Igniting Darkness (Courting Darkness Duology #2) - Robin LaFevers Page 0,75

and ribbon vendors, fruit mongers and wine merchants, my skin pulls less tightly over my bones, and it is easier to breathe.

Gilbert and Roland are uneasy in the crowd. Not for fear of me wandering away, but simply because they are as out of place as a two-headed cat. Ignoring them, I peruse the bright silken ribbons fluttering gaily in the breeze.

A woman examining a length of green cord brushes against my skirts, then murmurs an apology. “I beg pardon, my lady. No offense.”

My hand on the ribbon stills. The voice is familiar and a jolt of recognition flares through me. While she now wears the gown and the headscarf of a serving woman, it is Valine.

As she slowly drifts over to the fruit seller’s stall, a hundred different possibilities run through my head, none of them pleasant.

With a quick glance at my constant shadows, I stroll after her, as if she is a serving woman I am familiar with. When I am close enough, I murmur, “What are you doing here? Is Maraud hurt?”

She shoots me a sideways look before directing her attention back to the fruit. “And why, I wonder, is that your first worry?”

I open my mouth, then realize I have no explanation. “Mercenaries lead dangerous lives, and he is not one to shy away from impossible odds. It is not so strange an assumption.”

She runs her finger along the skin of a golden late-winter pear. “No,” she agrees amiably. “But one could also conclude you had reason to think he might be injured.” Her gaze rakes over me, taking in my gown, my necklace. Her lip curls faintly.

She knows. She knows Maraud was not overcome with wine sickness, but that I had something to do with it. Mayhap he could not be bothered to exact vengeance himself and has sent her in his stead.

I, too, study the pears. “Do not play coy. It does not suit you any more than it suits me. I gave him a draft so he would not follow me and do something foolish. I am not trying to hide it from you.”

She looks up, weighing and assessing my words as surely as her fingers weigh and assess the pear in her hand. She lightly drops it back into the basket. “Now, that does sound like him. And no, he is not dead or injured or even fighting a chill.”

“Then why are you here? And how did you find me?”

“He saw you in the procession this morning. He was most . . . surprised.” The sideways glance she casts confirms my suspicion that that word was not her first choice. “He wishes to speak with you.”

My heart lifts even as my stomach drops, and a dozen different thoughts and possibilities crowd into my head. I resist the urge to check over my shoulders for my guards. “Why?”

An amused smile plays about her lips. As much as I like her, my hand itches to smack it off her face. I pick up an apple instead.

“He wishes to learn about General Cassel before he approaches the court.”

Of course. Understanding is followed closely by an inexplicable disappointment. “It is a wise move. The general is in the deep confidences of the king.”

Valine swears softly. “Which makes this twice a fool’s errand, then.”

“You do not approve of his desire for justice?”

“I highly approve of his desire for justice. It is his belief that he can find it at court that causes me to think he has exchanged his brains for a turnip.”

“It will not be easy,” I agree. “Cassel counsels the king in many things, not simply battle strategy.”

Valine sighs down at the pear, as if it is too poor a quality to purchase. “Well, he will not believe it from my lips—they have said as much a dozen times already. Perhaps he will believe it from yours. He suggested meeting tonight. There is to be a coronation ball, yes?”

“Yes, but—”

“He thinks that will provide the best opportunity for him to get onto the palace grounds and allow you to slip away from your . . . duties. Where shall I tell him to meet you?”

“There is no good place.” Nowhere that is safe from the king and his spies. Or the regent and hers.

“He said you might balk. If you did, I was to remind you that you owe him at least this much.”

“Do I? Even after I saved his life—four times—at Camulos’s Cup?”

She nods her head, conceding the point. “Sometimes anger makes us forget