Igniting Darkness (Courting Darkness Duology #2) - Robin LaFevers Page 0,54

General Cassel at the fore, his cold, brutal eyes on me. For one heart-clenching moment I fear they intend to grab me and drag me from the room.

“Search the chambers!” he orders.

The men fan out, dividing the room with practiced precision, each taking a section. The window, the bed, the chest. Cassel comes to stand in front of me, too close, hoping I will cower before him. I smile sweetly. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“We are looking for the murder weapon.”

I ignore the sound of the men churning through my things and cock my head to the side, considering. “The guards said he had broken his neck. What sort of weapon do you expect to find?” It is all I can do not to flex my hands, which have indeed broken many a neck. But Cassel does not know that and hopefully, like all men, will not consider that a possibility.

“Rope,” he says grimly. “A noose.”

“Ah,” I say, grateful that the rope I used to strangle Fremin’s henchman is now looped through his belt.

His gaze drops down to my waist, to my belt of gold chain from which a small knife hangs. Anger begins to bloom deep inside my gut, but I hold it firmly in check. “That could not break a neck,” I helpfully point out.

His gaze shifts to my face.

“Sir!”

Reluctantly, Cassel looks back at the guard. “What?”

“Knives, sir. Lots of ’em.”

A sense of violation squeezes me by the throat when I see that one of the soldiers has lifted the mattress from the bed frame, exposing four of my longest knives.

Cassel swings his shaggy head back to me. “No weapons, eh?”

“I never said I had no weapons, only none that were capable of breaking a neck.”

He crosses over to the bed and lifts my anlace from its hiding place. “This is not something a lady in waiting would have.”

I curl my fingers into fists so I will not grab it from his meaty hands. “We have already established I am no ordinary lady in waiting. I cannot protect the queen with naught but my bare hands.”

At his gesture, his men collect my knives. For a brief moment, I indulge in the vision of me leaping forward, taking back my knives, and killing the four of them before the other two can blink. Instead, I move to the window, where one of the men is still fumbling with the drapes. “Here, let me give you more light.” I yank one of the drapes aside. The soldier startles, dropping the curtain, his hand going for his knife as light spills into the room. I cluck my tongue at him. “It is only a drape, monsieur, and a dusty one at that.” His cheeks flush dull red as two of the others snicker.

Another shout goes up, and we all look to the soldier kneeling beside the chest, his hand gingerly holding out a glass vial filled with amber liquid. “We’ve found her poisons, sir!”

I laugh. “Poison? I imagine the queen would beg to differ. Those are the very physics I give her daily. Here. Let me show you.” As I reach for the vial, the man flinches as if he expects me to throw it on him and turn him to stone. I take it gently from his hand, put the vial to my lips, and swallow. “See? Nothing even remotely harmful.”

Cassel stares at them impassively. “Take them anyway.”

I shove the vial at the soldier and glare at the general. “You’d best check with the queen. She will not look kindly on one who destroys the only tisane that has brought her any relief.”

He hesitates then. “Take the vials to the queen and ask if she recognizes them,” he orders. “But be careful—do not risk her touching them or drawing too close.”

For all of his brutishness, the general is not an idiot. As we stare at each other a moment, I try not to see all the physical similarities to Beast. It is too painful to see them in this man—one who embraces brutality, savors raw power, mistakes violations for strength. He could not be more different from Beast had they been born on opposite ends of the world.

I focus on that, will myself to discern the differences. They are there—the eyes that feel wolfish and feral in Beast’s face are darker and more piggish in Cassel’s. Beast’s nose has been broken more often, but his mouth holds humor and kindness rather than cruelty.

Cassel breaks our gaze, looking to