“There is no need. I will do it myself,” I say, stepping into the warm water and taking up the soap.

Once the servants have left, Dinan turns to me. “You foolish girl! You have ruined everything!”

“What do you mean?”

“Since d’Albret wasn’t able to take Rennes as he’d planned, he had to resort to other options.”

“Options that have driven Marshal Rieux from his side?”

She ignores my question. “With the duchess’s marriage to the Holy Roman emperor, he has been left with no choice but to . . .” She trails off with a glance in Jamette’s direction. “Go fetch her gown,” she orders. Jamette curtsies then hurries to do as she is told.

Remembering the abbess of Saint Brigantia’s words, I stare at her, the soap in my hand forgotten. “Is this option why my father has been communicating with the French regent?”

She stops twisting the linen handkerchief she holds and I see that her nails are bitten to the quick. “What do you know of that?”

I shrug. “Simply that there are rumors.”

She smiles thinly. “You must realize there are other ways he can gain control of the kingdom if the duchess will not honor her promises.”

I look away so she will not see how much her words disturb me, for if d’Albret is conspiring with the French regent, it can only mean disaster for the duchess. And why is Dinan telling me this? Is it because she knows I will die and take this knowledge with me? Or is there some small spark of loyalty left in her that abhors the choice d’Albret has made?

But there is no opportunity to ask further questions because Jamette returns carrying one of my gowns. It is of crimson velvet trimmed with gold braid, and I wonder if she has chosen it because the blood will not show.

Chapter Fifty

DE LUR TAKES GREAT PLEASURE in binding my hands behind my back and prodding me forward into the great hall. As I am ushered in, I hold my head high. The chamber is stuffed full of d’Albret’s retainers and vassals. Looking among them, I see that there are none of the Nantes lords who were recent allies of d’Albret’s. Have they left? Has he killed them all out of suspicion? Or perhaps any of his soldiers with a scrap of decency left with Marshal Rieux. I know not, but the soldiers and vassals here are wholly his and have been for years. They are the ones who stood silently by as he murdered each of his six wives, who eagerly carried out his order to terrorize the town into submission by raping their women and burning their homes. They are the ones who chased down and slayed any servants who remained loyal to the duchess, hunting them with as much feeling as if they were hunting rats. Whatever d’Albret plans for me, there will be no help from them.

De Lur shoves me forward, and, with my wrists bound, I am barely able to keep my balance. D’Albret sprawls in the great chair on the dais, his cold fury lurking just beneath a thin veneer of civility. But my newfound purpose burns so bright within me that there is no room for fear. Or maybe I no longer care. Especially knowing that Death will not—has never—rejected me, but will welcome me home when my time here is done.

Besides, even if I were terrified, I would not give d’Albret the one thing he wants—me cowering at his feet. Instead, I stare coolly at him, as if he has been brought before me to be held to account for his crimes.

He straightens, his eyes studying me with cold appraisal. “You have much to answer for. You have betrayed my plans to the duchess—twice—run off with my prisoner, and kidnapped my own children from under my roof. Surely no father has ever had to suffer such treachery at the hands of his own daughter.” He rises up from his chair and crosses the small space between us. “What did you do with my prisoner? I had plans for him, you know. Did you let him bed you, like you let the blacksmith’s boy?”

Hearing him talk of what is between Beast and me this way sickens me. “The prisoner was nothing to me. An assignment, nothing more.”

“An assignment?” He circles me slowly, assessing. “Are you truly a whore, then?”

Suddenly, I want him to know. Need him to know whom I truly serve and all that I have done to thwart him. “Have you not guessed? I am not your daughter. My mother invited Death into her bed rather than suffer life with you, and I was sired by Mortain Himself.”

A loud silence rises up in the room, broken only by the crack of his hand as it strikes my face. My head snaps back, and I taste blood.

“Then clearly returning you to Death will not be a punishment. I shall have to find some other way to repay you for all the grief you have caused me.”

I know I should stop. Keep my mouth closed and leave well enough alone, but I have stood silent witness in his household for too long. I will not be silent any longer. “I am not merely Death’s daughter, but His handmaiden as well. All the accidents that have befallen your allies and trusted commanders have not truly been accidents but my own hand carrying out Death’s orders and, through Him, the duchess’s.”

D’Albret smiles then, surprising me. He leans in close to my ear. “For all that you wrap your killing in some saint of old, you are just like me,” he says with something akin to pride. “You fool only yourself. It is a shame we could not have come to terms, you and I.”

As he gives voice to the very fear that has dogged me all my life, I smile. D’Albret may play with Death. He may even be good at it, but I am Death’s true daughter. “No,” I say, my voice strong and sure. “I am not like you. I have never been like you. For while you think to control Death and bend it to your will, I am His will. I have never killed an innocent, or to serve my own pleasure. I have killed only men like you who are a blight upon the earth.”

“A blight, am I? We shall see.” He reaches for a strand of my hair and then rubs it between two of his fingers. “I find I am quite taken with the idea of mixing my bloodline with Death’s own. Then, surely, nothing could withstand my will.”

The mere thought of d’Albret’s touch sickens me, and the idea of the abomination that would result fills me with unspeakable terror. I struggle against the rope at my wrists, but it does not so much as budge. I curse myself for throwing my true parentage in his face, for I should have remembered just how shrewd he is at finding the thing one values most and using it as a weapon.

D’Albret smiles, and his hand leaves my hair to trail down my face, like a caress. I cannot help it: I shudder at his touch, at what I see in his eyes. “Since you are not my daughter, I could even make you my seventh wife, hmm?”

I glance at Madame Dinan, but her face is a brittle mask.

D’Albret winks at me, then pats my cheek. “She will not mind. She is barren and understands I must have sons to secure my holdings.” Then he grabs my chin, locking me in place, and presses his mouth on mine in a brutal, crushing kiss. Bile rises in my throat as his teeth grind against my swollen lip. When he licks the cut on my lip, I shudder violently, every nerve in my body screaming at the wrongness of it, the sheer horror of it. With no other way to fight back, I bite him.

He jerks away, fury darkening his eyes. He raises his hand to strike me again—

“No!” Julian’s voice rings throughout the hall.

D’Albret turns his cold, flat eyes to Julian. “I will take my vengeance as I please.”

“No, my lord,” Julian says again.

D’Albret tilts his head and studies his son. “You cannot bear for others to touch her, can you?”

“It is not that.”

“Do you wish her for yourself? If you will breed me heirs with Death’s own blood in their veins, I would forgive you much.”

I hold my breath and wonder if Julian will take what is being offered. “No,” he says, looking not at d’Albret but at me. As our eyes meet across the distance, I know that he has made his choice—he has chosen to be my brother rather than my lover, and I am filled with a quiet joy. We were always strongest when we faced our tormentors with one mind. But in the next moment, my happiness trickles away, as I see what that choice will cost him. A marque has begun to form on his brow.