Dark Triumph

Chapter Thirty-Two

HAVING FOUND A WAY TO turn my d’Albret heritage to a good purpose, I am riding high on the thrill of the night’s success, for there is no one else in the entire city that could ferret out these men. Only me.

It is hard to trust that Captain Dunois’s and Commander Thabor’s men will watch these traitors closely now that they’ve been identified, but I ca

I reach my chamber and am surprised but pleased to find Ismae waiting for me. I am less thrilled to see that the abbess is also waiting, her proud profile limned in light from the chamber’s hearth. As I come fully into the room, her head turns, like a hawk that has sighted prey. “Well?” she asks sharply.

I refuse to let her rob me of this night’s victory. “Good evening to you too, Reverend Mother.”

Her nostrils flare, but she ignores my gibe. “How did it go?”

“Very well. We found four of d’Albret’s men. Commander Thabor put a guard on each of them so that they will be closely followed and watched, their every movement reported, but none the wiser that we are on to them.”

The abbess nods her head but does not give me the word of praise that I crave, and it galls me mightily that I crave it. Instead, she says, “Best get some sleep so you will have your wits about you at tomorrow’s council meeting.”

Not trusting my voice, I dip my head and curtsy. Sensing the irony in my gesture, she sniffs then strides out of the room, closing the door behind her. When Ismae and I are alone, she turns to me with a look of mixed a

“Me? It is she who taunts me. Not even a word of praise or thanks does she send my way.”

Ismae frowns and shakes her head. “It is true that she has always withheld any such praise or commendation of you. I wonder why.”

“Because she is a sow at heart?” I suggest, lifting my hands to take the dirty linen coif from my head.

Ismae’s mouth twitches in humor. “That must be it. Here. Let me help you.” She hurries to my side and removes the headdress, then unlaces the gown. As I step out of the rough homespun dress, I am surprised to hear myself say, “Truly, Ismae. Why does the abbess hate me?” My voice sounds young and vulnerable to my ears, so I laugh mockingly. “It has always been so and I have yet to understand it.” We clashed at the convent, but I had simply thought that was because I was her most difficult pupil and tried her patience. However, here in Re

Ismae shakes her head. “I do not know. A

“It is probably in that accursed little book she carries with her always.”

“It is probably not even written down, merely some dislike that has nothing to do with anything but her own prejudices.”

“Have you heard from A

“Yes! I received a letter from her this morning.” Ismae takes a step closer to me and lowers her voice. “Sybella, she is pla

“Escape?” I echo, not sure I’ve heard correctly. The A

“Escape.” Ismae nods firmly. “She has decided she would rather leave than be locked up in the convent for the rest of her life.”

“They will go after her, you know. They will not just let her leave when they have invested so much in her training. Plus, who will they get to take her place? The next oldest novitiate is eleven-year-old Aveline.”

Ismae cocks her head, reminding me very much of A

“True enough. But where will she go? And who will see Mortain’s wishes and report them to us?”

Ismae opens her mouth, then closes it. “I had not thought about that,” she admits. “It is possible she will join us here in Re

“And run smack into the abbess herself?”

Ismae scowls. “I wish the reverend mother would go back to the convent already. I am tired of living under her critical gaze.”

“You do not have to tell me how tiresome she is.”

Ismae smiles, but there is little humor in it. “No, I do not. Now, come, let me wash the ashes out of your hair, else you’ll ruin the linens.”

I spend the next two nights scouring the city with Thabor’s men, searching in every nook and cra

My nighttime activities have the added benefit of keeping me away from Beast and the abbess’s politics, for I must sleep during the day in order to perform this task that is so critical to the city’s—to the duchess’s—safety.

There is also great pleasure in being viewed as the hero of the quest—a role with which I am wholly unfamiliar.

On the third morning, my sauciness toward the abbess is repaid with a summons to her chamber that comes far too early. I stumble out of bed, bleary-eyed and thick-headed, and make myself ready as quickly as I can.

When I am washed and dressed and certain that no hair is out of place, I make my way to her chamber. Outside her door, I pause to take a deep breath and smooth my gown. I remind myself that I am not a green novitiate in the convent being called into the office for some minor i

For they were i

That realization—that I was damaged and broken when I first met her and deserving of her sympathy, rather than her harsh judgment—fills me with a righteous anger that is completely strange to me. I raise my hand and knock on the door.

“Come in,” the abbess calls out.

I lift my chin, plant a mocking smile on my lips, then enter the room.

The abbess is retrieving a note from a crow that has just arrived. She does not look up as I enter or acknowledge my presence in any way. It is a tactic I remember well from the convent, one calculated to increase the visitor’s unease. However, her small torments are nothing compared to all I have been through in the last several months, and my mocking smile turns into one of genuine amusement.

Instead of waiting patiently—or nervously—I cross to the lone window that overlooks the i

Seconds later there is an impatient rustle of paper, then the abbess speaks. “Sybella.”

Slowly I turn around and face her, the bright light coming in from the window behind me forcing her to blink. “Yes, Reverend Mother?”