Dark Triumph

The old man looks up to the waiting charbo

And so it is settled.

We ride out at dawn’s light, accompanied by a full cadre of charbo

Not even d’Albret, with all his suspicion and distrust, would think to look for us here.

Chapter Twenty-Three

FOR ALL HIS EARLIER PROTESTS that he would be pummeled to pulp if he rode in a wagon, Beast sleeps the entire way to Re

The cathedral bells are ringing out the call to late-afternoon prayers as we approach the city gate. Although I do not know all of d’Albret’s men by sight, I study the sentries and everyone in the crowd at the city gates. I ignore the slouching of the peasant and the confident stride of the city guard; I stare past the clothes they wear and study their faces, for if I can don a disguise, so can they.

I ca

Beast point-blank refuses to be hauled into the city with a load of charcoal, so we pause long enough to get him up on a horse. A hum of urgency buzzes in my head like a swarm of gnats, and there is an itching between my shoulder blades that is nearly unbearable. Four men and much grunting later, the great lummox is astride his mount. Soon, I promise myself. Soon he will no longer be my responsibility but someone else’s—someone far more capable than I. The thought does not cheer me as much as it once did.

As our small group makes ready to approach the gates, I try not to fidget. We are heavily covered in black dust from the charcoal-burners and their wares, which aids our disguise somewhat, but nothing can disguise Beast’s size or bearing. “Slouch a bit,” I tell him.

He looks at me quizzically, but honors my request, bringing his shoulders forward and bowing his spine so that he slumps in his saddle. “Why?” he asks.

“You are difficult to hide, and the longer we keep your arrival secret, the better. It would be wise to prevent d’Albret and his forces from knowing we are in Re

And then we are at the gatehouse. Erwan informs the soldiers of his charcoal deliveries and is waved through. One of the soldiers eyes Beast warily, but the truth is, between the knight’s time on the road and his stay in the dungeon, not to mention the grievous injuries he still bears, it is not difficult for him to look like a giant simpleton.

I breathe a hearty sigh of relief once we are inside the city. Indeed, every one of my muscles seems to unclench now that there are twelve-foot-thick walls, twenty leagues, and an entire city garrison between us and d’Albret.

Much like my own mood, the city’s borders on jubilant, drunk on its own importance of being the duchess’s place of refuge, just as I am nearly drunk with the thrill of completing my mission. But there is caution here as well, in the way the people going about their business glance at newcomers, assessing.

We stay with the charcoal-burners as long as possible, passing by the ta

As he and I begin making our way toward the nicer part of town, I unwind the distinctive charbo

By the time we reach the palace, dusk is falling, and the sentries are just lighting the torches. It is not like Guérande, where people came and went as they pleased. The guards at the door speak with everyone who wishes to enter. “That’s new,” Beast says.

“At least someone has an eye toward the duchess’s safety.” It is one more barrier between d’Albret’s spies and the duchess, and it will give them pause if they must stop and present themselves. “However, the guards will likely not grant us an audience with the duchess when we look like this, at least not without a full explanation of who we are, and I do not wish to a

Beast pauses in wiping the charcoal dust from his face. “You don’t trust them?”

“It is more accurate to say that I don’t trust anyone. I wonder if Ismae is still assigned to the duchess. Perhaps I can get a message to her.”

Beast glances at the sentries. “I am not sure they would grant you an audience with Ismae even if she is here.”

I grimace, for he is most likely correct.

Beast thinks a moment, then reaches into some hidden pouch tucked on his person and removes something. “Here.” He hands me a small brooch—the silver oak leaves of Saint Camulos. “Ismae should recognize this, and if she does not, Captain Dunois will. As will the guards. They will honor any who carries this symbol.”

Holding the brooch tightly in my hand, I dismount, leaving him and Ya

I glance at the handful of pages lingering just inside the door. “I wish to get a message to one of the duchess’s attendants.”

The second sentry saunters over. “What business could you have with one of the duchess’s ladies in waiting?” he asks, as if the mere idea is some great jest.

I decide that a little mystery will aid my cause. “Ismae Rie

I do not know if it is the mention of Ismae or the sight of Beast’s silver oak leaves that catches the guard’s attention. Whichever it is, he takes the brooch, hands it to a page, and murmurs some instructions. When the boy scampers off, I saunter over to wait by the wall, trying to look important but harmless—a surprisingly difficult combination. After a few moments, the sentry decides I won’t dash in on my own, so relaxes his guard somewhat.

I rest my head against the stone and allow the sense of jubilation to flow through me. Beast is still alive and we are as safe here as anywhere in the entire kingdom. With the abbess tucked away at the convent on the other side of the country, she will not know that I have arrived in Re