Igniting Darkness (Courting Darkness Duology #2) - Robin LaFevers Page 0,20

of her I liked. And I know you. So I ask again, given the position she was in, and your own pigheadedness, did you give her enough reason to trust you?”

Maraud scoffed, but she was already heading for her bedroll and missed it.

Lucinda was pricklier than a thorn bush and possessed the foul temper of a maddened goose. An image she was all too eager to embrace, ensuring the entire world saw her that way.

But thorns were merely a means of self-protection.

“Bollocks,” he muttered. Thoughts—and questions—about Lucinda had haunted him every night since they parted ways. Why did she come riding to his aid at Camulos’s Cup, then refuse his help? It ate at him that he would likely be dead if she hadn’t come back. And she refused to allow him to repay the favor. Why? What was she so afraid of that she was willing to poison him to avoid?

Valine’s question was just one of the many that hounded him the entire way to Flanders.

 Chapter 9

Genevieve

“Wake up!” Sybella’s voice yanks me from my sleep. Certain I had locked my door, I reach for the knife under my pillow, then decide she would not wake me up if she intended to kill me. Probably.

“Why, ’tis as if the sunshine itself has appeared in my room,” I mutter.

“You have precisely five minutes to get dressed, else I will take you to the queen in your undergarments.”

I sit up and shove the hair out of my face. “The who?”

“The queen. You wished to speak with her. She has granted your request.”

My heart hammers in my chest as I stand and reach for my gown. “I am surprised she agreed to see me.”

“Our queen has never been one to shy away from facing problems head-on.”

Under Sybella’s cool, dispassionate gaze, I finish dressing, and quickly arrange my hair. She gives me one last second to splash water on my face before saying, “Let’s go.”

She eases the door open, peeks outside, then motions for me to follow. It is early yet, and the hallways are empty.

“Is our meeting a secret?”

She sends me a scathing look over her shoulder. “No. I want to sneak up on the herald before I have him announce our arrival.”

I open my mouth to shoot back a retort but am cut off when she stops walking and shoves me against the wall. Seconds later, a cluster of servants bearing buckets hurries by. Sybella swears, then glances around once more before resuming. “This way.”

Stepping softly, I follow her, hugging the wall like she does so that we are not immediately visible to any passersby. All too soon, we arrive at the double doors of the queen’s apartments. “Stay hidden, then follow once I give the signal,” Sybella whispers. As the sentries open the door to let her in, she twitches her fingers at me, and I slip in close on her heels. I barely have time to take in the sumptuousness of the queen’s solar—the sunlight spilling in from the large oriel windows, the ornately carved wooden legs of the chairs, the gold and red wall hangings—before Sybella urges me along. “Hurry. The regent-appointed attendants will be here any moment.”

I step smartly to keep up with Sybella. When she knocks once on the door, a short, dark-haired woman opens it. She gives me a curious look before slipping out. Sybella takes my arm and pulls me into the queen’s bedchamber.

As soon as we are inside, Sybella dips a curtsy. “Genevieve is here, Your Majesty.”

I sink into a curtsy as well. Sybella quietly removes herself, closing the door behind her.

The queen says nothing for a long time. When she finally speaks, her voice is low with cold fury. “How dare you? You—the convent—serve me. My interests.”

Still in a curtsy, I say, “With all due respect, Your Majesty, we serve the interest of Mortain and those of Brittany.”

There is a sharp intake of breath. “Are you saying I do not serve the interests of either of those?”

“Most assuredly not, Your Majesty. I am only saying that throughout the history of the country, they have not always been one and the same, which is why the convent made certain we understood the distinction.”

“You may stand,” she says with a sniff. “It is too hard to hear you when you talk to the floor.”

I straighten, but keep my eyes downcast, catching only the faintest glimpse of her pale face and dark hair. She is small, I realize. Smaller than I had expected.

“How did bedding my