Grave Mercy: His Fair Assassin, Book I (His Fair Assassin Trilogy)
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[set star] "Fiction and history coalesce in a rich, ripping tale of assassinations, political intrigue and religion. . . . LaFevers’ ambitious tapestry includes poison and treason and murder, valor and honor and slow love, suspense and sexuality and mercy. A page-turner—with grace." --Kirkus Reviews, starred review Seventeen-year-old Ismae escapes from the brutality of an arranged marriage to the respite of the convent of St. Mortain. Here she learns that the god of Death has blessed her with dangerous gifts and a violent destiny. To claim her new life, she must destroy the lives of others. But how can she deliver Death’s vengeance upon a target who has stolen her heart?
“What brings Death’s handmaiden to my humble door?” she asks, not looking the least bit humble. Mayhap she even gloats somewhat. I open my mouth, then hesitate. It was she who sent me to the convent three years ago. Will she know that by seeking an antidote, I am going against their wishes? Will she care? Ignoring my gaping silence, she begins to speak. “I always expected to see you again someday, wanting to know about your mother, no doubt.” My mother. It is not until she says the word that I
The duchess nods. “At this very minute, they occupy your own holding.” Her announcement has the desired effect. Shock registers on Marshal Rieux’s face, then disbelief. “You lie.” “Marshal Rieux! Remember who you are speaking to,” Captain Dunois reminds him. “Why should I believe this claim?” the marshal asks. “Why would we lie?” the duchess says. “It is easy enough for you to confirm. Send a rider, if you like.” Rieux hesitates a moment, then nods at two of his men. They peel away from the
chancellor’s suspicions. As he rows, his chest strains against the fine velvet of his doublet. The muscles in his arms bunch, then stretch, with every pull on the oar, and I cannot help but think that even with all the training the convent has given me, he could easily best me in a hand-to-hand fight. Not liking the direction of those thoughts, I cast my gaze out to sea, certain I have been consigned to a special version of hell. Chapter Eleven The old sailor is at the beach waiting to
this rift.” I set my goblet down on the table and give Madame Hivern my most innocent look. “Is that why you were looking for him? To call a truce?” Annoyance crosses her face, and she casts about the room as if searching for a distraction. Apparently she finds one, for her expression softens and her eyes shine with the first true emotion she has shown. “My darling!” Hivern’s face is alight with pleasure. “Do come here, I have someone I would like you to meet.” The man who approaches is tall
know I cannot just glide up to him and ask that he unlace his doublet so that I might peer at his chest. Once again I curse my awkward, graceless nature. Sybella and even Annith would know what to do. And then it comes to me. I have only to pretend I am Sybella. She would find an excuse to approach her target, then she would wrap her delicate web of seduction around him. I glance at the room, pleased when I spy a half-full flagon of wine on one of the chests. I pick it up and make my way toward