Serpent & Dove (Serpent & Dove #1) - Shelby Mahurin Page 0,115

its face and neck, disappearing down the collar of its dress.

“I’ve had the pleasure of speaking with this creature for the past half hour. With a bit of persuasion, it became a plethora of information.” The Archbishop took the corpse and dumped it atop the pile. The bodies shifted, and blood seeped onto my boots. Bile rose in my throat. “You don’t know what the witches have planned for the kingdom, Captain Diggory. We cannot allow them to succeed.”

Jean Luc straightened, instantly alert. “What do they have planned?”

“Revolution.” The Archbishop’s eyes remained fixed on mine. “Death.”

Silence settled over the hall at his ominous pronouncement. Feet shifted. Eyes darted. No one dared ask what he meant—not even Jean Luc. Just as no one dared ask the one other question that mattered. The one other question on which our entire creed hinged.

I glanced at my brothers, watching as they stared between the Archbishop and the tortured, mutilated witch. As the conviction returned to their faces. As their suspicion shifted to excuses, bridging the way back to the comfortable world we’d once known. The comfortable lies.

It was all a diversion.

Yes—a diversion.

The witches are cunning.

Of course they would frame him.

Except Jean Luc. His sharp eyes were not so easily fooled. Worse—a garish grin stretched across his face. Warped by his swelling jaw.

“We must find Louise before the witches do,” the Archbishop urged. Pleaded. “She is the key, Reid. With her death, the king and his posterity will die. We all will die. You must put aside your quarrel with her and protect this kingdom. Honor your vows.”

My vows. True fury coursed through me at the words. Surely, this man who had lain with La Dame des Sorcières—this man who had deceived and betrayed and broken his vows at every turn—couldn’t be speaking to me about honor. I exhaled slowly through my nose. My hands still shook with anger and adrenaline. “Let’s go, Ansel.”

The Archbishop bared his teeth at my dismissal—and turned unexpectedly to Jean Luc. “Chasseur Toussaint, assemble a team of men. I want you on the street within the hour. Alert the constabulary. She will be found by morning. Do you understand?”

Jean Luc bowed, flashing me a triumphant smile. I glared back at him, searching his face for any flicker of hesitation, of regret, but there was none. His time had finally come. “Yes, Your Eminence. I will not disappoint you.”

Ansel followed hurriedly as I departed. We ascended the stairs three at a time. “What are we going to do?”

“We are going to do nothing. I don’t want you caught up in this.”

“Lou is my friend!”

His friend.

At those two small words, my patience—already stretched too thin—snapped completely. Swiftly, before the boy could so much as gasp, I grabbed his arm and shoved him into the wall. “She’s a witch, Ansel. You must understand this. She is not your friend. She is not my wife.”

His cheeks flushed with anger, and he shoved me in the chest. “Keep telling yourself that. Your pride is going to get her killed. She’s in trouble—” He shoved me again for emphasis, but I caught his arm and twisted it behind his back, slamming his chest into the wall. He didn’t even flinch. “Who cares if the Archbishop lied? You’re better than him, better than this.”

I snarled, quickly approaching my breaking point.

Lou, Ansel, Morgane le Blanc, the Archbishop . . . it was all too much. Too sudden. My mind couldn’t rationalize the emotions flooding through me—each too quick to name, each more painful than the last—but the time to choose rapidly approached.

I was a huntsman.

I was a man.

But I couldn’t be both. Not anymore.

I let go of Ansel and backed away, breathing ragged. “No, I’m not.”

“I don’t believe that.”

I balled my hands into fists, resisting the urge to smash them through the wall—or Ansel’s face. “All she’s ever done is lie to me, Ansel! She looked me in the eyes and told me she loved me! How do I know that wasn’t a lie too?”

“It wasn’t a lie. You know it wasn’t.” He paused, lifting his chin in a gesture so like Lou I nearly wept. “You . . . you called her she. Not it.”

Now I did strike the wall. Pain exploded from my knuckles. I welcomed it—welcomed anything to distract me from the agony ripping my chest in two, the tears burning my eyes. I leaned my forehead against the wall and gasped for breath. No, Lou wasn’t an it. But she’d still lied to me.