Igniting Darkness Read online

  Contents

  * * *

  Title Page

  Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Map

  Dramatis Personae

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  Chapter 82

  Chapter 83

  Chapter 84

  Chapter 85

  Chapter 86

  Chapter 87

  Chapter 88

  Chapter 89

  Chapter 90

  Chapter 91

  Chapter 92

  Chapter 93

  Chapter 94

  Chapter 95

  Chapter 96

  Chapter 97

  Chapter 98

  Chapter 99

  Chapter 100

  Chapter 101

  Chapter 102

  Chapter 103

  Chapter 104

  Chapter 105

  Chapter 106

  Chapter 107

  Chapter 108

  Chapter 109

  Chapter 110

  Chapter 111

  Chapter 112

  Chapter 113

  Chapter 114

  Chapter 115

  Chapter 116

  Chapter 117

  Chapter 118

  Chapter 119

  Chapter 120

  Chapter 121

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  Sample Chapter from GRAVE MERCY

  Buy the Book

  Read More from the His Fair Assassin trilogy

  More Books from HMH Teen

  About the Author

  Connect with HMH on Social Media

  Copyright © 2020 by Robin LaFevers

  All rights reserved. For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to [email protected] or to Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company, 3 Park Avenue, 19th Floor, New York, New York 10016.

  hmhbooks.com

  Map by Cara Llewellyn

  Cover design by Whitney Leader-Picone

  Cover art © 2020 by Billelis

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: LaFevers, Robin, author.

  Title: Igniting darkness / by Robin LaFevers.

  Description: Boston : Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, [2020] | Sequel to: Courting darkness. | Audience: Ages 14 and up. | Audience: Grades 10–12. | Summary: Sybella locates her fellow assassin and novitiate of the convent of Saint Mortain, only to discover that Genevieve has made a lethal mistake, and there are far-reaching consequences for loved ones entangled in French court intrigues.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2019045857 (print) | LCCN 2019045858 (ebook) | ISBN 9780544991095 (hardcover) | ISBN 9780358335801 (ebook)

  Subjects: CYAC: Courts and courtiers—Fiction. | Kings, queens, rulers, etc.—Fiction. | France—History—Charles VIII, 1483–1498—Fiction.

  Classification: LCC PZ7.L14142 Ig 2020 (print) | LCC PZ7.L14142 (ebook) | DDC [Fic]—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019045857

  LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019045858

  v1.0720

  For Nysa and silver linings,

  without which this book would not have been written

  Dramatis Personae

  From the Convent of Saint Mortain, Patron Saint of Death

  Sybella d’Albret, Death’s daughter, lady in waiting to the queen

  Lady Genevieve, Death’s daughter, former lady in waiting to the countess of Angoulême

  Ismae Rienne, Death’s daughter, former lady in waiting to the duchess of Brittany

  Annith, handmaiden to Death, acting abbess of the convent

  Balthazaar, Annith’s consort

  Lady Margot, Death’s daughter, lady in waiting to the countess of Angoulême (deceased)

  The French Court

  Charles VIII, king of France

  Anne, queen of France, duchess of Brittany, countess of Nantes, Montfort, and Richmont

  Anne de Beaujeu, sister to the king, regent of France

  Pierre de Beaujeu, Duke of Bourbon, husband to Anne

  Louis, Duke of Orléans

  Simon de Fremin, a lawyer

  Seguin de Cassel, general in the king’s army

  Captain Stuart, captain of the king’s guard

  The Bishop of Albi

  The Bishop of Narbonne

  Father Effram, follower of Saint Salonius

  Count Charles Angoulême

  The Breton Court

  Gavriel Duval, a Breton noble, half brother to the queen

  Isabeau, Anne’s sister (deceased)

  Duke Francis II, Anne’s father (deceased)

  Breton Nobility

  Benebic de Waroch, “Beast,” knight of the realm, captain of the queen’s guard

  Viscount Maurice Crunard, former chancellor of Brittany

  Anton Crunard, last surviving son of the former chancellor

  Jean de Rohan, viscount of Rohan, lord of Léon and count of Porhoët, uncle to the queen

  Jean de Rieux, former marshal of Brittany

  Jean de Châlons, prince of Orange

  Philippe de Montauban, chancellor of Brittany

  Captain Dunois, captain of the Breton army (deceased)

  The d’Albret Family

  Alain d’Albret, lord of Albret, viscount of Tartas, second count of Graves (deceased)

  Sybella d’Albret, Death’s daughter, lady in waiting to the queen

  Pierre d’Albret, second son of Alain d’Albret, viscount of Périgord and Limoges

  Jul
ian d’Albret, third son of Alain d’Albret (deceased)

  Charlotte, daughter of Alain d’Albret

  Louise, youngest daughter of Alain d’Albret

  Followers of Saint Arduinna

  Aeva, Arduinnite, lady in waiting to the queen

  Tola, Arduinnite, lady in waiting to the queen

  Men-at-Arms

  Yannic, squire to Benebic de Waroch

  Lazare, charbonnerie, member of the queen’s guard

  Poulet, member of the queen’s guard

  Jaspar, a mercenary

  Valine, a mercenary

  Andry, a mercenary

  Tassin, a mercenary

  The Nine

  Mortain, god of death

  Dea Matrona, mother goddess

  Arduinna, goddess of love’s sharp bite, daughter of Matrona, twin sister of Amourna

  Amourna, goddess of love’s first blush, daughter of Matrona, twin sister of Arduinna

  Brigantia, goddess of knowledge and wisdom

  Camulos, god of battle and war

  Mer, goddess of the sea

  Salonius, god of mistakes

  Cissonius, god of travel and crossroads

   Prologue

  Maraud

  France 1490

  Maraud awoke to the sound of retching—a retching so violent his own stomach clenched into a fist and tried to punch its way out of his throat.

  That’s when he realized the retching noises were his.

  “That’s right, big guy. Let it all out.”

  A woman’s voice. “Lucinda?” he croaked.

  “What kind of fool asks for the woman who just tried to poison him?”

  He knew that voice.

  “A straw-headed fool, that’s who.”

  That one, too. Should be able to place them both. Saints! Why was he so disoriented? He cracked open an eye, only to find the world bobbing up and down, furthering his stomach’s revolt. He shut his eye again.

  “She didn’t poison him,” a third voice grunted.

  Tassin. The name came to him so easily he almost wept.

  “She most certainly did.” Andry.

  “Tassin’s right.” The woman again—Valine. “She wouldn’t save him, then poison him.”

  “I disagree.”

  Maraud considered it a major victory that he recognized Jaspar’s voice right away.

  “Maybe she wanted the pleasure of killing him herself. She would not be the first to do so.”

  As he tried to sit up, Valine said something, but her words were lost as he struggled to keep from puking up his liver.

  Hell. He was sitting up—more or less. On his horse. He shifted, which caused a tug around his middle. Not sitting on his horse. Tied.

  “Whoa, there!” Valine drew her mount close to his. “Not so sure that’s a good idea.”

  “I’m fine,” Maraud gritted out between clenched teeth, afraid if he opened his mouth too far, he’d spew all over her.

  “If you think you can stay in your saddle, I can untie you.”

  “In a minute.” He willed the world to stop swooping around like a drunken stable boy. “On second thought, leave it. This way I can doze off again if I need to.”

  Valine arched one dark brow in amusement, and a strange, strangled sound came from his right, like a goose stuck in a trumpet. He turned—slowly!—to find Tassin . . . laughing? Maraud hadn’t seen him laugh in—Christ. Had he ever seen him laugh?

  “So.” Andry got back to the business at hand. “Do we follow her?”

  Follow her. The woman who tried to poison him three times. And outright lied to his face ten times that. Not to mention she’d planned to trade him as if he were a pig at a fair.

  “No.” Lucinda made her bed, now she could lie in it. He put his heels to his horse’s flanks. A good bracing gallop should clear his head.

  Or cause him to dump the contents of his stomach. Only time would tell.

   Chapter 1

  Genevieve

  Plessis-lès-Tours

  France 1490

  Whether one is raised at a convent that serves Death or in a tavern room filled with whores, there is one lesson that always applies: There is no room for mistakes. The wrong amount of poison, the incorrect angle of the knife, poor aim, or a false gesture when pretending to be someone else can result in disaster, if not death.

  It was the same at the tavern where I spent my earliest years. How many of my aunts would have had other lives, but for one mistake? Some, like my mother, chose their path. But for others, it was too many years of poor harvests, or crossing the tanner’s guild, which was always looking for excuses to remove its female members. Being alone at the wrong moment, catching the eye of the wrong man might send one’s life skidding down the slope of destiny into a midden heap.

  Which is precisely where I have landed.

  The shadows in my darkened room loom large as I run my fingers along the silky edges of the crow feather. The good news is the convent did not abandon me. The bad news: They might, once they learn what I have done.

  And what will the king do with this knowledge of the convent I so foolishly handed him? He knew nothing about it until I spoke of its existence. Will his anger pass like a sudden summer shower, or will it fester and grow?

  Far off in the distance, a cock crows. Morning comes, but no answers with it. I have spent the night trying to convince myself that, after five years of their silence, I owe them nothing. But the sick shaking that has kept me awake all night tells me my heart believes something else.

  Which do I listen to?

  Once before, I did not listen to my heart. Come with us, Maraud said. We can help.

  Maraud. Even though he did not know what I was facing, he offered his help. His friendship. And so much more.

  I have stood at only five crossroads in my life, and of all of them, that is the one I regret the most. Not trusting Maraud and accepting that help. Indeed, I have ensured he will loathe me as much as the king does. My name will be a curse upon the convent’s lips and reviled for generations. Truly, the wreckage I have left in my wake is breathtaking.

  Thinking of Maraud is like rubbing my heart against broken glass, so I shove all thoughts of him aside. I must find a way to fix this—to unsay those words to the king. Or at the very least, convince him they are far less important than he thinks they are. But he may not ever call for me again or may decide to have me thrown into the dungeon.

  Something deep inside warns me that it is possible this cannot be fixed. Have I broken a piece of crockery that can be glued back together, or shattered a crystal goblet that is irreplaceable? As if in answer, the fine hairs at the nape of my neck lift in warning, and I realize I am not alone.

  I shift my hand toward the knife I keep under my pillow.

  “Good morning.” It is a woman’s voice, low and melodious. Surely someone sent by the convent to punish me would not use such a cheerful greeting.

  I peer into the shadows for the source of the voice.

  It laughs, a note of earthiness among the lilting sounds. “You do not need your knife for me, little sister. Did you not see the feather I left you?”

  Keeping the knife hidden in the folds of my gown, I sit up. “I saw a crow feather.” My words are as carefully measured as pennies from a beggar’s purse. “But crows are a most common bird.” The young woman—mayhap a year or two older than myself—sits in the room’s lone chair. Even though she is cast in shadow, it is clear that she is impossibly beautiful—the contours of her face so elegantly constructed that it borders on being a weapon in its own right. While I cannot see if she is smiling, I sense her amusement, all the same.

  “Who else would leave you such a thing?”

  I shrug one shoulder. “The French court is a complex and devious place, my lady. Messages can be intercepted and twisted to suit any number of intentions.”

  “You are wise to be cautious. But have no fear, I am well and truly convent sent—and your sister, besides.”

&n
bsp; My sister. The words throw me off balance as surely as a well-placed kick. This woman. Margot. All of us at the convent are sisters. And I have betrayed them.

  They betrayed me first.

  I shove my hair out of my face. “If that is the case, if you are well and truly my sister . . .” Weeks—nay, months—of anger swell up, as unstoppable as the tide. “Then I have to ask, what in the rutting hell took you so long?”

  She blinks, the only hint this might not be the greeting she was expecting. “You only just arrived, what, three—four—days ago?”

  Heat rises in my gorge, making my words harsh. “I’m not talking about the last three days. I’ve been waiting for five years.”

  A flash of vexation distorts her face, but her voice remains calm. “The convent has been in disarray these last few months. No one was aware you had been removed from the regent’s household.”

  The words dangle like bait. I want to believe them, but to do so means that I fell into a trap of Count Angoulême’s making. “Surely they knew of my change in residence, else why was my patron receiving letters of instructions regarding me?”

  The woman grimaces—the grimace giving me more hope than any words she has spoken. “There have been many changes at the convent. The details of your and Margot’s location were missing.”

  Missing. “We were not a pair of boots or a prayer book to be lost. We were two young girls left with no means of communication, no direction nor orders, nothing for nearly a third of our lives.”

  Her earlier warmth cools somewhat. “We have been rather distracted by France’s invasion, the warring amongst the duchess’s betrothed, and the matter of securing both her and our country’s safety,” she says dryly. “Surely the nature of your assignment was explained to you?”

  “That was no assignment, but abandonment. We assumed you’d forgotten about us.”

  “You could certainly be forgiven for thinking that.”

  I don’t want compassion, but answers. No, what I truly want is to slog back through time and unsay the words I spoke to the king. To undo my grievous mistake. But since she cannot give me that, answers I shall have. “Had you forgotten about us?”

  She studies me, weighing how much to say. For all of her sympathetic manner, I must not underestimate this woman.