garrison.
I lean in close. “I think that tall one with the nicely shaped beard has been watching you,” I murmur in her ear, my heart twisting with guilt when I see the way her face lights up. Merde, having a conscience is tiresome. But what is her small vanity compared to Charlotte’s and Louise’s safety? While she sends flirtatious looks to the guard, I take two steps back and press myself against the wall where the shadows have lengthened. With no eyes on me, it is easy enough to cloak myself in their darkness as I hurry back across the courtyard to the artillery. That—and what it might contain—is at the heart of my plan.
I scuttle around to the backside of the building, where no one can see. This building is newer than the keep, and the windows lower and wider. When working with cannon and gunpowder, one needs all the light one can find in order to avoid a fatal mistake.
Using my elbow, I scrub the glass clean of dust and peer in, my heart giving a skip of joy. The light does not penetrate far into the room, and the keep has not been garrisoned for battle in at least fifty years, but through the gloom I see a number of large, lumpy shapes covered with canvas—at least three of which I recognize as cannon. A pile of squat iron pots teeters haphazardly in one corner. They are similar to the ones the charbonnerie filled with gunpowder and used to create explosions. There are a number of long iron tubes that could be culverins. Oh! And ribauldequins! I can only pray the small kegs hold the gunpowder the ancient cannon require.
And that it has not gotten wet. Or separated. Or any number of things that would make it useless. Even so, my plan is viable.
Heartened by this, I pull the shadows close once more, then skirt the outer wall over toward the mews, where Jamette was so determined I not visit. When I am but fifteen feet away, I let the shadows drop.
A moment later, Jamette calls at me from across the yard. “Sybella!”
I pause.
“It is time to go in now.” Her voice is sharp, as if she has caught a naughty child and cannot wait to scold him. I toss my head, as if defiant, and saunter over to her. When I reach her side, she grabs my arm and gives it a painful squeeze. “Do you want me to have to report you to Pierre?”
“Of course not,” I say sharply, because it is what she expects. But I also wonder why she would hesitate.
Chapter 106
Genevieve
Once Captain Stuart has been sent off to find the general, and the regent and her husband have been escorted from the chamber, the rest of the king’s advisors begin to drift away, talking softly among themselves. I wonder how they feel about this turn of events. When the king is nearly alone, I risk coming forward, then wait for him to indicate I may approach.
When he gives me permission to speak, I ask, “When will you release Sir Waroch and Lady Sybella, Your Majesty?”
He does not meet my eye, but instead focuses on the group of men leaving the room. “Captain Stuart is on his way to release Captain Waroch as soon as he has found the general. As for Sybella, she has already been released.”
“What?” I take a step forward without thinking. “Why have I not seen her?”
He finally looks at me then. “Because she was released into Pierre d’Albret’s custody three days before you arrived.”
His words stun me as thoroughly as any blow, and for a moment, I think I will be sick.
If only I had never come to court.
If only I hadn’t spoken to the king about the convent.
If only I had returned to Nantes with Sybella and Beast instead of lingering in Brittany.
But regrets will not help anyone now. Instead, I take those feelings and shift them into something darker and more useful. Anger. I bob an abrupt curtsy at the king, then stride from the audience chamber, racing back to my room.
She has been in his custody for over a week. My body starts to tremble, not with fear, I tell myself, but with a need to fix this.
If only my foolish heart had stayed in the iron box I so carefully fashioned for it. For this, I realize, is precisely the reason I have hidden it so deeply. This is why I have always preferred