Igniting Darkness (Courting Darkness Duology #2) - Robin LaFevers Page 0,180

that, Your Majesty, it surely proves that they would also lie about what he claims he saw on the battlefield.”

“While I have no proof of what happened on the battlefield that day,” Maraud’s voice rings out, “I do have proof of who was behind the rebellion.” He takes a pouch from his belt and withdraws a piece of red and yellow fabric from it. He unrolls the banner Andry stole from Rohan, then tosses the grisly contents onto the floor before the regent’s feet. Everyone pauses, even the guards escorting me from the room.

“These are the signet rings of the two English barons leading the troops Rohan invited to join him.”

The king’s gaze remains fixed on the two fingers. “How many troops?”

“Four thousand.”

“Where are they now?”

“Dead.”

The regent gasps, drawing the king’s attention.

“And Rohan was not the one who killed them,” Maraud adds.

Then the guards remember their duty, and I am led away.

 Chapter 102

Sybella

Once I am finally alone in my chamber, all the pain and horror I have been feeling comes over me in a wave. Too late, too late, too late.

No. I shove the panic away. This disaster will not break me, although disaster seems far too tame a word. Surely it is a tragedy. A tragedy that the d’Albret family insists on eating its young. How many more will be destroyed by its foul legacy? So far, only Louise has escaped.

Unless Charlotte has told Pierre where Louise is. I clutch at my stomach. No, if she had, he would have crowed about that as well.

Unless he is waiting to spring it on me as yet another surprise. Sweet Jesu.

Too late, too late, too late.

The words gnaw on my heart, wearing it ragged.

Cold. I am so cold. I cross over to the fire and place my hands before the flames, rubbing them over the heat, using the sensation to find a way back into my body and away from my turbulent thoughts.

The heat of the flames licks my skin, and I close my eyes to pray. As the warmth begins coursing through me, I realize I am not too late. I was farther gone than Charlotte when I came to the convent, and they did not give up on me. They did not leave me to my fate, no matter how much I, in my panicked unreason, kept trying to escape.

They did not give up on me, and I will not give up on Charlotte. I will drag her away, again and again and again, until she finds herself ready to be reborn. Not through the same flames I endured, but there are other ways to begin anew.

My panic falls away from me, and I clench my hands and stare into the fire. I will find the proof I need to clear the queen’s name, collect my sister, and destroy Pierre.

But how? Especially without getting Charlotte or myself killed in the process?

With flame, the fire whispers. Or mayhap it is the memory of Lazare’s voice when he told us fire was the best way for a few to take down many. Either way, once the idea has formed, I know it is the right one. It is the instrument of the Dark Mother herself, after all. Now I must simply find the means to apply it.

* * *

The next night at supper, I spend most of my meal looking out over the hall full of men gorging themselves on food and wine. I can feel Charlotte watching me, feel Pierre watching us both, but I ignore them and act as if I am considering which stud to add to my stable.

When the food is cleared away, the men move to other entertainments—dicing, arm wrestling, and loud arguments over nothing. I sip my wine, my face a mask of ennui.

Charlotte’s eyes are still on me, and the desire to go to her, to shake her small shoulders then whisk her from the room is so overpowering that I must stand up and move lest I give in. I saunter toward the towering fireplace to watch the dice game, boredom and indifference dripping from every pore, which only makes the men compete harder to capture my interest.

Under the guise of allowing one of my servants to refill my wine, I glance up at the high table, relieved to see that both Madame Dinan and Charlotte have left. Good. Now I may set my plan into motion.

On the next bet placed, I raise my eyebrow and murmur into my cup, “Such an unadventurous