Igniting Darkness (Courting Darkness Duology #2) - Robin LaFevers Page 0,11

Once, when I was but five years old, the tavernkeeper Sanson took me and my mother to visit the sea. It was a warm day, and they let me play in the water. Until a giant wave sucked the sand from beneath my feet and cast me backwards, end over end, so that I could no longer tell where the water ended and the sky began.

That is how I feel now, only Sanson’s strong, sturdy arm is not there to lift me from the current that threatens to sweep me away.

Fortunately, the chapel is empty, its simple stone walls and small votives far more comforting than the grandeur of the palace’s main chapel. My backside has barely settled onto the plain wooden bench when a voice behind me says, “So you are our missing assassin.”

I leap up, my hand moving toward the knife hidden amongst my skirts. An old priest with fluffy white hair stands there, and while he looks kind enough, I cannot help but remember the vitriol in the eyes of the priests in the council room this morning. “Forgive me, Father, but I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

He shrugs. “I have seen you pray.”

My lip curls in derision. “And that makes you think I’m an assassin?”

He tilts his head, his eyes considering. “There is something about the way you daughters of Mortain bow your heads. Not as lowly penitents, but as a dedicant ready to serve a beloved lord.”

For all his fluffy hair and pink cheeks, he is no fool.

“What is a hedge priest doing at the court of France?”

“No mere hedge priest, my child, but a follower of Saint Salonius.”

“The patron saint of mistakes?” My laugh echoes harshly in the small chapel. “Then I have certainly come to the right place.”

“If you have made a mistake, then perhaps you have.”

“What I have made is to a mistake as a mountain is to an anthill.” The desolation rises up once more.

“You have spoken with Lady Sybella, I presume?”

“Oh, we’ve spoken.”

“She has been looking for you for some time. I know she will be glad for your presence.”

While his words are meant as comfort, they cut like broken glass. “I do not think she would agree with you,” I mutter.

He cocks his head to the side, watching me like some little bird patiently waiting for a plump worm to emerge from the ground.

I do not know if his kind regard coaxes the next words from me or if my own self-loathing forces them out. “Let us just say my arrival did not go as planned.”

“Or perhaps”—he spreads his hands in a beneficent gesture—“you are tasked with a different plan. One the gods have not seen fit to share with you.”

His words are so close to the misguided reasoning that got me into this mess that I nearly snap his head off. “I do not want to hear of the gods or saints or any of their rutting plans.”

My outburst does not deter him in the least. “Then what would you like to talk about?”

I am quiet for a moment, thinking. “The sisters Sybella mentioned. Who are they?”

“They are not of Mortain, but born into the family that raised Sybella. She has taken them under her wing in an effort to keep them from the wickedness of their own family.”

“The d’Albrets?”

His nod is a simple gesture, but conveys a deep regret. “Yes.”

This time, I truly fear I will retch. I had thought I understood the nature of the disaster I have wrought, but in this moment realize my valiant plan to save the convent has put two innocent girls in immediate danger. Not to mention all of those at the convent once the ripples of my revelations begin to reach them.

“My child, are you well?” The priest lays his hand on my arm, his touch as light as a moth’s wing.

“No.” The bleak word escapes before I can catch it, as if the old priest has some power to call such weaknesses from me. I have destroyed the convent’s trust in me and am so far out of the king’s favor I may as well be in the Low Countries. Even if I see him again, he will not listen to any explanations or exhortations I can make. “I have ruined everything,” I whisper.

“You’d be surprised at how resilient the world—and yourself—can be.”

Again, he is offering comfort. Comfort that is not warranted. “It is not simply my own life I have ruined, but others.” So many others.

He is