Igniting Darkness (Courting Darkness Duology #2) - Robin LaFevers Page 0,32

it be Beast. Do not let it be Beast. “Report, Sir Reynaud.”

“We found a man’s body southeast of here, washed up on the banks of the river.”

I am so relieved it is not Beast that I hardly hear the rest of his report.

“Is it one of my men?” Monsieur Fremin has arrived, only he is not under armed guard.

“I don’t know, sir. He had nothing to identify him.”

General Cassel steps out from behind the king, his eyes boring into mine. “We have reason to believe it was you who killed him.”

The hallway grows as silent as a crypt. “And what reason would that be?” I ask.

The Bishop of Albi answers. “What more reason do we need than the fact that he is dead and you are a known assassin?”

“Even an assassin needs a motive,” I point out.

“Do they?” The king’s confessor’s eyes are alight with something both gleeful and terrifying. “When they serve the god of death, do they truly need a motive?”

“Yes. For political expediency, to protect others under their charge, in self-protection. The list is long. But those of us at the convent not only need a motive, but Mortain’s blessing, and I have neither.”

“That is not proof that you didn’t kill him,” the Bishop of Albi says.

Are they truly this stupid? This blinded by their own prejudgment?

“Does your list of motives include strange and unholy rites?” I jerk my head around to stare at the regent. The self-satisfied look on her face warns me I will not like what comes next. “There have been many reports of your tending to Captain Dunois when he fell from his horse. I am not convinced that it wasn’t you who killed him.”

“Those were not unholy rites,” I say tightly, “but earthly ones. Checking for wounds I might stanch, an arrow I might pluck from his chest, a puncture where poison might have entered so that I might draw it from him. That is all, my lords. That and praying.”

“Praying to the god of death,” Albi mutters.

“Praying to Saint Mortain, the patron saint of death,” I correct him sharply. “He is recognized by the Church.”

“Lady Sybella is correct.” The Bishop of Narbonne’s voice rings as clear as a bell among all the muttering. “What she, what all of Brittany, practices is not heresy.”

The look on the Bishop of Albi’s face all but screams, Not yet.

General Cassel takes a step closer, his gaze never leaving my face. “Could this man have been sent to kill the queen, and you killed him instead?”

“He could have, and I would most assuredly have stepped in to save the queen. But I’m afraid I was not given a chance to show off my skills, for that is not what happened here. Besides”—I tilt my head—“if I had, would I still be accused of murder? For daring to save our queen from an assassin?”

There is a satisfying pause as they all realize just how deep a thicket their single-minded focus has led them into. The king recovers first. “Of course not. In such a case we would thank you for saving my lady wife. Although we would prefer that any such malfeasance be brought before the king’s justice for punishment.”

“As would I. But as you no doubt know from your own experience on the battlefield, sometimes we are allowed only the briefest moment of time in which to save a life. Your Majesty, those very skills also allow me to identify the means of death. If I stand accused, I would ask to be allowed to examine the body.”

As I expected, this generates another round of outraged muttering, but again, Bishop Narbonne comes to my aid. “Of all of us, she is the best trained to make these determinations. And whether you like it or not, her worship is not heresy. Let her examine the body so that we may all learn something.”

“What if she lies?” General Cassel asks.

“The king’s physician is with the body now. Surely he will know if she is lying.”

* * *

The smell is stronger inside the small room, where the body is laid out on a thick stone table used for butchering deer and boars. The king’s physician peers up at me as I draw closer, looking in perplexity from me to the king.

“She has trained in the arts of death,” the king explains.

The physician merely nods before resuming his work.

The body is swollen and bluish white, bloated from river water. I glance up at the king. “He has been dead far