Igniting Darkness by Robin LaFevers (Courting Darkness Duology #2)
English | 2020 | Young Adult, Fantasy | ePUB | 7.5 MB
Robin LaFevers was raised on a steady diet of fairy tales, Bulfinch’s Mythology, and nineteenth-century poetry. It is not surprising that she grew up to be a hopeless romantic. She was lucky enough to find her one true love, and is living happily ever after with him in the foothills of Southern California.
Two assassins will risk absolutely everything—even their own divinity—to save the people and the country they love in this lush historical fantasy from New York Times bestselling author Robin LaFevers. Set in the world of the beloved His Fair Assassin series, this smart, sensational follow up to Courting Darkness is perfect for fans of Leigh Bardugo and Holly Black.
When you count Death as a friend, who can stand as your enemy?
Sybella, novitiate of the convent of Saint Mortain and Death’s vengeance on earth, is still reeling from her God’s own passing, and along with him a guiding hand in her bloody work. But with her sisters on the run from their evil brother and under the watchful eye of her one true friend (and love) at court, the soldier known as Beast, Sybella stands alone as the Duchess of Brittany’s protector.
After months of seeking her out, Sybella has finally made contact with a fellow novitiate of the convent, Genevieve, a mole in the French court. But Sybella, having already drawn the ire of the French regent, may not be able to depend on her sister and ally as much as she hoped. Still, Death always finds a way, even if it’s not what one expects.
No one can be trusted and the wolves are always waiting in this thrilling conclusion to the Courting Darkness duology, set in the world of Robin’s beloved His Fair Assassin trilogy.
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.”
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.