Igniting Darkness (Courting Darkness Duology #2) - Robin LaFevers Page 0,84

knife I carry from its sheath. The noblewoman, growing less bored as Angoulême pays her compliments, does not notice me either. It is not until I stand right behind the count with the point of my knife pressed against his kidney that he becomes aware of my presence. To his credit, though his body grows still, he continues speaking with the woman, suggesting a meeting place for later.

When she has left, he does not move, but simply says, “I thought I spotted you earlier in the crush, but convinced myself I was mistaken. Surely the clever Genevieve, last seen cavorting with a troupe of mummers, would not have the audacity and poor sense to show up at court.”

“Turn around,” I order. When he does, he stands too close, as is his wont. “What are you doing here?”

His sardonic gaze sweeps over me, taking in the fine gown and the even finer necklace. “Attending the coronation ball, as ordered by the king. A more intriguing question is what are you doing here? Last I remember”—he reaches up with a hand and gently probes the back of his head—“you were running away to be a mummer. It seems you have risen much farther in the world than that.” There is no amusement in his face now, only grim intensity.

I set the knifepoint against the green brocade covering his belly. “I am the one asking questions tonight.”

He eyes my blade. “So you are.”

“Why did you lie to me about the convent? Why would you do such a thing? I have spent weeks thinking on it and have yet to find an answer that makes sense.”

“Must it make sense?”

I press the knife closer. “Yes.”

He stares at me a long time before muttering, “Sweet Jesu, you are so very young.” He leans closer to me then, close enough that I can smell the wine on his breath. “To. Free. You.”

“Free me from what?”

“The intolerable limbo you had been living in for at least a year, probably more than that. The convent never contacted me after your initial placement. Never wrote to check on you, to pass on any assignments, or to advocate for any specific training. They ignored every letter I sent, until I stopped sending them.”

“Why would they trust you with such things?”

“They’d trusted me with you and Margot.” His voice, this foolish, foppish, self-indulgent man’s voice, holds true reverence. “I truly believed—still believe—that they had forgotten about you. It was too cruel to keep you on their leash any longer—especially when you were so miserable.”

It is too much. I want to put my hands over my ears and walk away from him. “Then why not just tell me I was free to go?”

“Your own stubbornness would not have let you take such an option had I presented it.”

I feel like a pawn who has been dropped onto a chessboard, not even realizing there was a game in progress.

“If I had said you were free to go, would you have considered it?” I open my mouth to lie, to refuse to give him the satisfaction of being right, but he talks over me. “With the scorn and contempt you felt for me, can you honestly say you would have believed me?”

I nearly squirm in discomfort that my feelings were far less hidden than I had thought. “Probably not,” I admit grudgingly.

“You would have assumed it a trap and refused.”

“I said you were right,” I grind out.

“You were miserable and angry, and needed somebody to fight with. I was an easy focal point for that anger.”

While I recognize the words coming out of his mouth, they do not make any sense. “Are you saying you did all that as a service to me? To give me someone to be mad at?”

He looks at me, all his artifice falling away, and I feel as if I am finally looking upon his true face for the first time.

“Tell me that anger didn’t sustain you those long first months at Cognac.” There is no mocking note in his voice, no faint drawl of amusement. He is . . . It’s true, damn his rutting eyes. I clench my teeth, not willing to admit that to him.

His voice softens with something that sounds surprisingly close to affection. “I always said you were different than the other women. I wasn’t wrong. They wanted reassurances and safety. Attention, and to be loved or cosseted.” He shrugs. “I gave them what they needed. You needed something else. So I gave you that.”

I