debauched lord.”
Although her face is carefully arranged, it is clear how very young she is, for all that I am only a year older than she. And like me, from twelve on, she lived in a hostile household, where she needed to conceal her every thought and true action from everyone around her.
She begins to pace. “I only hoped to gain clemency for the convent. Instead”—her voice grows rough with emotion—“I exposed everyone and put you all in even more danger.” She falls quiet a moment, then stops pacing to face me, chin held high. “However, I am not here so you can throw my past sins in my face.”
Impressed in spite of myself, I lean against the window. “Then why are you here?”
“I heard the king talking with his advisors.”
“When?” I ask sharply.
She glances away for the briefest of seconds. “Last night in the king’s privy chamber.”
“Why were you there?”
She shrugs. “The king enjoys railing at me at the moment. It is easy enough to endure, and I can learn much. Things we may be able to use to our advantage. Or at least protect ourselves against. The king had dismissed me to attend the meeting. But I did not leave.”
She takes a step closer. “Sybella—” The urgency in her voice shoves aside my anger. “His council—with the regent leading the charge—is urging him to petition the Church to have worship of the Nine declared unorthodox. They are trying to convince him that the queen cannot honor both the Nine and her marriage vows. I do not think any of them, with the possible exception of General Cassel, believe such a thing, only that it provides a political advantage.”
“What did Cassel say?”
“He wants the convent eliminated because it is a weapon the king does not control. But it is the regent who is more dangerous. She is urging him to do this as penance for breaking his betrothal vow.”
“A vow she encouraged him to break!”
She plucks at her skirt in frustration. “It doesn’t matter. She is happy to jerk her brother around like a dog on a leash as long as it allows her to do what she thinks best for France. She is also proposing to hold off on the coronation until the queen has agreed.”
Merde. The regent’s brain has more twists than a labyrinth. “You must tell the queen.”
“What? No! She is not fond of me. It is better if you tell her. She does not need to be reminded that I have private access to her husband.”
It is a considerate gesture. “Normally, I would agree with you, but with guards at my door, I don’t know when I will be allowed to see her.”
After a moment, Gen nods her head, then takes a step toward the door. “The body they found?” I say.
She stops. “Yes?”
“He was an assassin my brother sent to kill me at Christmas.”
* * *
When Father Effram looks up from putting away the altar cloth and sees my face, he immediately heads for the confessional booth. Fortunately, my two guards do not invade the sanctuary of the chapel and linger outside in the hall.
As soon as he slides the grill open, I tell him, “There has been a new development.”
“By your voice, it is not a happy one.”
“The search party has found a body. The body of the assassin Pierre sent.”
“That is a shame it didn’t stay put, but surely they cannot connect it to you?”
“Fremin suspects I killed him. He might tell the king.”
“Would that not also implicate him and your brother, since they are the ones who sent the assassin?”
“They would not say the man was an assassin. They would claim he was a messenger.”
There is silence as Father Effram digests this. “What will you do?”
“I have considered how I might neutralize Fremin without killing him. Now that the king knows I am an assassin, any death will immediately call his attention to me.”
“That is true.”
“I could cut out Fremin’s tongue, then he could not speak, but he has hands and knows how to write. I could cut off his hands as well, but would it not be kinder to kill him outright? In Pierre’s world, a man with no voice and no hands will not last long.” A silent burble of laughter threatens to crawl its way up my throat. “In truth, Father, I killed him the moment I removed my sisters from his reach. My brother does not tolerate failure.”
“What do you wish to do?” Father Effram’s voice is