Igniting Darkness (Courting Darkness Duology #2) - Robin LaFevers Page 0,12

quiet a long moment. “Then perhaps you have come to make your confession.”

I open my mouth to correct him, then stop. I am desperate to thrust some of this dark, hot misery from me. To find some way to divest myself of this guilt and shame. Perhaps this kind stranger whose eyes seem to hold three lifetimes of wisdom is the one to hear of it. “Mayhap I have, Father.”

 Chapter 5

Sybella

Once Genevieve is gone, I lean against my door, grateful for the solid wood at my back as I fight down the sour taste of panic.

What has she done?

Even though I am furious with her, I must acknowledge the part my own hand played in this. If I had not evicted Lady Katerine from the king’s bed, he may not have resumed his interest in Genevieve. If I had approached her in the chapel or followed her once I guessed who she was . . . but I was consumed by my own worries and obsessions.

And what part does Count Angoulême play in all this? In spite of my anger, my heart aches for Genevieve. For the journey she has set herself on. A journey that I can only pray will lead her through her own anger and bitterness. A journey I recognize all too clearly, having made a similar one myself. I do not envy her trying to put this aright.

But the sympathy I should feel for Genevieve is overpowered by my fear of what may come of her actions. She has only the faintest inkling of what she has set in motion. Of whom she has endangered.

My sisters are gone from here, I reassure myself. Beyond Fremin’s greedy grasp, beyond the king’s reach, and the regent’s machinations. Beast, Aeva, and the entire queen’s guard are with them and have sworn by the Nine to keep them safe.

But it won’t be enough, not if the king decides to act on the information Genevieve has shared with him. There is a very good chance that all of them—Annith, Ismae, the older nuns, and the youngest novitiates—could be in harm’s way. I would pray for them all, but who, now, do I pray to?

I shove away from the door, cross the room to my small trunklet, and open the lid. The holly berry still appears bright red, and the leaves a vibrant green—until I bring it closer. Then I see the edges have begun to brown. Why? Why now? Is it simply the miracle of Mortain fading, much like he himself eventually will? Or is it a reflection of my own wilting faith?

Afraid I will break the sprig in its new fragile state, I place it carefully in the trunk. As I do, my fingers brush against the black pebble Yannic gave me. Bewildered, I touch it again. It is not my imagination. The pebble feels warm, as if it has been out in the sun.

I had thought it blessed by Mortain, but Yannic had indicated I was wrong. Blessed by whom, then?

It is as smooth as polished glass, and I close my fingers around it, letting the warmth comfort me. It speaks of mysteries that still exist in this world. The mysteries that have come to me before and may yet again.

I move to put the pebble back in the trunk, then pause, deciding to slip it into the pocket at my waist, savoring its gentle heat against my leg through the silk of my skirts. I will need every bit of comfort I can muster for the conversation I must have with the queen.

* * *

It is too late to disturb the queen—she has already retired for the night. I am too restless to go back to my chamber. My thoughts keep circling back to Beast and the girls, even though I know he will get them safely to the convent. But saints, I miss him already—and it has only been three days. I told Beast the girls were my heart, but that was only partly true. He is my heart as well, and it feels as if I have carved off a piece and dared rabid wolves to feast upon it.

He would be greatly insulted by my worrying. And in truth, it galls me somewhat, even though I can no more stop it than I can halt the blood flowing in my veins.

I am not surprised when I find myself standing outside the servants’ chapel. There is only one person with whom I can share this disaster. Only