has demonstrated he is worth a dozen of Pierre’s soldiers, while the king . . . I sneak a quick glance his way. I cannot imagine him withstanding even one of Pierre’s hardened knights. Guilt pokes at me, knowing this is precisely what the king fears when others look at him. I tell myself that it requires even more bravery to go up against a foe when you are not as skilled as those around you, but rutting goats, I hope I do not end up getting His Majesty killed.
No. Not even Pierre would do such a thing.
But the king is in disguise, wearing the clothes of a minor nobleman, accompanied by only eight of his king’s guard. Pierre could easily strike him down before realizing who he is.
And that is only one of the ways this can all go wrong. Indeed, having any of this go right will be harder than threading a needle with a length of straw.
I have come so close to fixing what I broke. The queen’s innocence has been proved. The regent neutralized. And the king is here, with me, willing to open his eyes to the world and see the truth about Sybella. Truly, it is a mountain I thought I would never reach the top of. Please Mortain and all the saints, do not let it be too late.
* * *
We reach Pierre’s holding late on the second day, just as night is falling. The gate is locked for the night, and all is quiet. I want to pound on it and demand they show us Sybella, but the king and Lazare convince me that is unwise. Best not to approach until we have formed a plan. If we had an army at our back, the king’s presence would be all that we need, but we do not.
Lazare slips off to reconnoiter the area while the rest of us make camp. There is little talk—we are too tired, and I, for one, am too on edge.
Sleep eludes me. My body holds such a sense of foreboding, a sense of building pressure that is so overwhelming I can no longer lie still.
I rise and collect my weapons. If Lazare can scout in the dark, so can I.
No sooner have I taken half a dozen steps from camp than I hear an explosion from the castle. Lazare? But he comes bursting into the clearing. “What was that?” I ask.
“Hopefully, Sybella. Wake the others. We’ll need to be ready.”
Another explosion goes off just then, saving me the trouble of waking them.
Chapter 111
Sybella
I had hoped to have more time. Two more nights, at least. One to search Pierre’s study for the papers I know are there and the second to set up the explosions. But Pierre spent the entire time at dinner badgering Charlotte to tell him where Louise was. He was most aggrieved when she claimed she could not remember. The look in his eyes as he sent her from the table stirred an alarm deep within me. Now I will have to do it all tonight.
I use the second-to-last pinch of night whispers on my guards, waiting once more until I hear their heartbeats slow, then the accompanying thuds as they slump to the ground.
Moving quickly, I hurry from the holding to the armory. There is a cold wind whipping, and even fewer guards are about than last night. But the sky is clear, not a cloud in sight. Rain is the one thing that could ruin this plan.
It takes four trips from the armory back to the castle to carry the iron pots and set them in place. I spend the next couple of hours painstakingly laying out the fuse I will need, doing my best to estimate the time it will take to ignite the cannon and ribauldequins. As Lazare so often told us, it is an inexact art, even more so in my hands than his.
When everything is in place, I do not light the fuse, but return to the castle and make my way to Charlotte’s room.
I stare down at her, noting how young her face looks, the brittle, annoyed edges smoothed away by sleep. She is the most difficult part of this entire undertaking. I do not know how much she will fight my attempts to get her away from the danger, or how hard she will fight to warn Pierre. Nevertheless, she is at the heart of this, and I will not leave her to the fate she thinks