Igniting Darkness (Courting Darkness Duology #2) - Robin LaFevers Page 0,176

loud to my own ears that it nearly drowns out all the other heartbeats within the holding. I berate myself for letting a simple dinner, even one Pierre is so smug about, unnerve me so, and yet it has.

When I am ushered into the grand chamber, my senses are assaulted by the press of scores upon scores of bodies, their scents, and the cacophony of their hearts. The warm light thrown off by the fire and the candles in the stags’ antlers, the snarling wolf-head andirons, the sea of hardened cruel faces, all feel as if I have wandered into a nightmare.

Pierre himself comes to escort me to the high table. I give him my most charming smile, as if I have been waiting for this moment all day and not considering dashing myself on the rocks below.

“How elegant you look.” He lifts my hand to his lips and presses a kiss upon it. “Not only am I pleased with your unique convent skills, I find I am also glad you are not truly my sister.”

It takes every particle of will I possess to keep from slamming my fist into his face. Instead, I focus my gaze above his eyebrow. “You are a brave and persistent man,” I say lightly, “considering how that ended the first time.”

He lets go of my hand to lift a finger and rub the white scar there, the one I gave him ten years ago. “It is a good thing your mouth is so lovely, else I would be tempted to strike it,” he says, matching his tone to mine.

“And so we find ourselves at checkmate,” I murmur.

He smiles again, this one the most disturbing I have seen yet. “Oh, far from that. Come.” He tucks my arm firmly in his and pulls me past the milling retainers toward the high table. When we are halfway there, he pats my arm. “Lest you grow lonely, I have brought someone to keep you company. Someone I know is dear to you.”

My heart gives one painful beat of dread as he pulls me past the retainers so that I have a clear view of the high table. In the chair to the right of Pierre’s sits a young girl dressed in a blazing scarlet silk and velvet gown, her thin neck adorned with pearls and gold, her fingers flashing rubies and sapphire rings. The sight of her small, pale face causes the bottom to drop out of my stomach.

“Charlotte.”

She turns her haughty gaze to me, looking down her nose as if I am some serving woman come to take her plate.

“What are you doing here?” Panic squeezes my throat so tight I can scarce get the question out.

“I ran away,” she says coolly. “I left with one of the night rowers once he had made his delivery.”

Her words reverberate along my bones as if they have been struck by a mallet. She chose to come back. She chose to leave the safety of the convent and return to Pierre. I was too late.

The revelation makes me so ill that I fear I will retch. If I had not been so absorbed in my own problems. If I had left the convent earlier. If . . . if . . . if. So many places where I could have made another choice that would possibly have saved this child from making hers.

“She’s a smart girl,” Pierre says close to my ear. “She made her way to Tonquédec.”

My head whips around. “Tonquédec?” That d’Albret holding is but a few miles from Morlaix.

Pierre sips his wine. “Which is where I found her.”

The convent was never meant to be a prison to keep us in, but a fortress to keep others out while we willingly learned the lessons they taught us. “Where you just happened to be for the rebellion.”

He clutches the goblet he is holding. “How do you know about that?”

He does not know I was there—that I saw him with my own eyes. “Some of the queen’s men returned to Nantes just before I did, and they spoke of it.”

“Does the king know?”

I shrug as casually as I can. “He would not believe it, even if he’d heard. He is convinced the queen was behind it all.”

Pierre’s face relaxes, and he takes a sip of wine. “That was always the plan. Now, come. Take your seat over there, and Madame Dinan will sit opposite you. I think dear Charlotte deserves the place of honor at my side for her