Dark Triumph (His Fair Assassin #2)(27)
Author: Robin LaFevers

Clinging to the wall like a shadow, I move into position behind the first guard. I must kill him—I cannot risk them raising the alarm and I have no idea how long the sleeping draft will last or how deeply the others sleep.

I remind myself that these deaths are necessary. There is no way we can get the knight past the sentries, and if they are d’Albret’s men, they are no doubt guilty of some terrible crime.

The weakest link in my plan is killing the first guard without alerting the second guard to my presence. Speed and stealth are my greatest weapons, for if the second guard sees me, there is a good chance he will call out a warning before I can silence him.

One thing at a time, I remind myself, then slip silently out of my hiding place. I take the cord from my waist and wrap it around my fists as I creep toward the first sentry, looping it once, twice, to be sure it will not slip. When I am directly behind him, I make my move. Sensing me, the guard starts to turn my way, but I step up, quickly slip the cord around his neck, and yank with all my might.

The man jerks in surprise, his weapon clattering to the ground as he scrabbles for the rope at his throat. I pull harder and drive my knee into his back for leverage, dodging his elbow as it tries to connect with my ribs.

But the clatter of his weapon has called the second guard’s attention. His eyes widen when he sees me and his hand goes for his sword as he takes a step forward. I swear, for the first man is still struggling and taking far too long to die. I cannot even let go to reach one of my throwing knives and defend myself. The alerted sentry draws his sword and rushes toward me. I put the dying guard between us to afford myself some protection. There is a small thud, and the attacking guard stiffens in his track, then keels over like a felled tree. I glance up to see the gargoyle, a sling dangling from his right hand and a look of satisfaction on his twisted little face. Just then, my victim finally slumps into death. I do my best to block my mind to his soul as it slithers from his body, and I release the cord from his neck.

The jailor gives me a nod as if to say You’re welcome—even though I have not said thank you—then motions for me to get moving, as if it is he who is leading this rescue.

I tamp down my irritation, and we both hurry back to where the knight leans against the wall. His eyes are closed, and his face is bleached white by his efforts to get this far. I cannot tell if his battle fever has left him or if it still simmers quietly in his veins. Pray Mortain the latter, else we will never get him across the bridge.

Even so, now that his mind is no longer clouded, it is the best time to give him my message. “Listen to me, for this is important. When you get to Rennes, you must get word to the duchess. D’Albret has men inside the city’s walls, men who will open the gates to him when the time comes. Can you remember to tell her that?”

Merde! I cannot tell if he nods in agreement or if his head is simply lolling to the side. Frustrated, I turn to the gargoyle. “Did you get all that?” He nods and I sigh. It will have to do.

I adjust the massive arm around my shoulders, then begin the long torturous journey across the courtyard. At the bridge, the knight pulls his arm off me and uses the side of the bridge as a crutch. I do not argue with him but instead slip ahead to be sure the promised cart is there and to give the driver his instructions and the rest of the payment he was promised.

At first I do not see the wagon, and my heart jolts in dismay, for we cannot coax this man much farther. But when I look again, there it is, tucked deep in the shadows against the city wall, two decrepit-looking mules dozing in their harness. The driver, however, is missing. He must have decided that half the promised payment was better than the entire amount, for at least he’d live long enough to spend it.

I turn back to see the men’s progress across the bridge, but they have paused midway. Do they not realize how closely we have shaved this? We do not have time to stop and admire the scenery. I glance back at the palace windows and see that the light is out in Madame Dinan’s chamber, and renewed urgency fills me. I must get there soon, while he is still tangled in her sheets and distracted.

I rush back to the others. “Hurry! We need to get to the cart before we are seen. New sentries could arrive any moment.”

The jailor looks up at me with his sad little face and shakes his head. He does not think his prisoner can take another step. I glare at him, wishing he would speak so he could be the one to cajole this knight forward. I had not thought it possible to hate myself more than I already did, but the vile things I have called this tortured knight have proven me wrong. “Wake up, you. How dare you sleep while your duchess is in danger?” His eyelids flicker, but that is all. True worry sets in and I must use the most cruel weapon in my arsenal. “They are closing in on her, those men. D’Albret’s men. Do you know what they say about d’Albret? How he treats his women?”

The jailor motions to me—to my face. There is a softness in his gaze that I do not understand. He motions again and I put my hand up to my cheek. It is wet. I glare at him as I scrub the dampness away. “If you cannot be bothered to bestir yourself on her behalf, he will maul her with his rough, hairy hands, violate her flesh—”

With a roar that startles a bray from one of the waiting donkeys, the knight pushes himself from the wall and lurches forward. The little jailor tries to steer his lumbering charge to the cart, but the knight resists, instead lunging toward me. Startled, I look up and our eyes meet. His are a pale, silver blue, I realize, just before his fist connects with my jaw and everything goes black.

Chapter Fifteen

I SLOWLY BECOME AWARE THAT I am dreaming, for I feel as safe and snug as a babe in a cradle. Or perhaps a babe in a boat, bobbing in the sea.

A very bumpy sea, I amend, as a jarring thud rattles my entire body. I try to open my eyes, but it is as if they’ve been sewn shut. When I finally wrench them open, all I can see is a dark sky filled with fading stars.

Where in the names of the Nine Saints am I?

I try to think, shuffling back through my memories like a banker though stacks of coin. The knight. I was getting him to the cart and then . . . what? Filled with a trickle of foreboding, I struggle to sit up. The movement has my stomach roiling like a nest of eels. Just in time, I lean over the side and retch miserably.

When I have finished with that, the throbbing in my head lessens enough that I can begin to make sense of my surroundings. A strong smell of manure fills my nose, making me think of retching again, and I see a jaunty yellow flag flapping in the night breeze.