Igniting Darkness (Courting Darkness Duology #2) - Robin LaFevers Page 0,122

her up on it, Crunard. Maybe bedding the wench will release some of the black humors plaguing you. They grow tiresome.”

“You see? Even your friend agrees we should get to know each other better.” Maraud had known Valine for over seven years and had never seen her like this.

“Well,” he muttered grumpily into his cup, “if my lord insists.”

Pierre looked at her again. “If you don’t, I will.” That spurred Maraud to his feet.

“And, Crunard.” Pierre motioned for him to draw closer. When Maraud’s ear was nearly to his mouth, Pierre said, “If you try to escape, I will take it out on the girl. Have no doubt.”

“I don’t,” Maraud grumbled, then grabbed Valine’s hand and allowed himself to be tugged toward the stairs.

“What in the name of the Nine are you doing here?” he hissed at her.

She leaned against the wall at the top of the stair landing. “Watching your back.”

“I don’t want you anywhere near these men. It’s d’Albret, Valine.”

“Have you turned into an old woman since we last fought together? I know who it is. That’s why we’re here.”

“We?”

“Second table from the fireplace. Andry and Tassin. We thought it would be easy enough for them to insinuate themselves among d’Albret’s other mercenaries.”

“To what end?”

She looked at him as if he had grown simple. “So you will not be alone in an enemy camp. You’d wanted to know what he was up to. Now is our chance. And while it’s a shame he forced your hand, don’t let that blind you to an opportunity.”

“What about you and Jaspar?”

“We will follow behind but keep away from the main party.”

Maraud nodded in approval. “How did you know where to find me?”

“At first I thought Lucinda had set the king’s men upon you. But when I went to talk to her—”

Relief surged through Maraud, and he stepped forward to grab Valine’s shoulders. “You saw her?”

She scowled. “Of course. How else was I to find out why you hadn’t come back?”

He closed his eyes and allowed himself the first deeply drawn breath he’d had in over four days. “Praise Camulos.”

When he opened them, it was to find Valine studying him with a speculative look. “She grew agitated when she saw me, and fearful. I hate to admit it, but she cares for you. Although saints only know why.”

“Pierre claimed to have someone I would want to see. I was afraid it was her.”

Valine’s face cleared with understanding. “You can put aside that worry.”

Maraud ran his hands through his hair. “Thank the saints for small blessings,” he murmured. He then hurriedly told Valine what little he knew of d’Albret’s plan, and how Andry and Tassin might best approach d’Albret to get hired on. When he had finished, Valine reached up, put her hands in his hair and messed it. He reared back. “What’s that for?”

“D’Albret’s no fool. You need to come back looking like you’ve just had a decent tumble.” Her hands left his hair and came down to loosen the lacings of his doublet, then reached for his breeches.

He hopped back, quicker than a rabbit. “I can loosen my own breeches,” he said shortly.

“Good.” Then she stepped past his hand, rose up, and pressed her lips against his. It wasn’t soft or romantic, but pure business. When she had smashed his lips good and hard, she took a moment to rub her own cheek against his stubble, reddening it. “There,” she said at last. “I think that will be enough to convince him. Although if you want to stare at me from across the room occasionally looking like a lovesick fool, it couldn’t hurt.” She smirked.

And with that, she yanked her own bodice askew, twisted her skirts off center, and sauntered back down the stairs.

 Chapter 67

Genevieve

It is, perhaps, the strangest gathering ever to have taken place in this chapel. For one, the chapel is different at night, with only the flickering votives to illuminate it. Without any light streaming through the stained-glass windows, it is darker and more mysterious feeling.

There is an Arduinnite, although she is dressed as a serving maid rather than in their traditional garb of leather breeches and fur tunic; a little man who resembles a gnome from a hearth tale; a slight, dark-haired charbonnerie who looks as sharp as a hunting knife; a soldier named after a chicken; and two of Death’s daughters—all overseen by a priest who follows the patron saint of mistakes.

The knife-sharp man shoots me a dubious glance. “She doesn’t look dangerous enough to threaten