Igniting Darkness (Courting Darkness Duology #2) - Robin LaFevers Page 0,3

grows still, her head cocking to one side as she studies me anew. I can practically see the rash of questions she is forming.

Since I’ve no wish to answer any of them, I toss another one of my own at her. “How did you learn I was here?”

“I came upon you praying in the chapel. It wasn’t until you placed an offering in one of the niches on the wall that I guessed.” She opens her hand. The bright red of my holly berry makes her skin look unnaturally white. “I couldn’t see what it was, nor understand the significance of it, until you had already left. And then there were pressing matters I had to attend to.” A cold, hard look flashes briefly across her face. A look that sends goose bumps down my spine and warns me that she would not hesitate to shove a knife in my back if my actions warranted it.

But even that knowledge doesn’t temper the anger lapping along my skin like flames. Pressing matters. But for a hand span of hours, I would not have ruined everything. “You should have come sooner.” The words are empty, those of a desperate child, but I utter them nonetheless, as if by repeating them often enough, I can make the fault hers, not mine.

“I came last night, as soon as I was certain. You weren’t here. Where were you?”

“I was at dinner, with the rest of the court.”

“It was later than that. When everyone else was abed.”

As I consider what to tell her, the silence between us lengthens. Her fingers are drifting to the edge of her sleeve when a sharp rap on the door stills her hand.

“Demoiselle Genevieve?” a voice calls out.

Relief surges through me. “Coming!” I hop from the bed and straighten my skirts and bodice.

“Why are you being summoned?” The question is as sharp as I imagine her knives to be.

“We shall find out,” I snap, shoving my hair into some semblance of order. When I reach the door, I am surprised to find the steward standing in the hallway. I curtsy. “My lord, how may I serve?”

“I am sorry to disturb you, demoiselle, but the king is looking for Lady Sybella. One of the other ladies said she thought she saw her heading toward your chambers.”

Sybella. I roll the name across my tongue. Grateful for this reprieve, for a chance to digest what little she has told me, I turn to her. “Apparently, you are the one being summoned.”

 Chapter 2

Sybella

As I step out of Genevieve’s room into the hallway, I wonder if she knows just how much she owes the king’s steward. I was within a hair’s breadth of grabbing her by the shoulders, giving her a hard shake, and ordering her to pull herself together. There are far larger problems than hurt feelings and wounded pride to deal with right now.

Perhaps that is the darkness in me—once embraced, it continues to push and prod until I do its infernal bidding. Or perhaps it is simply that between the regent’s plotting, the king’s indifference, my sisters’ danger, and the queen’s illness, I have no patience for such indulgences.

“This way, my lady.” As the steward steps in front of me, I hear Genevieve slip into the hallway behind us. Not her footsteps, for they are as light as any assassin’s should be. It is her heart I hear, beating the slightly too rapid rhythm it has had since she first discovered me in her room.

For so long I’ve held out hope of finding one of the convent’s elusive moles, but instead of gaining an ally, I have found an angry and sullen girl. One who is hiding something. But what—and why—elude me. Why is nothing in this benighted court ever simple?

I resist the urge to scowl in annoyance, and keep my face carefully blank. Why does the king wish to see me? I can think of no good reason for the request—and many disastrous ones. My mind sorts through possible plans and explanations, devising lies I can tell convincingly, and truths I can share without exposing myself.

When the steward speaks to the sentries at the king’s door, I fall back beside Genevieve. “Where is Margot?” I ask, my attention firmly fixed on the steward. “I fear we may need her shortly.” Because of Genevieve’s evasiveness, I am no longer certain she can be trusted.

“Margot will not be coming.”

At the note of finality in her voice, I tear my gaze from the steward. “Why