“My lady? Your bath is ready. Are you ill?”

“I am fine,” I snap at Tephanie’s worried question. “Except I cannot find privacy.”

“I beg your pardon, my lady,” she says meekly, and I turn back to the note.

Dearest daughter,

We believe that Lord d’Albret has taken Baron de Waroch prisoner. The duchess has great need of the Beast of Waroch if she is to have any hope of raising an army against d’Albret or the French. We thereby order you to determine if he is indeed alive and, if so, to find a way to secure his release and see that he is brought to Rennes immediately.

Abbess Etienne de Froissard

Disbelief roils inside me, and my entire body turns hot, then cold, then hot again. I turn the note over, hoping I have missed something, then rework the code one more time. The message is the same. And it is not an order to kill d’Albret.

Anger rises up, so great it sears the breath from my lungs. She promised that I would be an instrument of divine vengeance—that d’Albret’s retribution would be delivered at the hand of his own daughter.

That very promise kept me from laughing in the abbess’s face when she told me of her intentions to send me back to his household. That promise had me redoubling my efforts to learn as many death skills as I could in my last weeks of training before I left the convent.

But more than that, her promise had given meaning to all that I have suffered and endured. Without that divine purpose to shape my life, I am nothing but a hapless victim. The anger inside surges through me once more, so dark and overwhelming I fear I will suffocate under its weight.

I will quit the convent. She cannot force me to stay here. Tucked far away on her little island, she will not even know I have left.

But d’Albret will.

And no place is safe from him, for his arm is long and he could snatch me up from anywhere in Brittany or France. No place is safe, except perhaps behind the walls of Rennes, and not even there if d’Albret decides to move on the city.

And so I must sit like a brainless coney. My future stretches out before me, grim and endless. I have been fooled by the convent and am now to be whored out by d’Albret as he weaves his malevolent snares for his enemies.

No. I clench my fists, crumpling the note and then casting it into the privy. No.

When I emerge from the garderobe, I ignore my attendants’ worried glances and yank off my clothes before they can assist me. I spend the next hour scrubbing my father’s and the abbess’s filthy schemes from my skin.

I do not know how I will make it through dinner. I cannot help but wonder how many know of the role d’Albret has given me. Nor can I help but wonder whom he will assign me to next. That fool Marshal Rieux? The quiet and serious Rogier Blaine?

As soon as I step into the dining hall, d’Albret’s gaze is upon me—as cold and dead as the meat on his plate. I keep my head held high and chatter inanely with Tephanie as I approach the dais, then curtsy. My smile is as brittle as glass—and as fragile. But lost in his own dark mood, he waves me toward Baron Mathurin.

As I make my way to the table, I wonder: How does one kill a monster such as d’Albret, someone with nearly inhuman strength and cunning? Can it even be done if the god of Death Himself does not will it?

How could I get near him? Get him to lower his guard? Especially when I cannot—will not—use seduction, one of my most effective weapons.

As I take my seat beside the baron, his eyes light up. “Fortune smiles upon me, demoiselle. To what do I owe the honor of your fair company?”

I want to shake him and warn him that it is not an honor but a deathwatch. Instead, I smile coyly at him. “It is I who am fortunate, my lord,” I tell him, then lift my wine goblet and drain half of it. Hopefully his attention will remain so focused on my breasts that he will not notice I must drink myself under the table to endure his company.

“Have you recovered from today’s hunt?” he asks.

The question nearly causes me to sputter. “Recovered, my lord?” It takes all my willpower to keep the scorn from my voice. “A hunt is not so very taxing as all that.”

He shrugs. “It was for Barons Vienne and Julliers. They have excused themselves from dinner tonight and taken to their beds.”

“Well, I am not as soft as they.”

“Nor I,” he says. “Indeed, the afternoon has got my blood stirred,” he adds, and there is no mistaking his meaning. Well and good—I will not even have to try very hard to snare this dumb goose.

A trill of laughter pulls my attention to the other side of the table, where Jamette hangs on Julian like a flea on a hound. Feeling my gaze on him, Julian looks up, and our eyes meet. He gives me a mocking smile and lifts his goblet to me. Does he know? I wonder. Does he know what our father has asked me to do? He must suspect something, for he knows I have no love for puffed-up buffoons or jackanapes such as Mathurin.

Jamette notices he is no longer paying attention to her and follows his gaze. Her eyes narrow and it is then that I see she is wearing a new brooch, a gold sunburst with a ruby in its center, and I wonder which secret of mine she has shared to earn it.

Chapter Seven

I HAVE DECIDED I WILL keep my rendezvous with Mathurin. I will even play the part I have been given—up to a point. Then, when I’ve learned all that I can, I will put a stop to it. If he protests overmuch or thinks to force me to continue, so much the better, for then I can kill him in self-defense. I am in desperate need of killing something.

When I reach the appointed chamber, I stop long enough to tug the bodice of my gown lower and loosen my hair. The overly eager Baron Mathurin is already inside, his pulse beating so heavily with lust I can scarce hear myself think. “Did anyone see you?” he asks when I step inside the room.

“No,” I assure him, then move closer, shaking my loose hair over my shoulder. He reaches out to capture one of the curls. “Like ebony-colored silk,” he murmurs, rubbing it between his fingers.

His desire is a heady perfume, for I know precisely what to do with desire. I run a finger lightly along the front of his doublet, and his mouth parts, his breath hitching in his throat. Then I wrap my arms around him and begin playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. “I bet you say that to all your conquests.”

He blinks in surprise, as if no one has ever accused him of having a string of conquests before. I lean up and begin nuzzling his great white jowl. “Do you know what put my lord father in such a foul mood tonight?” I ask. “He was in high spirits when I saw him this afternoon.”

And even though the baron and I are alone, his eyes dart around the room before he answers. He is not quite as dumb as he appears. “He received word that the duchess was crowned today in Rennes.”

Although this is good news for the duchess, I fear the crown will not save her from d’Albret’s aggression. The only thing that will do that is a strong husband with an army of thousands to defend his claim. I wonder if the courier who brought this report yet lives, for my lord father does not believe in sparing the messenger. “Do you trust d’Albret to rule Brittany?” I ask, then shudder. “For he frightens me well enough with the power he has. I cannot imagine him in charge of the entire duchy.”

As I utter these words, I can feel Mathurin’s desire begin to shrivel, so I quickly change the subject to distract him. “We do not have much time before my attendants come looking for me.”