harden in anger. “And blabbed your identity to the king? Surely that is not something one with your sort of training would do.”
“It was an attempt to help, Your Majesty. She had been told the king already knew of the convent, and had ordered it disbanded, the novitiates farmed out to the Church or suitable husbands.”
There is a long beat of silence as the queen digests this. “And how did she think confirming such revelations about the convent would help?”
“She thought she could persuade the king to reverse his decision.”
Never the lackwit, the queen’s interest sharpens. “Persuade him how?”
No amount of gentleness will soften the blow. “The king had expressed an interest in her once, long before you came to court. She thought to use that interest to extract a favor on behalf of the convent.”
The queen’s face grows as cold as marble. “Are we certain the girl is working for us? Our enemies could not have done a better job of weakening what few advantages we hold.”
“I believe she is, but I have only spoken with her twice. Father Effram believes she was sincerely trying to help.”
“We can do without that sort of help,” she snaps.
“I agree. But there is some other plotting afoot here. She was shown a letter supposedly written by the abbess, and examined it carefully for signs of forgery. It appeared genuine. Someone wanted her to believe that it was.”
“But who?”
“My assumption is Count Angoulême, the man acting as her liaison with the convent. But why he would risk making an enemy of the convent when he has long been our ally, I don’t know. I intend to speak with Genevieve more about it when I can.”
There is a rumble of commotion just outside her chamber and a sense of many heartbeats approaching. My eyes widen in alarm as I recognize one of them. “The king is here!”
“Fetch my chamber robe!” She throws off the covers and swings her legs out of bed.
As I help her into the robe, I talk quickly. “He will no doubt want to know if you were aware of the convent and my association with them. He has called in two of the bishops from Langeais. I tried to make the convent sound as inconspicuous as possible, but there is only so much innocence to be protested when serving death.”
She nods, eyes firmly fixed on the door.
“I think . . . I think finding me here will not soothe matters. It will be best if I remain out of sight.”
“I agree.” She waves her hand toward the garderobe. I have only a moment to secure my hiding place—then the deep voices are inside the room.
“Your Majesty.” The queen’s voice drifts up from the floor where she has sunk into a deep curtsy.
“My lady wife.” The king’s voice is cold and polite. “I tried to visit yesterday, but you had retired early. Are you unwell?”
From the tone of his voice, it is clear that he suspects it was an excuse to avoid him.
“It is just a passing malady. Please do not trouble yourself over it.”
“What if it is not some passing thing, my lady? What if it is something more diabolical than that?” This voice is deeper than the king’s.
“Bishop Albi. It is good to see you again, although pray forgive my state of dishabille. If I had known you were coming, I would have dressed myself with all the honor you deserve.”
“And yet you ignore his questions.” It takes me a moment to recognize the voice of the Bishop of Angers, the king’s confessor. “Why is that, I wonder?”
“I was not ignoring anything the good bishop said, but merely granting him full courtesy.”
“Why do you not share his concern that there is something more nefarious behind your illness?” the king demands imperiously. “Could it be that you truly do not know that one of your attendants is an assassin?”