Dark Triumph - LaFevers Robin (лучшие книги онлайн TXT) 📗
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When Sybella arrived at the doorstep of St Mortain half mad with grief and despair the convent were only too happy to offer her refuge - but at a price. The sisters of this convent serve Death, and with Sybella naturally skilled in both the arts of death and seduction, she could become one of their most dangerous weapons.
But her assassin's skills are little comfort when the convent returns her to the life that nearly drove her mad. Her father's rage and brutality are terrifying, and her brother's love is equally monstrous. But when Sybella discovers an unexpected ally she discovers that a daughter of Death may find something other than vengeance to live for...
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Table of Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Map
Dramatis Personae
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Author’s Note
Coming in Spring 2014
His Fair Assassin trilogy
About the Author
Copyright © 2013 by Robin LaFevers
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, except in the case of historical figures and events, which are used fictitiously.
To my own patron saints:
Nancy Warner,
for patching me back together time and again
so I could leap once more into the fray;
Erin Murphy,
who sometimes saw this story more clearly than I did;
Kate O’Sullivan,
for her unwavering support and enthusiasm;
and Mary Hershey,
for creating a safe place
where we could have all the hard and scary conversations.
Dramatis Personae
LADY SYBELLA, handmaiden to Death
ISMAE RIENNE, handmaiden to Death
ANNITH, a novitiate of Mortain
ABBESS OF SAINT MORTAIN
ALAIN D’ALBRET, a Breton noble with extensive holdings in France
PIERRE D’ALBRET, his son
JULIAN D’ALBRET, his son
CHARLOTTE D’ALBRET, his ten-year-old daughter
LOUISE D’ALBRET, his seven-year-old daughter
BERTRAND DE LUR, captain of d’Albret’s guard
JAMETTE DE LUR, his daughter
TEPHANIE, lady in waiting to Lady Sybella
MADAME FRANCOISE DINAN, the duchess’s former governess
JEAN RIEUX, marshal of Brittany and the duchess’s former tutor
TILDE, a maid
ODETTE, her younger sister
BARON JULLIERS, a Breton noble
BARON VIENNE, a Breton noble
BARON IVES MATHURIN, a Breton noble
BENEBIC DE WAROCH, the Beast of Waroch and a knight of the realm
YANNIC, the jailor
GUION, a Breton farmer
BETTE, his wife
JACQUES, their son
ANTON, their son
The Charbonnerie:
ERWAN, their leader
GRAELON, a charbonnerie man
LAZARE, a charbonnerie man
WINNOG, a charbonnerie youth
MALINA, a charbonnerie woman
The Breton Court and Nobility
ANNE, Duchess of Brittany, Countess of Nantes, Montfort, and Richmont
ISABEAU, her sister
DUKE FRANCIS II (Anne’s father, deceased)
GAVRIEL DUVAL, a Breton noble
JEAN DE CHALON, Prince of Orange
MICHAULT THABOR, commander of the Rennes city guard
CAPTAIN DUNOIS, captain of the Breton army
PHILLIPE MONTAUBAN, chancellor of Brittany
BISHOP OF RENNES
CHARLES VIII, king of France
ANNE DE BEAUJEU, regent of France
MAXIMILIAN OF AUSTRIA, the Holy Roman emperor, one of Anne’s suitors
SIR DE BROSSE, man-at-arms
SIR LORRIL, man-at-arms
SIR LANNION, man-at-arms
SIR GAULTIER, man-at-arms
ABBESS OF ST. MER
SAMSON, a blacksmith’s son
CLAUDE, a woodcutter’s son
Chapter One
N
ANTES
, B
RITTANY
, 1489
I DID NOT ARRIVE AT the convent of Saint Mortain some green stripling. By the time I was sent there, my death count numbered three, and I had had two lovers besides. Even so, there were some things they were able to teach me: Sister Serafina, the art of poison; Sister Thomine, how to wield a blade; and Sister Arnette, where best to strike with it, laying out all the vulnerable points on a man’s body like an astronomer charting the stars.
If only they had taught me how to watch innocents die as well as they taught me how to kill, I would be far better prepared for this nightmare into which I’ve been thrust.
I pause at the foot of the winding steps to see if I am being watched. The scullery woman scrubbing the marble hall, the sleepy page dozing against the doorway—either one of them could be a spy. Even if neither has been assigned to watch me, someone is always willing to tattle in the hopes of earning a few crumbs of favor.
Caution prevails and I decide to use the south stairs, then double back through the lower hall to approach the north tower from that side. I am very careful to step precisely where the maid has just washed, and I hear her mutter a curse under her breath. Good. Now I can be certain she has seen me and will not forget if she is questioned.
In the lower hall, there are few servants about. Those who have not been driven out are busy with their duties or have gone to ground like wise, clever rats.
When at last I reach the north wing of the palace, it is empty. Quickening my pace, I hurry toward the north tower, but I am so busy looking behind me that I nearly stumble over a small figure sitting at the base of the stairs.
I bite back an oath of annoyance and glare down to see it is a child. A young girl. “What are you doing here?” I snap. My nerves are already tightly strung, and this new worry does them little good. “Where is your mother?”
The girl looks up at me with eyes like damp violets, and true fear clutches at my gut. Has no one thought to warn her how dangerous it is for a pretty child to wander these halls alone? I want to reach down and shake her—shake her mother—and shout at her that she is not safe, not on these steps, not in this castle. I force myself to take a deep breath instead.
“Mama is dead.” The child’s voice is high and quivery.
I glance to the stairs, where my first duty lies, but I cannot leave this child here. “What is your name?”
“Odette,” she says, uncertain whether to be frightened of me or not.
“Well, Odette, this is no place to play. Have you no one to look after you?”
“My sister. But when she is working, I am to hide like a little mouse.”
At least her sister is no fool. “But this is not a good place to hide, is it? Look how easily I found you!”
For the first time, the girl gives me a shy smile, and in that moment, she reminds me so much of my youngest sister, Louise, that I cannot breathe. Thinking quickly, I take her hand and lead her back to the main hallway.
