It is a long, tense walk from the west wing to the north tower, where my old chamber is, but that is the only entrance to the hidden tunnels that I know.
I keep my head down as I move through the hallway, but even so I can see much has changed. The pages stand at rigid attention, no longer cheerful and good-natured. The servants hurry on their business, all of them with glum countenances.
I am filled with relief when I finally reach Duval’s apartments, especially when I see they are deserted. There are no servants, no Duval, nothing.
I let myself into the main chamber, then quickly cross to my own room. Once inside, I shut the heavy door and bolt it.
My bed is empty but messed, as if it has not been made since the day I left for Nantes. There are candles but no fire in the hearth from which to light them. I waste precious minutes setting flint to tinder so I can have some light in the dark corridors beyond. My hands are trembling so badly that it takes five tries before the tinder catches. when at last a small fire burns in the grate, I light a candle, then head for the wall near the fireplace.
I stare at it, wishing I had thought to ask Beast how he got it to work. I poke at the bricks one at a time until one gives way, just a little bit, but enough to release the spring that holds the stone door so tightly shut. I put my shoulder to the revealed door and push. It gives perhaps an inch. Grunting, I push again, bracing my feet on the floor and throwing my whole body into it until it finally moves enough for me to slip through.
I am not sure where to begin my search, for if Duval was up and walking, he could be anywhere. He could even, I realize, be gone from here. Although if Crunard had caught him, surely I would have seen his head on a pike at the city wall.
The thought has my heart plummeting like a stone, and I push away from the door and cast out my senses, searching for Death, afraid I will find it. when I do not, I allow myself to draw my first deep breath since reaching my chamber. Thus encouraged, I begin winding my way to the spot where de Lornay and Beast found Duval the first time we came here. A sharp lance of pain bites through me as I think of those two, but I push it aside. Saving Duval is my goal now.
I get lost twice, then finally the feeble light from my candle shows a corner of a blanket. Afraid to hope, but unable to stop myself, I drop to my knees beside him. He still breathes, but it is a shallow, labored breathing. I feel the beat of his pulse. It is thin and going faster than a hummingbird’s wings. “My lord,” I whisper.
His head turns toward my voice and his eyelids flutter weakly.
Not too late, not too late beats in my breast and pounds through my veins. I do not know if it is a prayer or a plea or a demand.
I put my hands on the sides of his face, savoring the rough scratch of his whiskers. I lean down and place my lips on his and kiss him.
His lips are dry and cracked, but I do not care. I can taste the poison. I cover his mouth with my own, deepening the kiss, kissing him as Beast kissed me — thoroughly, wantonly, as if I am gulping the finest wine from a silver goblet. My heart soars when I feel him stir beneath me.
Then he opens his mouth and our tongues meet, a shocking sensation as I allow him in. My hands upon his cheeks grow numb, as do my lips. I kiss him and kiss him, wanting to draw every drop of poison from his body into mine. when his eyes finally open and he murmurs my name against my lips, I laugh, and the exhilaration I feel spills from my mouth into his. Needing to look at him, to see his face, I pull back — but not too far.
His eyes are clouded with desire and joy. His skin already seems less pale to me. He reaches up and tucks a stray hair behind my ear. “I did not expect to find you here,” he says.
It takes me a full minute to realize that here does not mean Guérande but that he thinks he has traveled into the realm of Death. “You are alive, my lord.” I cannot help it. I laugh with triumph as I say the words.
He frowns, then tries to sit up as he remembers. “The duchess is safe,” I tell him. “She is safe and well guarded by half the garrison from Rennes. You did it, my lord. Fran?ois reached us in time. You saved her.”
He closes his eyes and draws a deep breath. “Then I may die in peace.”
“You are not dying. You were, but no longer.” At his puzzled look, I lean down once again. “I will save you,” I whisper against his lips.
As I slip out of the rough, dark gown, I realize I have only the vaguest idea of how a woman lies with a man. even so, I cast my shift aside and gently push Duval back down — it takes no effort at all. Slowly, I lower my body onto his so that every part of us is touching. My head rests on his chest and my feet lie atop his shins. He is warm, too warm, and everywhere his skin flinches and trembles. My hand goes to the scars on his chest, the one just over his heart. I place my hand there, savoring the stronger, steadier beat.