Chancellor Montauban frowns. “You cannot take on a thousand French troops with a handful of charcoal-burners,” he says, and I cannot help but wonder if he truly knows Beast at all.

“No, but we can provide a painful diversion that will allow the British a chance to land.”

“It is possible,” Duval says, sounding hopeful for the first time in days.

“As we travel, I will raise the countryside against these intruders who would pluck our very land out from under our noses. Perhaps some of them can join us in Morlaix.”

“I still say we cannot put our trust in the charbonnerie,” Chancellor Montauban says. “They are too unpredictable, too rebellious. I fear they will run when we need them the most.”

Beast’s eyes when they meet the chancellor’s are as frigid as ice on a pond. “They have given their word, Chancellor. And I, for one, am inclined to believe it.”

“But they are not well versed in the art of warfare,” Chalon points out. “We do not have time to train them for battle.”

Beast leans forward. “That is the beauty of the charbonnerie. They do not fight with conventional tactics. Rather, they use stealth, cunning, and surprise. Deception and ambush are their most effective weapons.”

“But there is no honor in that,” Chalon protests.

“There is no honor in defeat either,” Duval points out. “I cannot help but wonder if d’Albret’s move is timed to coincide with this latest French attack. Did he know our aid from the English would be delayed, and is that why he marches now?”

“We will know soon enough.” The abbess speaks into the quiet room. “The Lady Sybella will be returning to her post with d’Albret’s household, so we will have access to his plans, hopefully before he acts on them.”

The duchess turns to me with stricken eyes, and Ismae’s face goes white as snow. “But it is no longer safe for her there! He must know—or at least suspect—that she aided Beast in his escape.”

“It is not a question of safety, Your Grace, but of how we can best serve you, and, through you, Mortain.”

“Your loyal and dedicated service is duly noted, Reverend Mother.” The wry note in Duval’s voice reassures me that he does not wholly trust her either.

There is a long moment of silence, then the duchess speaks again. “I fear I must agree with Beast and the chamberlain, my lords,” she says. “We have few options available to us. I believe we will give these charbonnerie a chance to prove themselves.”

I will not be the only one riding to a likely death on the morrow—Beast will be as well.

Chapter Thirty-Four

WHEN THE MEETING FINALLY BREAKS up, I rise to my feet and make my way to the door. I can feel Ismae watching me, begging me to turn and look at her, but I do not. I cannot. Not now. Beast, too, is boring holes in my back with the intensity of his stare, but I ignore him as well. What I need most right now is the privacy and sanctity of my bedchamber.

I reach my room and bolt the door behind me, vowing to open it for no one.

Think. I must think.

This latest news makes walking away infinitely more possible.

The reverend mother would not know for days. Weeks, even. And by then, d’Albret will either have won or been defeated, the direction of the war and our country determined. Duval would protect Ismae and keep her from being sent in my place when the abbess learns that I did not go. And at that point it will be too late for Annith to be of any use.

It is a good plan. A solid plan. Just thinking about it causes the tightness in my chest to ease somewhat.

I begin packing. I will take only those things that will make the reverend mother believe my deception, so only those items a camp follower would own. The laundress gown, and my weapons, of course. All my knives, but not the fancy garrote bracelets, as they are too fine for a mere camp follower to possess. Besides, I can strangle a man just as easily using his own belt.

As I carefully pack the knives I will carry, I marvel at how my desire to kill d’Albret once shaped my life and gave it meaning. But that was before . . . before what? When did my heart turn away from its willingness to die if need be in order to kill d’Albret?

Perhaps once I escaped, once I was no longer in his orbit or infected with the bleak despair that enveloped me while I was in his household. Or mayhap my short time away from him has reminded me that there are things worth living for. There are good people in this world, in this duchy. Those who mean to do all they can to stop d’Albret. Living inside his walls, it was all too easy to forget that.

There is the thrill of a fast horse, and the sun and wind in your face. The rare—and all the more precious for it—moments of laughter to be had. The excitement of seeing Mortain’s marque and knowing the hunt is about to begin. The look in someone’s eye when he truly sees you—not just your face and hair, but the very essence of your soul.

It is a raw and uncomfortable realization that Beast is partly behind this newfound will to live. Not for him, but because he reminded me of what life has to offer. He lives life so joyously—it is impossible not to want that joy for oneself.

My fingers drift to the ring I wear on my right hand, my last resort should my situation ever become unbearable.

Suddenly, my lungs cannot take in enough air and my head grows light. No matter how I wish it to be different, in spite of all our efforts, in spite of every saboteur I have rooted out, I still fear in my heart that d’Albret will win in the end. That he will seize the city and bring it to its knees.

And everyone in it.

Oh, they will fight. All of Anne’s nobles and advisors and men-at-arms will do their best to protect her. And they will die trying, for d’Albret’s ability to inflict death is unsurpassed.

I can see it unfold so clearly in my mind’s eye.

He will fight his way to Anne personally, his long sword slicing through her guard as if they were soft cheese. It is possible my brothers will be at his side, attempting once again to earn his favor.

Ismae and Duval will guard the duchess with their lives—and that is precisely what it will cost them. Once they have paid with those, d’Albret will turn his vengeance upon Anne.

He might not hurt her at first. He will most likely hold Isabeau as hostage, knowing only too well that is where Anne’s heart lies.

I stare down at the small bundle on my bed. What if I were able to stop him, but didn’t? What will my freedom have cost in blood? Will not the very things I hope to live for be lost?

In that moment, I know that I must do as I have been ordered. Not for the abbess, or the convent, or even Mortain.

But for those I have grown to love.

It is late when I leave my chamber to seek out Ismae, but there is still much activity about as the palace prepares for Beast’s departure and the coming siege. Ismae is not in her bedchamber so I head to Duval’s apartments within the palace. It is the only place I can think to look, short of the abbess’s chambers or the duchess’s. It appears I am in luck, for when I reach his door, I sense two pulses beating within. I knock softly.

Duval opens the door. A brief flash of surprise crosses his face when he sees that it is me. “My lady?”

I give him a wry smile. “I have actually come in search of Ismae,” I tell him.

It is hard to be sure in this dim light, but I think a faint tinge of pink spreads across his cheeks. You would think he and Ismae but thirteen years old and experiencing their first bout of puppy love. “She is here.” He opens the door to let me in, then bows. “I will leave you to speak in private.”

“No.” I reach out and grab his arm. “You need to hear what I must say.”

“Very well.” He turns and leads me into his chamber, where I find Ismae curled up in front of the fire, sipping a goblet of wine.