Igniting Darkness (Courting Darkness Duology #2) - Robin LaFevers Page 0,57

not some legal argument to be made for protecting someone? Is that not at the very core of chivalry and honor?”

“That is for knights,” he says, “not demoiselles who cannot mind their own business. Besides, you would have a hard time making that case when she is an assassin.”

“Do you intend to put me on trial?” I ask, trying not to hold my breath.

When he does not answer, I continue. “Sybella is well aware of the suspicions you harbor against her, and would never hand you a rope with which to hang her.”

“Then why are you?”

Because I am the only person he seems willing to protect. But will he for something this serious? “I made sure it looked like an accident, and Sybella was nowhere nearby when it occurred. I did not realize your dislike of her would blind you to the evidence.”

“You just told me that shadows are an assassin’s friend—why would that not apply to her as well?”

“It would, and does. But your own guards saw her arrive and discover the body alongside them. Why do you not believe their account?”

“Perhaps she bewitched them. I don’t know what assassins who serve the god of death are capable of.”

That is when I get my first full taste of the fear that lurks behind his feelings for Sybella. It is not merely that she is an assassin, but that she feels otherworldly to him.

“If she had bewitched them, would they have allowed him into her chambers, unescorted and unchaperoned? I think you should ask them what their motives were.”

His eyes widen at the implications of my words, and for the first time since I stepped over this cliff’s edge, I feel that I have forced a crack into his thick, closed skull. Now if only some light can get through it.

He glances at the painting on the far wall. “Who else knows that you have been in contact with Sybella?”

“The regent saw me coming out of her room yesterday. I told her I was concerned about her health, as way of explanation.”

“She demanded an explanation of you? What business is it of hers?”

Ah, she is rubbing him raw with her interference. Good. I will toss a little salt into that wound. “Madame Regent believes that all matters that affect the crown of France are her business.”

His mouth tightens. “So you’ve told no one? What of the queen?”

I shake my head. “I’ve told only you.”

He stares into the fire for a moment, thinking, then barks for the guard. When the man hurriedly appears, the king gives him an order. “Fetch General Cassel from the Lady Sybella’s chambers. At once.”

 Chapter 30

Sybella

Cassel sweeps the trunklet up, cradling it against his chest with one arm while he uses the other to flip open the lid. The force of the movement nearly breaks the small brass hinges.

The fury inside me coils tighter as his meaty hand rifles through the contents, this violation of my things reminding me of every other violation I have suffered. But I fold my arms and wait patiently.

He lifts my golden bracelet, then tosses it to the floor, dismissing it as a woman’s bauble. When he finds the handkerchief that Tephanie embroidered for me, I must bite back a stream of curses. I hold my breath, hoping he will ignore the rest of what is in there. None of it is even remotely weaponlike—he simply enjoys the violation.

When he plucks the twig of holly from the bottom of the casket, my heart clenches, but I force my face into a bored expression. He gives a snort of contempt, then flings the holly sprig onto the ground. I must give myself away somehow, for he pauses, glances at me, then grinds it under the heel of his boot. The act causes all the air to flee from my lungs. It takes every ounce of will I possess to refrain from snatching up the holly and cradling it in my hands.

“Feel better now?” I ask, making certain the faint mocking tone hides my distress.

He tosses the trunklet to the ground and comes to stand before me, closer, closer, until our chests are nearly touching and I must tip my head back to meet his eyes. “We should search you, as well.”

Hot fury writhes inside me, but my voice is colder than the deepest crypt. “If you lay so much as a finger on me, I will kill you. I don’t care whose father you are.”

His face shifts, going from hard anger to something