Igniting Darkness (Courting Darkness Duology #2) - Robin LaFevers Page 0,179

of fear I would die there.”

“She did not attempt to murder you?” the Bishop of Albi asks.

“Never,” Maraud answers, his face the very picture of innocence and truth. Truly, he has missed his calling. “It was her convent skills that allowed us to escape.”

“How many did she kill, then?” the bishop presses.

“None. The only time she killed was when we were attacked by brigands, and then she simply fought back—as any man would and with equal skill.” A faint heat suffuses my cheeks, and pleasure warms my gut at his description.

“When was that?” the regent demands.

“Near Christmastime.”

“That was five months ago. Where have you been since?”

“First I went to Flanders looking for General Cassel, but he was no longer there. Next I came to Paris to bring my case before the king. Alas, before I could do that, I was detained and forced to go elsewhere.”

“Forced,” the regent scoffs, her eyes taking in the height and breadth of Maraud.

“You do not believe men can be forced, Madame Regent?” he asks.

“Not men who are as skilled as you claim to be.”

“Well,” he concedes, “it was not merely one man, but a dozen of them.”

The king leans forward in his chair. “Do you know who they were?”

“It was Pierre d’Albret.”

Though the regent maintains her composure, I sense the faint spark of panic she is trying so desperately to hide. “Why would he force you to go with him? It makes no sense.”

“D’Albret was holding my father hostage in an attempt to lure me to his side.”

“But why?” the king asks.

“He wished me to participate in the rebellion in Brittany, along with him and Viscount Rohan. Pierre felt my father could be of help, and that he would cooperate more freely if I was there to threaten him with.”

The king’s gaze grows sharp enough to cut glass as he looks at his sister. “This corroborates what the others have said, that Viscount Rohan was behind the rebellion, not the queen.”

Maraud shakes his head. “The queen had no part in the rebellion. If not for the aid she sent, Rohan would have succeeded in his attempt.”

“Have Viscount Rohan returned to court immediately,” the king orders. “I find I have a number of questions for him.”

“Sire.” The regent steps forward. “This has already been proved. What this man spouts is nothing but pure lies.”

“I grow bored with that excuse, sister. What he says fits too neatly with what Lady Sybella and Sir Waroch have claimed. What does he have to gain by lying?”

With her mouth pinched tight, the regent thrusts her arms out in my direction. “Because she was the assassin who helped him.” A faint buzz of muttering rises from the bishops.

“I am aware of that,” the king says.

His public admission of that knowledge gives the regent pause. She has one less weapon to use against him now. “Then can you not see? They are lovers! He is lying to protect his lover from her involvement in the rebellion.”

In the silence that follows, I do not look at Maraud, nor does he look at me. I keep my attention focused on the regent and force my heart to keep beating, my lungs to keep breathing. Slowly, as if it pains him greatly, the king turns to me. “Is this true?”

“Do you really wish to have this conversation here, Your Majesty?”

“Answer.” If I thought him hard and impassive when he learned of my participation in quelling the rebellion, it is nothing compared to the sense of deep, personal betrayal lurking in his eyes right now.

I look over at Maraud. His face is devoid of expression, as if bracing for what he already knows I must say. If I wish to keep the king’s favor, I must deny him again. But I have already denied him three times and caused him to doubt his own sanity with my lies.

I am done with lies. “Yes, Your Majesty. Sir Crunard and I were lovers.” I stare at the king, willing him to understand there is more to the story than that. That I knew Maraud before I knew him. I want to explain to him the hundreds of nuances to the entire situation, but his mind—and his heart—are closed to me.

Breathy whispers race around the room, and General Cassel looks as victorious as if he’d just reconquered the Holy Land. While I expect to see anger writ raw upon the king’s face, instead I see disinterest, almost boredom. “Take her away,” he orders.

“And if they would lie about