no doubt thought she deserved. That thought was a twist of a knife in his vital organs rather than a full disemboweling.
But at least that meant she was safe. By the horns of Camulos, he prayed it was so.
Chapter 63
Sybella
“Why am I always the one in the servant’s gown?” Gen mutters. Because I do not know what I will find or whether I will need a diversion, I have brought her with me to the donjon.
That and to keep the regent from pouncing on her unawares again.
“Because I am visiting the prisoner on behalf of the queen, who wishes her loyal knight to have this book of hours to sustain him through his time in captivity. There are just enough who are aware that Beast and I have a connection that if I were to be seen dressed as a servant, it would immediately raise suspicion.”
Gen nudges me to silence then. We have reached the donjon. The central tower is the oldest part of the palace and surrounded by a ditch. A guardhouse—holding four heartbeats—sits next to the only entrance. I nod at Gen, and we use the shadows to move along the edge of the guardhouse to the stairway beyond. As we creep down the steps, I listen carefully for heartbeats below, but hear none. However, the stone walls are twelve feet thick, so we remain cautious.
When we reach the deepest level, I step off the stairs. The donjon may be old, but it is well maintained. Iron lanterns, rather than torches, hang from hooks in the wall, and full suits of armor stand at regular intervals. Whether it is intended to trick others into believing there are more guards than there are or simply a testament to France’s sense of grandeur, I do not know. I listen again. I am able to feel Beast’s heart, as steady and familiar as my own, but that is all.
Gen remains behind at the foot of the stairs to keep watch as I follow the curving wall past a half dozen empty rooms—some with iron bars and others with thick, iron-banded oak doors with naught but tiny, barred windows—and a small table underneath one of the iron lanterns on the wall. They have stripped Beast of all his possessions and laid them here upon this table. My hand twitches, wishing to retrieve at least some of them for safekeeping, but I do not know how thorough an inventory they took.
The moment I approach Beast’s door, he lifts his head. One of his eyes is swollen shut, and there is a cut on his lip. When I drop the shadows from me as I would a cloak, he surges to his feet and comes to the door. The hardened resignation on his face melts away like smoke and is replaced by a lopsided grin that causes his lip to start bleeding.
“This brings back fond memories.” His voice is the rasp of a sharpening stone on dull iron.
I shake my head. He is as resilient as gristle. “You are fond of dungeons?”
He places his hand upon his chest. “But of course. I first met you in a dungeon.”
The foolish man will have my heart melt into a useless puddle at my feet. “The queen sent me.” I do not tell him of the regent’s ultimatum. There is nothing he can do about it from here, and worrying on it might cause him to do something truly witless.
His face sobers. “I was hoping she would.”
“You are to tell me everything so I may make a full report to her.”
He nods, all signs of my lover gone, and naught but a soldier stands before me. “What I dared not say in front of the king was that as we traveled farther west, we continued to find his holdings fully manned. On our return trip, the marches were crowded with Rohan’s troops as well. We were not able to get through unseen and were chased from Ancenis to Baugé before we managed to evade them.”
My next words are carefully chosen. “Will they carry the tale of your presence back to Rohan?”
“No.”
I nod in approval. “Likely no more than a simple defensive maneuver, then. What counsel would you give the queen?”
He scrubs his face with his hand, wincing as it brushes against his swollen eye. “To get word to her councilors so they are not caught unaware.”
“Do you think Duval would be allowed to receive a message from the queen?”
“Possibly not, but we must try.”
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