Igniting Darkness (Courting Darkness Duology #2) - Robin LaFevers Page 0,36

he goes to stand directly in front of the fire. Still not looking at me, he asks, “From your training at the convent, is it possible to hasten the putrefaction of a body?”

“What, Your Majesty?”

“Is there any way to speed up . . .” He waves his hand, unwilling to ask the gruesome question again.

“What has happened?”

“Answer the question!”

“The only way to do such a thing is to leave the corpse out in the hot sun. That is known to speed such . . . processes up.”

The king strokes his chin, staring into the fire. “But it is winter. We’ve had but a handful of sunny days and none of them warm.”

I wait, hoping he will give me some explanation. Instead he asks another question. “Would someone of your size and skill be able to overpower a much larger man?”

This must have something to do with Sybella. “It depends. In a face-to-face conflict, likely not. But if stealth is used, yes. It is possible to sneak up on a man and render him helpless.” Render him helpless seems a safer choice of words than kill him.

“What if he was on a horse?”

“A horse?” I echo, willing him to tell me more, but again, he does not. “That would present a number of difficulties.” I have no doubt anyone with their full training from the convent could do such a thing, but that was not his question. “Being mounted would give the man great advantage in height, as well as the added protection of his horse’s formidable legs and hooves. So no, I do not know how one could use stealth on someone astride a horse.” Unless one dropped out of a tree or from a roof, but I do not share that with him. He views women so narrowly, sees us as so incapable, that I have only to encourage his belief in that lie.

Unexpectedly, he looks up from the fire, his eyes unnaturally bright. “Would Sybella kill to protect the queen?”

“Yes,” I answer without hesitation. “Or you, if you were threatened.”

He makes a sound of disgust and looks back at the fire.

“Why does that answer displease you?”

With the toe of his boot, he reaches out to nudge a log. “A body has been found. All signs point to Sybella being the killer.”

“And you wished to see if my answers matched hers.”

“Not her answers, but the evidence. As king, I must judge and weigh the evidence.”

“And have you?”

He shoves away from the mantel and lifts a flagon of wine from a small table by the fireplace. “My bishops say that this is a sign from God that, if not the Nine, then certainly those who worship Mortain have gone too far. The knowledge and familiarity with death that she demonstrates belong only in the hands of God. They think that Mortain is encroaching on His power, eroding His position as the one true God.”

Much as the king’s advisors and sister have been doing with him. No wonder he holds natural sympathy for such a position—and what a ruthlessly clever approach to take. I wonder which one of them thought of it.

“But, sire, surely Mortain’s power, and that of those who follow him, is derived from God Himself. Is it not equally unorthodox to question how God chooses to manifest His power in the world?”

He pauses in his pouring of the wine. “I did not know you were a philosopher.”

“No philosopher, Your Majesty. Only someone who has tried to reconcile this very issue since I was old enough to understand it.”

“But of course you would have been taught logic that supported your convent’s position.” He sets the decanter down. “General Cassel says that the entire issue is moot. That she is an assassin, a weapon trained to kill.” His words cause a thrum of pride deep in my own chest. “If not this man, someone else. If not now, then in the future. Best to neutralize her before harm is done.”

“But what if her purpose is to protect someone? Yourself or the queen?”

He swirls the wine in his glass, staring at it. “That is precisely what she claimed. Have you been speaking to her again?”

“It is our convent’s mission and not unusual we would both suggest such a thing.”

He says nothing, but shifts his gaze to the fire. After a moment, I cannot help but ask, “Will you take your advisors’ suggestions?”

He tosses back his wine, taking half of it in one gulp. “You have nothing to fear.”

“I am not worried