Her brother said, “You’ll be crushed, damn you, howcameyou here?”
“Come with me,” she whispered, and gripped hard onto his armored hand. What greater echo on that field than that between her and the lady of France, whose shared circumstances would have made them closer than kin were they not implacable enemies?
She and Henri stepped out of the shadows into a knot of people. Marguerite of France was watching the chaos unfold, surrounded by her guard. Beside her, Julien Moreau had his arms outstretched, his mirror in his hand, laughing, pointing, showing the world how a man could take a city and conquer a realm singlehanded. Anne’s eyes met Marguerite’s.
Henri didn’t hesitate. One step, a two-handed swing.
Moreau whirled a second before it would have cleaved his head from his body, and his eyes flickered from the mirror to the man. Henri’s sword became a child’s wooden sword, an absurd thing in Henri’s big, mailed hand. The sudden change of weight threw him wholly off balance, for he took a second step, stumbling. No one saw him take a third. For he was simply—not there.
Anne made no sound, so shocked was she.
Julien, chest heaving, said to her, “This is your last chance. Accept my suit, yield to my will, and I will save your city and your realm. Otherwise—”
And then he stopped. Stopped with his mouth open and his eyes wide, and turned in the direction Anne was staring. Marguerite of France stood with blood on her hands and streaked across one cheek. A dagger in her hands. She had knifed Moreau.
Moreau’s mouth opened.“Seize him,”snarled Marguerite to her horrified guards, but a moment too late. Moreau had not dropped his mirror; his side was a spreading mass of blood, but he took a single step and disappeared into an impossible light.
Anne must disappear too. She threw herself forward. Too late.
Cold, armored hands closed on her shoulders and her wrists, and they did not let her go. Marguerite’s voice was saying, “We have the duchess, and the army is in the city. Let us go now. There is much to do before Maximilien of Austria arrives.”
Chapter
29
Isabeau had been separated fromher guard when they panicked at the duchess’s disappearance, and suddenly Elesbed found herself in a terrified crowd, high in the rickety stands, holding tight to a frightened Isabeau’s hand. Isabeau was brave, but she had never been outside the watchful protection of her family. She could not squirm away unnoticed the way Elesbed could. She looked like a princess and she was dressed like a princess. She could hardly run in her layers of silk. Elesbed saw the wild fist coming at Isabeau blindly, moved to take it herself, feeling her eye start to swell shut. Whoever had struck her didn’t even know they were there.
She didn’t know what was happening. She didn’t know where was safe. They had to hide and then see. It was a big jump down from this part of the stands, but the moat was there to catch them. “We can cross the moat,” said Elesbed. “Hide in the shadow of the wall. We can’t stay here.”
Isabeau said, panting, “I can’t swim, I’ll sink.” Already her dress was torn.
“It’s too shallow to sink,” Elesbed said. “Someone is going to try to capture you unless we get out of sight.” She didn’t trust that this unnatural dark rain would last, and it was the only thing half-hiding them.
Isabeau set her jaw, obviously nerving herself to do it, but as she hesitated, the darkness parted like bed-curtains and Elesbed saw someone notice them, squinting through lingering shadows. “Jump!” she cried, and Isabeau did, and Elesbed right after.
Isabeau almost did drown, for her skirts got heavier in water than ever Elesbed could have imagined. She floundered frantically, until Elesbed untied her sleeves and her overskirt and pushed them off so they could scramble onto the bank in the shadow of the wall. They were both soaked and already beginning to shiver. The darkness had leached all the heat from the day. Isabeau’s hair clung to her face, but she’d taken off her crespine herself and mussed the elaborate plaits of her hair. Elesbed was already unlacing her dress. “Take mine, you can’t go about in just a chemise,” she said.
“What about you?” demanded Isabeau.
Elesbed said, “No one cares whatI’mwearing.”
Without a word, Isabeau let Elesbed help her put the dress on, and tie a mud-daubed kerchief over her hair—so dirty that no one could see its quality, or the complexity of Isabeau’s plaits beneath.
Elesbed, who knew how to hide, pulled them both into the deepest shadow beneath the drawbridge and wondered what in Heaven to do.
“We have to get back into the city!” said Isabeau. “We have to find my sister!”
“We can’t go right now,” said Elesbed, listening hard. It sounded like when the brigands came to the farm; shouting and clashing. “Someone will trample us or grab us or do something terrible to us. At night, maybe. When we can hide better. Or someone will be looking for you.”
Isabeau bit her lip, listened uncertainly to the rising noise. “Very well. We’ll just wait.”
Elesbed didn’t know how long they sat there, huddled together. Then Isabeau gripped Elesbed’s arm tightly. “What?” whispered Elesbed.
“Look,” said Isabeau. “That is the duke of Orléans riding there. And—” She faltered. “And that is the king of France next to him. Justriding up to the gates—” Isabeau was biting her knuckle. “What is happening? Do you think Orléans is a traitor?”
Elesbed wasn’t sure what difference it made. Orléans wouldn’t hurt them, and there were plenty of people in that screaming city who would. “We must go to him! He can take you safe to your sister.”
Isabeau was shaking her head hard. “No, he’s with the king of France. I’ll be his captive, and they’ll hold me to make my sister do what they want.”
