Dark Triumph (His Fair Assassin #2)(87)
Author: Robin LaFevers

No. That is not true. For I am utterly transformed by His presence. All the fear and doubt and shame has been stripped away, like dead leaves in a winter storm. Only the clean, strong branches remain.

I know now why d’Albret bore no marque, and I also know why he has not yet died. Even better, I now possess something I never had before: faith. Faith in myself, faith in Mortain. But most of all, faith in love. Hate cannot be fought with hate. Evil cannot be conquered by darkness. Only love has the power to conquer them both.

With the strength of that love flowing strong within me, we make ready to go rescue my sisters.

Chapter Forty-Six

WE RIDE HARD FOR NANTES, stopping only when it is so dark we cannot see the road in front of us, then start again as soon as there is light enough to continue. Beast brings Yannic and Lazare and two of his men-at-arms. There is little time for talking, and we collapse bone tired into our bedrolls each night and fall into a dreamless sleep.

When we draw near Rennes, Beast dispatches the two men-at-arms with messages for Duval and the duchess. As we turn and head south, I wonder if this was my destiny all along, to face d’Albret with Beast at my side, for surely it will take the power of our two gods to bring him down. Or—I glance at the silent Lazare, whose rouncey struggles to keep up with our stronger horses—two gods and the Dark Mother Herself.

By the time we draw near Nantes, we have a plan firmly in place. The desire to ride off straightaway and storm through the gates of the city to the palace is nearly overwhelming. But we will have no prayer of success if we face d’Albret in our current exhausted state. Indeed, we barely have a prayer of success if we are rested and fully prepared, so we stop at the abandoned hunting lodge, the very one where this journey first began, hoping that it is still abandoned.

“Empty,” Beast says when he returns. “It does not look like anyone has been here since we left.”

That is all the rest of us need to hear. We put our heels to our horses’ flanks and head for the stable. They hardly need any steering, for they are as exhausted as we and go eagerly to the scent of hay and the promise of rest.

For all my exhaustion, I cannot sleep. I toss and turn, causing the bed ropes to creak in protest. I can think only of the morrow and getting my sisters to safety. I wonder where they are being kept and who is guarding them. Hopefully, they are in one of the palace’s many chambers rather than in the dungeon, for Louise’s health will quickly fail if she is kept in such a foul, damp place. And while d’Albret might not care for her, he would not want to lose a bargaining piece in this game he plays.

The desire to leave now is so overpowering I fear I will have to tie myself to the bed. To wait here all alone for morning when I can finally act is agony.

But you are not alone, a small voice whispers inside my heart. A great, giant-sized love waits in the next room.

Suddenly, I wish to drown myself in that love, don it like a shield or a suit of armor to keep my doubts at bay. Without stopping to think, I throw aside the covers, get to my feet, and step out into the hall.

When I pause at the door, my doubts catch up to me. Will he think me wanton or depraved? Surely not, for he has learned every horrible secret I possess and has not flinched. It is impossible not to be humbled by the sheer immensity of that gift.

I knock once on the door, then open it.

The room is dark but for a trickle of moonlight coming in from the window onto the bed. At my entrance, Beast starts to reach for his sword, then stops. “Sybella?”

I shut the door softly behind me. “I have slept with five men, not dozens. Three because I had to, one because I thought he could save me, and the fifth so I could get close enough to kill him.”

He says nothing, but watches my fingers as they unlace my chemise.

“I have never lain with a man out of love.” I meet his gaze steadily. “I would like to do so at least once before I die.”

“You love me?”

“Yes, you great lummox. I love you.”

He lets out a sigh. “Sweet Camulos! It’s about time.”

I cannot help it. I laugh. “What do you mean?”

“I have loved you since you first slapped that vile mud on my leg and ordered me to heal.”

“As far back as that?”

“I was too stupid to know it, but yes.”

“When did you realize you felt that way?” I am embarrassed to ask such a pitiable question, but I yearn to know.

He tilts his head in thought. “When the abbess announced you were d’Albret’s daughter.”

I gape. “That is when you decided you loved me?”

He lifts his hands, as if in surrender. “There was no deciding about it. It was just there. A great, unlooked-for complication. It is why I grew so angry, thinking the gods were having a rich jape at my expense.” He shakes his head in disbelief.

“So does that mean you will lie with me?” My voice sounds far more vulnerable than seductive.

He swings his legs over the side of the bed, his face growing serious. “Sybella, with all that you have endured at the hands of men, you do not have to do this. You do not have to give your body to earn my love. It is already yours.”

“I know,” I whisper. “But I would go to my death having truly loved at least once.”

He rises to his feet and crosses the short distance between us. I always forget how much he towers over me. Most likely because I never look upon him with fear. His hand comes up to smooth the hair back from my face, as if he would see it—me—more clearly. That simple gesture makes me feel more exposed than standing here in naught but my shift.

“I want you to be with me for the right reasons. Not because you feel you must or because you fear we will die, but because you want it with your heart and your body.”

I stare into his eyes—eyes that are only part human, just as I feel only partly human. If ever there was a man who could understand—and accept—the darkness in me, it is Beast. “Who better to entrust both to than the mighty Beast of Waroch?”

He pulls me closer, his gaze drifting down to my lips. I am surrounded by the heat from his body, can feel his heart thundering in his chest. He lowers his head until our lips are almost touching. When he hesitates, I rise up on my toes to close the distance between us and press my lips to his. Our kiss is sweet and raw and full of hunger. My hunger. His hunger. A hunger born of two lifetimes.

It is also full of rightness. Such blessed rightness. No dark ribbon of shame unfurls inside me. No voice screams No inside my head. I do not have to close my eyes and pretend I am a hundred leagues away.