Dark Triumph (His Fair Assassin #2)(85)
Author: Robin LaFevers

Chapter Forty-Five

I REMEMBER THE SCREAMING…

It was as if someone opened her mouth and all the anguish of hell came pouring out. It wasn’t until my father clouted me across the face—hard—that the sound stopped and I realized it was me.

And blood. I remember the blood. It was as if the bed had been dipped in a wide swath of dark crimson.

That has been all that I could remember of that day. But now, it all comes rushing back, a great black tide of despair and heartbreak.

My baby. Child of my womb. I have few memories of her, but they too have been locked behind this door.

“She stopped crying the moment they placed her in my arms. I remember her tiny hands, the even tinier fingernails, as she clutched my thumb in a surprisingly strong grip.” Her pink rosebud lips rooted around, eager to suckle and draw the warmth of mother’s milk into her tiny body.

We had but a hand span of moments together, my babe and I.

“I do not know how—from some unearthly power?—d’Albret heard her birthing cry and made his way to my chamber door. I looked up at his glowering form and bristling black beard and knew that if he let me keep this babe, I would do anything he asked of me. But even as I opened my mouth to tell him that, to give him my complete and unconditional surrender, he strode forward and grabbed the babe from my breast.

“She was so small, he could fit her head in one hand and it terrified me how carelessly he held her, but I said nothing for fear of antagonizing him. He carried her to the window, where he examined her small, dainty features in the light. I held my breath, hoping he was as bewitched by her perfect rosebud lips, her tiny little nose, and her dark blue eyes as I was.

“He lifted his eyes from the babe and turned them on me. ‘I had hoped the whelp was Julian’s.’

“In that moment, I saw what he meant to do. I struggled to get out of bed. ‘Stop him!’ I cried, but of course, none of the servants would dare cross him.” I look up into Beast’s stricken face. “Only Alyse. She was the only one who moved to save my baby. She threw herself at him, trying to grab the baby from his hands, but he struck her, knocking her to the ground, where she hit her head on the leg of the heavy wooden chair. I did not know until days later that she had died from the blow.

“Then he put his thick fingers around my baby’s frail neck and broke it. When he was done, he tossed the baby to the floor, and left the room.”

That was when the screaming started. And the blood, although I did not learn until later that it was my own birthing blood.

“After that, I remember very little. Strong, gentle hands pushing me back upon the bed. A sweet, bitter syrup being spooned down my throat. And then darkness. Blessed, blessed darkness. With not a drop of crimson in sight.

“I learned afterward that my father rode away two days later. That is what most likely saved my life, for old Nonne would never have taken the risks she did if my father were nearby. But he left me to the indifferent care of Madame Dinan, and she was not concerned that I would not rouse myself from my bed, nor eat a bite. But old Nonne was. She clucked and badgered, poked and scolded, trying so hard to coax me back to the land of the living that I thought I would go mad with it.”

Mayhap I did.

“Was it madness that possessed me to slip into the stable one night, take a thick, stout rope from a hook, and knot it firmly around my neck? Was it madness that caused me to jump from the hayloft, hoping to end my life?

“I say it was courage. I said it then and I say it now. I had found the courage to rid the world of at least one of the dark, twisted d’Albrets, for if I was my father’s daughter, then I was every bit the abomination he was, and I deserved death just as much as he did. If I could not kill him, I could at least rid the world of my own tainted presence.

“But it was not a long enough fall to break my neck, and as I lay dangling, wondering how long it would take me to die, old Nonne found me and cut me down.

“‘Go away,’ I told her. She could not stop me. I knew where there was more rope and I would devise a longer drop on my next attempt. There was nothing she could do to stop me, or so I thought. Until she spoke.

“‘He is not your father.’ Her words caused everything inside me to grow still, and for the first time in many days, a small bit of the despair lifted.

“She told me of my birth then, how I was my mother’s last chance to bear a son. Her first child—a daughter—was stillborn. But my mother outsmarted d’Albret, for while giving birth to me, she left with Death, her lover.

“I tried to follow them, and I came from the womb cold and blue, the birth cord wrapped twice around my neck, but Death rejected me. So old Nonne rubbed my limbs and blew into my mouth, trying to force some spark of life back into my cold, limp body. It eventually worked.”

“Is she the one who took you to the convent of Saint Mortain?” Beast asks. Somehow I am in his arms, standing with my back against his chest.

“Yes,” I say. “That is when I was sent to the convent. I was wild at first; I do not blame the nuns for being exasperated. But eventually, I grew calmer and came to believe that I had found sanctuary there. That I would have a purpose, a place where my dark talents could be put to good use. And they were, at first. I killed several traitors before they could betray us to the French. But then . . .” Here my voice falters, for the truth is, I still cannot believe it happened. “The abbess sent me back into d’Albret’s household. She said his aid—or lack thereof—had the power to turn the tides of the war, and I needed to be in place there to keep them apprised of d’Albret’s intentions.”

Beast says nothing, but his arms tighten around me, as if he would keep me safe even across the strands of time. “I argued with her. I fought. I begged and pleaded, but her mind and her heart were set. And then she dangled the one lure in front of me that she knew I would grasp for: she was certain Mortain would marque the count so that I could kill him. She even claimed Sister Vereda had Seen it. That is why I went, but it turned out that it was but another lie she told me.”

“Who was the babe’s father?” Beast asks.

“Josse, the blacksmith’s boy. Alyse tried to help us run away. She helped us plan and prepare, even thought up the excuses she would give when I did not show up for days. But d’Albret found out anyway.” I did not love Josse, but loved the freedom he offered me.

It was Julian who betrayed us to d’Albret.