Igniting Darkness (Courting Darkness Duology #2) - Robin LaFevers Page 0,23

able to confirm if it was Sir Fremin’s men or not.” Of course, those riding out were Beast and the girls, but they made sure to do that well away from the hearing of the stable master—or anyone.

The king’s eyes narrow with speculation. “I will make inquiries. And what of your sisters? Have you located them, by chance?”

I do not have to fake the tension that holds my shoulders in a viselike grip. “No, Your Majesty.” I make my voice tremble along the edges, just enough for him to think I am filled with distress and not considering all of them with the cold calculation of the assassin he accuses me of being. “But mayhap we should ask the stable master if they were with the group riding out.”

“Your Majesty,” Fremin interjects. “I must protest. My men would never take their leave without my permission.”

The Bishop of Albi gives a smug nod of approval, although why he thinks he would know anything about Fremin’s men and how they would behave is a mystery to me. Perhaps it is simply his faith in the orderliness of the world.

I incline my head politely. “With all due respect, Your Majesty, we have only his word that he has not granted his men permission to leave.” I glance at the lawyer, hoping he will consider the out I am about to offer him. “Besides, they are not truly his men, but my brother’s. Who knows what orders Pierre may have given them separate from the orders he gave his lawyer?”

There. I have given the man a chance to shift the responsibility for the men to his liege’s shoulders. If he truly has no part in this, then he will be smart enough to save his own neck and grasp at the sliver of an excuse I have tossed his way. I stare at him, willing him to take it. Surely if what drove me were my d’Albret instincts, I would not do even so much as that.

“That is ridiculous! The men report to me and are mine to command.”

And so he chooses. He has erased the last doubt of his complicity. I furrow my brow as if in confusion. “You are certain, monsieur?”

“Of course,” he says, thrusting his head into the noose I have tried so hard to protect him from.

“In that case”—I allow my face to harden—“perhaps Monsieur Fremin can explain to us why he had one of his men scale the wall beneath my sisters’ chambers and attempt to get in through the window?”

Surprised silence ripples around the room.

“Your chambers?” the king asks.

The regent speaks for the first time. “That is impossible! You are on the fourth floor overlooking the rear courtyard. There is no external access to your room.”

“That is true,” I agree. “But there is a wall made of stone, and stones offer the smallest of footholds and handholds. Enough for the Mouse to climb.”

Fremin’s nostrils flare, and his head rears back slightly. I blink innocently at him. “That is his name, is it not? Or do you know him by another?”

He swallows before speaking. “It is but a nickname, Your Majesty. Something the other men call him, for he is small and quiet, not built for combat.”

“Then why bring him if the need for such a large escort was due to unsafe roads?” the king asks, and I nearly cheer at not having to draw that line for him.

A sheen of desperation appears on Fremin’s forehead. “Your Majesty, she is lying! My men would never disrespect your hospitality in such a way, nor would they even know which room she and her sisters were sleeping in.”

The king turns his head to me, as if watching a jousting tournament.

“I am not lying, Your Majesty. I have proof.” I pull the tiny scrap of the Mouse’s tunic from my pocket and hold it out for the king to see. He motions me forward, but does not take the scrap from my hand. Instead, he leans to peer closer. The small square of brown homespun sits in stark contrast to the whiteness of my palm.

Which is not nearly as white as Fremin’s face. “She lies,” he protests again. “That could be any speck of fabric!”

The Bishop of Narbonne reaches toward it. “May I?”

“But of course, Your Grace.”

He takes it from me and examines it. “It is coarse wool, not the sort anyone here at the palace would wear, not even the servants.”

“How do we know she found it where she says she