There Isabeau stands. She wears a simple riding set—browned trousers and vest over a loose tunic. The one spot of color that’s anything other than earthen tones of brown, cream, and black is a cherry-hilted sword. It does not look ornamental.
“What do you mean there are no rooms to let?” the Duke of Maudite snaps.
Girard shrugs and lies, “No rooms. Too many soldiers in the village.”
Such deceitful behavior is foolhardy at best. As the Duke of Maudite, Isabeau could seize ownership of the Dancing Goose with nary a word from the crown. It is assumed, often wrongly, that the nobility has a higher moral code. Isabeau is a being of temper and impulse.
I barely finish the thought when Isabeau’s attention is on me like fire. Her eyes widen slightly as her gaze rakes over my trouser-covered legs. Her mouth softens into a smile that seems to relax her entire body visibly.
“Your Grace?” Rylan says, curtsying low when Isabeau looks her way. “Girard.” Rylan shoots a less-than-friendly look at him. “What appears to be the struggle?”
“No struggle.” Girard narrows his gaze at me. “I’ve got no rooms. She could bed down with her horse.”
“What are you thinking, Girard?” I ask him, trying to ignore the burning glances Isabeau aims at me. “There’s no need for this behavior. I told you she was—”
“Youthinkshe is.” Girard glares at me. “Is your thought proof? Is it mere conjecture? You cannot ask me to risk the safety of—”
“Girard.” To answer his half-spoken queries is to blurt out my theories, my secret, and far too much conjecture on monsters and curses. I can’t. Not now. Not here with my ex-lover and my sister.
“Gabrielle?” Isabeau asks.
“Patience, please?” I grit my teeth and force my temper into a pocket where I can address it later. Then I ask Girard, “Are you saying the duke cannot stay here?”
He pauses, weighing the question, before nodding. “I am loyal to you. I always will be. The Dancing Goose has no rooms for the cursed duke, however.”
Rylan exclaims, “How fortuitous! We were coming here to offer the hospitality of Fleuriste Manor to you, Your Grace.” A dangerous smile flashes over her face lightning quick. “My sister and I would be grateful for your company, as when we were younger.”
Girard’s arrogant expression fades a bit at that.
“Fleuriste Manor would be significantly more secure than a stable.” Isabeau glances at the sky briefly before she uncorks a vial that she pulls from her pocket. She drinks it, then repeats the gesture with a second vial.
What is she drinking? Is that the true reason she thinks she’s cursed?I exchange a look with Girard, who shrugs.
“Your Grace.” I step close enough that she pauses mid-drink. “I would like you to come home with me.”
Her hand lowers, and Girard knocks into me. I suspect it’s intentional because as I stumble, I find myself in Isabeau’s arms. In the process, she drops her partially empty vial.
Girard kicks it in a pile of horse dung. He gives me a wry look. “I never expected to watch you fall into her arms, Gabrielle. I certainly didn’t expect to be at fault for it.”
I straighten. “Thank you, Your Grace, for not letting me land in that.”
She looks at the vial as if she is considering scooping it up.
“I would have rather been the one to catch you, m’lady,” Girard adds.
“I am sorry,” I say lightly.
It’s enough, though. The duke’s eyes briefly dart to me and then to him, and I watch her come to a not untrue conclusion. Almost as if she cannot resist the impulse, she steps closer to me as she asks Girard, “What of my request of the Hunter? Have you delivered my letter?”
“Yes. Perhaps, though, you ought to consult theWächter,” he says, not unkindly. He turns away and grabs a pitchfork to scoop up the dung and vial.
Isabeau watches as he tosses it into a nearby pile.
“The Hunter cannot answer every letter,” Girard tells her.
“Men are dying.” Isabeau folds her arms. “Ineedthe Hunter. Give me the man’s location. I will speak with him directly.”
“That’s not the process, even if the letter is from a duke.” Girard glares at her again. “You wrote. You asked. What happens next isentirely the decision of the Hunter.”
