Grave Mercy

when she speaks again, her voice is steadier. “Once I am clean and dressed, I must send for Gavriel.”



“He is whom you would speak with first?” This pleases me, this trust she has in him.



She turns to look at me. “Above all others,” she says, her face and eyes solemn. She turns back around, and I pour another pitcher of water on her hair to rinse the soap from it. "When I was born, my father took Gavriel aside and explained that I was to be his first duty from then on. My happiness and my safety were his to guard.”



“How old was he then?”



“Twelve or thirteen, I believe.”



Not much older than she is now. “So much responsibility for one so young.”



“Ah, but he welcomed it. It gave his life purpose. He now had a reason to excel at his lessons, beat his tutors in chess, practice for hours in the sword yard.” Her voice changes, growing softer. “And he doted on me. He told me once that from the moment he first held me, he was besotted. I demanded no cleverness or victories of him, asked only that he love and protect me. And that he has done ever since.”



"Were there so many demands on him at that age?”



“Have you not met his mother, demoiselle?”



I laugh outright at that. “Yes, I have, Your Grace.”



“She has been working on schemes and plots since his birth, most involving him. Until I was born, he tolerated it. Once I was put in his charge, he would have nothing to do with her plots. even then, his honor shone brighter than most men’s. I believe she quite hates me for it.”



“No doubt,” I murmur, captivated by this peek at the young Duval.



“And if ever I had any doubts — which I did not, although others did — they were erased when I was five years old. Did you know I was betrothed to the english crown prince?”



“Yes, Your Grace. At the convent we study the actions of your family, as your safety and well-being is our first priority.”



She looks around and dimples prettily at this. “Truly?”



“Truly.”



“No wonder that you and Gavriel are so well suited,” she says, turning away again so I can continue rinsing her hair. I frown at this, but before I can protest, she is speaking again and I am loath to interrupt her.



“Anyway, the betrothal enraged the old French king, who had spent years fighting the english and had no wish to see Brittany come under english rule. So he hatched a plot to send his agents into Nantes and abduct me so that I might become his pawn rather than such a liability.



"We received news of this even as they entered the city. As my father’s advisors stood around arguing about what action to take and how best to respond, Gavriel grew impatient, fearing the French would knock down our door any moment. Instead of listening to their arguments, he came to our nursery and roused Isabeau and me from our beds. He tucked one of us under each arm and, accompanied by his staunch companion de Lornay, spirited us away to safety. even as he galloped out of the stables, the French plotters broke into the nursery. I will never forget the terror of that night, the feeling that my whole world had been turned upside down. Nor will I ever forget the safety of Gavriel’s arms as he carried us out of harm’s way.”



I stare at the back of her head, my mouth open in surprise. And yet, some small part of me is not surprised. It all fits with the Duval that I see, if not the one seen by Crunard and the abbess.



The duchess shakes her head. “I still do not know how he managed two young girls on that horse of his.” She turns around to look into my face. “How could I not trust such a man as that, Demoiselle Rienne?”



“Indeed, how could one not?” I whisper.



“I know some call him oath breaker, for although the oath he swore to Saint Camulos required him to stand and fight, he turned his back on the fighting and instead carried me to safety. But as he explained to me later, what good is fighting if what you are fighting for is lost?”



“True enough, Your Grace.” Then we both fall silent, consumed by our own thoughts, while she finishes her bath. My heart feels lighter now that I know the circumstances behind Duval’s oath breaking. From what I am learning of my own god, it seems just the sort of thorny trial they love to torment us with.



when all the traces of d’Albret have been scrubbed from her skin and she is dressed and warm and calm, we send a page to find Duval.



He arrives shortly after, tugging off his riding gloves and looking slightly mussed, as if the wind is blowing mightily outside. His gaze darts from her to me, then back again. "What has happened?”



The duchess grips her hands together tightly. “There has been an incident,” she says, then falters and looks to me for help.



“D’Albret assaulted her in the hallway.”



Duval grows impossibly still and I am reminded of a viper before it strikes. "What do you mean, assaulted?” His voice is deceptively quiet.



“I mean, he backed her up against the wall and fumbled at her skirts.” Anger at the memory makes the words come out harsher than I intend.



Duval’s face grows pale.



“Mumbling all the while about how I would like it if I would only give it a chance,” the duchess adds.



I look at her in horror. “I did not know that.”



“You were too far away to hear.”



Duval’s entire body is as taut as a drawn bowstring. Rage fills his eyes, but he tries to tamp it down for his sister’s sake, as concern wars with fury. “Are you all right?”



“I am fine. Ismae arrived in time.”



He turns then and bows low to me, which shocks me to the core. “Our debt to you is immeasurable,” he says. when he rises, his face is calm and still. "We will kill him,” he announces, then looks at me thoughtfully. “Unless you already have?”



“Alas, no, milord. He ceased his attack when I approached, and he did not bear the marque.”



“Saints take the marque! Look harder.” He begins to pace.



A faint glimmer of amusement touches the duchess’s features. “She fair gutted him looking for it,” she says.



At her words, I feel sheepish. “I admit I did not stop to give thought to maintaining the deception we had in place.”



“Good,” Duval says. “Perhaps others will think twice before trying something similar.”



I clear my throat. “There is more.”



Duval stops pacing and stares at me. “More?” even the duchess looks at me curiously.



“Madame Dinan set the duchess up. She made an excuse to leave her alone in the hallway when she knew d’Albret would be there.”



“How do you know this?”



“I met her on the stairs. I was heading toward the duchess and she was moving away. She tried to detain me.”



Duval explodes. “That traitorous sow!”



The duchess looks uneasy at this rare display of temper from Duval. I try to say something to turn the conversation to strategy rather than anger, though Mortain knows I have plenty of that as well. "We knew she favored her half brother, but I never guessed she would go this far in pursuit of his claim.”



“None of us did,” Duval says. "We must ban him from court. Her too.”



The duchess promptly agrees, but this plan worries me. "Excuse me, Your Grace, but I think we must tread carefully here.”



Duval’s head snaps up. "What do you mean?”



"We cannot risk word getting out that the duchess was assaulted. In this world of ours, it matters not what actually transpired. The mere suggestion that she was exposed to such a situation could be enough to bring her virtue into question. what would that do to her chances of marriage?”



All the blood drains from the duchess’s face, and Duval swears a black oath and resumes pacing.



“I will not marry the baron, no matter if he is the last man in Christendom!”



“Nor would we let you, Your Grace.” Duval’s pacing is making me dizzy. I keep waiting for him to step in and say something helpful, to come up with some strategy that will find us a way out. Instead, he is indulging in a fit of temper.



“I know,” he says suddenly, and I breathe a sigh of relief. "We will issue an edict stating that you repudiate the betrothal agreement with d’Albret and have no intention of marrying him. If we do so publicly, he will have no choice but to accept it.”



I shake my head. "Will that not simply back him into a corner and cause him to take even more drastic measures?”



Duval spears me with a feral gaze. "What do you suggest instead?”



And there he has me. I have no brilliant strategy or clever tactics. That is Duval’s gift, not mine. “I have no better plan, my lord. In truth, I am sorely disappointed in my god’s justice so far.”



Duval stares at me a long moment, his eyes bright as if with fever. “Perhaps that is because you mistake death for justice, and they are not the same thing at all.”



Chapter Thirty-six



In the morning, Vanth arrives bright and early, pecking at the window even before Louyse comes in to stoke the fire. I throw off the covers and hurry over, my toes curling away from the cold stone floor. when I open the shutter, Vanth hops in and cocks his head as if to ask what took me so long. “I was sleeping,” I tell him, then grab for the note on his leg before he can peck me.



He squawks in annoyance when I retrieve the missive, then flutters off to his cage and puts his head under his wing.



Much to my frustration, it is not instructions from the abbess but instead a note from Annith. I check the seal, then crack it open and read.



Annith writes to say she has never heard any rumor or gossip about initiates of Mortain taking permanent lovers but begs that I tell her why I wish to know. Luckily for me, she spends little time pressing me on that issue; she is much preoccupied with her own situation.



Sister Vereda has taken ill, she writes, and has not had a vision in over a week.



Is that why I have received no orders from the convent? Because Sister Vereda is ill? If that is the case, then surely I must be even more watchful for Mortain’s marque.



The nuns have been meeting behind closed doors more than usual, so of course I had to listen to see what they were about. Ismae, I overheard the reverend mother herself tell Sister Thomine that she thinks I will be able to serve as the convent’s seeress once Sister Vereda passes into the realm of Death! A seeress! After all that I have trained for, all that I have studied and practiced. I have spent my whole life preparing to step outside this convent in service to Mortain — and now she thinks to lock me up inside these thick stone walls forever. I won’t do it. I can’t do it. Indeed, the thought has kept me up the last four nights. Just the idea of it makes me feel as if I am suffocating. So please, in your spare moments, pray for Sister Vereda that she may recover and that I will not be consigned to the convent’s inner sanctum for the rest of my days.



Yours in misery,



Annith



Poor Annith! Can the reverend mother be serious? Does she intend never to let Annith step outside the convent? Annith’s plight is so dire, it takes my mind off my own misery, but eventually, I have no choice but to dress for the special meeting of all the barons that the duchess has called.



As the church bells strike noon, Breton nobles, courtiers, barons, and the Privy Council file into the great hall. Duval takes special care to be certain that Gisors attends. “Let him read it as a gesture of goodwill, even if it is nothing of the kind,” he says.



I scan the faces of the gathered crowd. There is much gossip and speculation as to why this meeting has been called. Many glance at d’Albret, no doubt wondering if it has something to do with the betrothal he has been boasting about for the past two days.



The back door to the chamber opens and two men-at-arms stride in. The duchess comes next, followed by her Privy Council. The privy councilors are clearly disgruntled that such a meeting has been called without their approval. My gaze goes to Madame Dinan, whose face has an annoying air of smugness to it. Does she really think she has won? Can she know so little of the girl she helped to raise? Once again, Sister Beatriz’s words come back to me: People hear and see what they expect to hear and see.



Madam Dinan smiles at d’Albret and he smiles back. I am eager to see just how long those smiles hold.



The duchess takes her seat and motions for Duval to hand her the parchment. As she unrolls it, the room falls silent. I cannot help but admire her fortitude — it is not an easy thing to renounce a man in front of his peers.



“I, Anne of Brittany, do hereby declare that the betrothal agreement made between me and Count d’Albret is null and void, as I did sign it with no knowledge of the commitment I was making. while we appreciate the count’s valiant service during my father’s reign and continue to value him as an ally, I will not now nor ever enter into a marriage arrangement with Lord d’Albret.”



when she is finished, every head in the room turns to Lord d’Albret. His face is a deep, mottled red, his jaw clenched so tight I fear his teeth will snap. Next to him, Madame Dinan sways a little. Marshal Rieux surges to his feet and opens his mouth, but Chancellor Crunard puts a hand on his arm and holds him back with a small shake of his head.



Aware that everyone’s attention is on him, d’Albret makes a small, mocking bow to the duchess, then turns on his heel and strides away. The crowd parts before him like butter before a hot knife. Madame Dinan rises to her feet, lifts her skirts, and hurries after him, two bright spots of color burning in her normally pale cheeks. Moving as if in great pain, Anne rises to her feet and turns to leave the hall.



Chapter Thirty-seven



Two days after the duchess reads the edict against d’Albret, she, Duval, and I stand at her window and watch him ride away. He has so many retainers and attendants that it feels as if half the castle goes with him. I fear Sybella is among them. How else would she have been able to warn me of the trickery planned in the corridor?