for me to go,” Ysabeau repeated when Gerbert finally tore his eyes away from the screen. “There is no reason to keep me here any longer. The Congregation won. I have just received word from the family that Matthew and Diana are no longer together. I imagine that the strain was too much for her, poor girl. You must be very pleased.”
“I hadn’t heard. And you?” Gerbert’s expression was suspicious. “Are you pleased?”
“Of course. I have always despised witches.” Gerbert had no need to know how completely Ysabeau’s feelings had changed.
“Hmm.” He still looked wary. “Has Matthew’s witch gone to Madison? Surely Diana Bishop will want to be with her aunt if she has left your son.”
“I am sure she longs for home,” Ysabeau said vaguely. “It is typical, after heartbreak, to seek out what is familiar.”
Ysabeau thought it was a promising sign, therefore, that Diana had chosen to return to the place where she and Matthew had enjoyed a life together. As for heartbreak, there were many ways to ease the pain and loneliness that went along with being mated to the sire of a great vampire clan—which Matthew would soon be. Ysabeau looked forward to sharing them with her daughter-in-law, who was made of sterner stuff than most vampires would have expected.
“Do you need to clear my departure with someone? Domenico? Satu, perhaps?” Ysabeau asked solicitously.
“They dance to my tune, Ysabeau,” Gerbert said with a scowl.
It was pathetically easy to manipulate Gerbert if his ego was involved. And it was always involved.
Ysabeau hid her satisfied smile.
“If I release you, you will go back to Sept-Tours and stay there?” Gerbert asked. “Of course,” she said promptly.
“Ysabeau,” he growled.
“I have not left de Clermont territory since shortly after the war,” she said with a touch of impatience. “Unless the Congregation decides to take me prisoner again, I will remain in de Clermont territory. Only Philippe himself could persuade me to do otherwise.”
“Happily, not even Philippe de Clermont is capable of ordering us about from the grave,” Gerbert said, “though I am sure he would dearly love to do so.”
You would be surprised, you toad, Ysabeau thought.
“Very well, then. You are free to go.” Gerbert sighed. “But do try to remember we are at war, Ysabeau. To keep up appearances.”
“Oh, I would never forget we are at war, Gerbert.” Unable to maintain her countenance for another moment, and afraid she might find a creative use for the iron poker that was propped up by the fireplace, Ysabeau went to find Marthe.
Her trusted companion was downstairs in the meticulous kitchen, sitting by the fireplace with a battered copy of Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy and a steaming cup of mulled wine. Gerbert’s butcher stood at the nearby chopping block, dismembering a rabbit for his master’s breakfast. The Delft tile on the walls provided an oddly cheerful note.
“We are going home, Marthe,” Ysabeau said.
“Finally.” Marthe got to her feet with a groan. “I hate Aurillac. The air here is bad. Adiu siatz, Theo.”
“Adiu siatz, Marthe,” Theo grunted, whacking the unfortunate rabbit.
Gerbert met them at the front door to bid them farewell. He kissed Ysabeau on both cheeks, his actions supervised by a dead boar that Philippe had killed, the head of which had been preserved and mounted on a plaque over the fire. “Shall I have Enzo drive you?”
“I think we will walk.” It would give her and Marthe the opportunity to make plans. After so many weeks conducting espionage under Gerbert’s roof, it was going to be difficult to let go of her excessive caution.
“It’s eighty miles,” Gerbert pointed out.
“We shall stop in Allanche for lunch. A large herd of deer once roamed the woods there.” They would not make it so far, for Ysabeau had already sent Alain a message to meet them outside Murat.
Alain would drive them from there to Clermont-Ferrand, where they would board one of Baldwin’s infernal flying machines and proceed to London. Marthe abhorred air travel, which she believed was unnatural, but they could not allow Diana to arrive at a cold house. Ysabeau slipped Jean-Luc’s card into Gerbert’s hand. “Until next time.”
Arm in arm, Ysabeau and Marthe walked out into the crisp dawn. The towers of Château des Anges Déchus grew smaller and smaller behind them until they disappeared from sight.
“I must set a new alarm, Marthe. Seven thirty-seven A.M. Do not let me forget. 'Marche Henri IV’ would be most appropriate for it, I think,” Ysabeau whispered as their feet moved quickly north toward the dormant