Igniting Darkness (Courting Darkness Duology #2) - Robin LaFevers Page 0,62

is he keeping you shut up in here?”

“He is the king. Does he need a reason?” Her answer furthers my unease. It was meant to be a jest.

“Is it because of your association with me?”

“No.”

“Then why?”

She sighs heavily, as if annoyed. Since it is a ploy I am well familiar with, I ignore it. “Because it suits him. He is . . . less than happy with me at the moment and finds it amusing to keep me under his thumb.”

I come farther into the room, examining her face closely, trying to discern what her words are hiding. “What did you do that has him so wroth with you?” And yet so at peace with the rest of the court. Including me.

She looks down to fiddle with the corner of the blanket. “It is a private matter. There is no need to discuss it. Now I have a question for you,” she says in a rush, blocking any attempt I might make at arguing. “How—what—did you do with your blood? What trick was that—to make souls disappear in such a way? Is that another of your gifts from Mortain?” Her voice holds a faint note of bitterness.

“That is a fair question—with a complicated answer.” I sigh. “In truth, we must have a long conversation about the convent and Mortain himself. But not here, where any approaching servant can hear us. And not until you have told me what is going on.”

“What if it is not any of your business?”

“Would you rather I ask the king?”

“You wouldn’t.”

I smile grimly. “You have no idea the things I would do. Shall we fight for it? Test our skills against each other? I win, you tell me. You win, you don’t.”

The look she sends me is so full of exasperation that it reminds me of Charlotte and nearly makes me laugh. “We both know that you would win any contest between the two of us.”

“I don’t know that.”

She shakes her head. “You will not like it any better than the king.”

My uneasiness returns, but I keep my voice light. “At least I cannot order you confined to my chambers.”

She looks to the window, then the fireplace, anywhere but at me before she finally speaks. “It’s about Monsieur Fremin. I . . . I may have confessed to killing him.”

 Chapter 34

Her words are so unexpected that it feels as if she is speaking some strange language I have never heard. Except that with these inconceivable words, everything falls into place. Guilt and anger wash over me. “I asked you to distract the king, not confess to a crime you didn’t commit! That was not your sin to bear. You had nothing to do with it.” Indeed, my mind is still struggling to grasp the enormity her—of anyone—taking the blame and punishment for something I did.

“It was a sin I contributed to, no matter how unknowingly.” She tightens the blanket around her shoulders and leans forward. “It feels good to be able to do this.”

I feel my mouth snap shut. “Good to take the blame for someone else’s killing?”

“No.” She huffs in frustration, then looks over at the sideboard. “Do you remember the jars of toad livers Sister Serafina kept in the poisons room?”

I blink at this change of subject. “The ones that stank like rotten feet? How could I forget.”

“When I was finally allowed to begin helping at the convent, I was sent to her workroom. But on my third day there, I accidentally dropped the crock full of toad livers.” Her gaze shifts from the crystal goblets on the sideboard back to me. “She did not yell or get mad. Nor even punish me with quiet satisfaction like some of the other nuns did. She simply told me to collect the broken pieces of crockery and bring them to the table. When I had, she plunked down a pot of glue and a brush, then told me to take whatever time I needed to put it back together.

“Sybella, she allowed me to fix it. To take the pieces of what I had broken and make them whole again.” The sheer wonder in her voice makes me realize how rare a thing that is—to be given such an opportunity. I can so clearly see the nine-year-old she must have been, bent over all the broken pieces, painstakingly working to fit them together. “Doing this feels as if I am being given that chance again. The king will not hurt or punish me. Not over this.