Format: Hardcover, 512 pages
Release Date: February 5, 2019
Publisher: HMH Books for Young Readers
Source: Publisher
Genre: Young Adult, Fantasy
First in a duology, this darkly thrilling page-turner set in the world of the best-selling His Fair Assassin series is perfect for fans of THRONE OF GLASS, RED QUEEN, and GAME OF THRONES. Told in alternating perspectives, when Sybella discovers there is another trained assassin from St. Mortain’s convent deep undercover in the French court, she must use every skill in her arsenal to navigate the deadly royal politics and find her sister in arms before her time—and that of the newly crowned queen—runs out.
When Sybella accompanies the Duchess to France, she expects trouble, but she isn’t expecting a deadly trap. Surrounded by enemies both known and unknown, Sybella searches for the undercover assassins from the convent of St. Mortain who were placed in the French court years ago.
Genevieve has been undercover for so many years, she no longer knows who she is or what she’s supposed to be fighting for. When she discovers a hidden prisoner who may be of importance, she takes matters into her own hands.
As these two worlds collide, the fate of the Duchess, Brittany, and everything Sybella and Genevieve have come to love hangs in the balance.
Courting Darkness is the first part of a two part duology that really should be considered a supplement to the His Fair Assassin Trilogy. So, please don't all for the lies that you don't have to have any knowledge of the Trilogy before up this book. You will be lost, and frustrated otherwise. This story takes place right where Mortal Heart left off. The prologue pretty much bears that message. This is a book that features both a familiar face in Sybella D'Albert, as well as a new face in Genevieve, a handmaiden of death just like Sybella.
This is a series that takes place in 15th century France. Readers will be taken to both Cognac, France, as well as Rennes, Brittany. This series follows women who were trained to be assassins at Saint Mortain's who is the God of Death. The women who appear in this series have all been sired by the God of Death. Sybella's powers are a curious sort. She has the ability to sense the heartbeats of the living. She is also able to experience the souls of the dying which is something new.
Sybella and her fellow Handmaidens of Death, like Ismae, are trying to come to terms
with a world that no longer has the presence of Mortain and the mark
that guided them. Sybella will do anything to protect her sisters from her vile brother and his desires for them, as well as Sybella. In her role as Lady-In-Waiting for Anne, the future Queen of France, she has to travel with her Lady from the safety of Brittany, to the unknown of the court of King Charles where backstabbing & betrayal is a national pastime. Sybella and her beau Beast, the Captain of the Queen's guards, have their arms filled with stopping those who want to dispose the Duchess and her allies who gave France such a hard time in their recent war for independence.
Genevieve is one of the hidden sisters. It has been 5 years she and her friend Margot was sent on a mission to France to be a spy and to report back to the Convent things that are importance in the war between France and Brittany. she has never once killed anyone. She has instead,
become an attendant to Countess Angouleme, and an object of desire for
the Count. Genevieve's story is one of discovery. She wonders why after all this time she was sent here and what she
is supposed to be doing because she is ready to return safely to the
convent. She finds solace in a prisoner she stumbles across whom which
the guards have forgotten about.
Over the course of the story, she befriends the man,
discovers his true identity, and ends up in a collision course with
Sybella. Genevieve has been gone so long from the
convent, that she has no idea of the turmoil that has taken place or how much the world has changed with one particular choice made in the final throes of battle. She enlists the mans help, to a point, and then makes her way to the castle where the newly married King and Queen are now holding court. A King who has not forgotten about Genevieve and her kindness.
It's fair of me to say that Sybella never once meet in
this book. They are both busy with their own missions, and when the
chance does come, it leaves readers wanting to read the sequel. As an FYI, the author uses a bit her own unique twists
with the
time line to tell her story. Some years might be off by a year of two,
but the events pretty much happened. Almost every character introduced
in this story (except
Sybella & Genevieve) is a historical character who you can easily
research.
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Prologue
Sybella
Rennes, Brittany
November 1489
As I stand on the battlements of the besieged city, looking out at the disarray before me, it is clear the god of Death has taken to the field. While this could be said of any battle—death and war are old friends, after all—today He rides a black horse, a pale-haired rider hunkered down in front of Him.
Annith. The most skilled of all of Death’s handmaidens and the sister of my heart.
She has done her part to avert this war—taken her shot using the last of the arrows forged by the gods, which flew as straight and true as if guided by their own hand. But now the French have seen her. Understand that it was she who shot at their king. And even though he is unharmed—harming him was never the intent—they are on her like jackals on a rotting carcass.
“Reload!” calls out Aeva, one of the dozen followers of Saint Arduinna who stand beside me along the ramparts.
Death and Annith ride hard for the gate, Mortain covering her with His body—a body from which four arrows protrude—protecting her life with His own. No, not His own, for He is the god of Death, I remind myself. But Father Effram’s warning has taken root in my heart.
“My lord, you do know what will happen if you choose to involve yourself in mortal affairs, do you not?”
The French archers release a second volley of arrows. As one, the Arduinnites and I return fire. But our arrows are too late. Mortain is hit yet again, taking two more to His side. Annith twists in the saddle, trying to hold onto Him.
It does not work, and they plummet to the ground. Annith begins crawling toward Mortain under yet another shower of French arrows. By Fate or chance, one of them buries itself in Death’s chest, and I feel the pain of it as if it comes from my own. Ice-cold fingers of dread trail down my back before wrapping themselves around my heart.
As a lone hound brays in the distance, I shove away from the battlements and race down the stairway to the gate. More hounds join the first, raising their voices in an unholy lamentation. For a moment, the world hangs suspended, like a drop of sap oozing from a tree, and in that moment I know. The god of Death—my father—is gone. He has passed from this world.
By the time I reach the gate, the French have fallen back, as if even they sense the magnitude of this moment. Nuns from the convent of Saint Brigantia swarm toward the fallen Mortain as Annith throws herself on his body, weeping. As much as I am hurting, she will be even more so.
Before I can reach them, a laugh rings out—an incongruous, joyful sound in the solemn stillness.
Puzzled, Death reaches for his chest, his hand coming away red with blood. Although I am half a bowshot away, I hear him say, “I am alive.”
It feels as if the earth I am standing on gives a dizzying spin.
He is alive. But even as far away as I am, I can see that he is no longer Death.
A great chasm opens inside me, a dark yawning maw that threatens to swallow me whole. If Death no longer walks amongst us, then what purpose am I to serve? What use will there be for my dark talents and skills?
I fear the answer was writ long ago, when I was born into the family that raised me. The family that nearly killed me and drove my mother into Death’s arms.
And that answer terrifies me far more than death ever has.
Sybella
Rennes, Brittany
November 1489
As I stand on the battlements of the besieged city, looking out at the disarray before me, it is clear the god of Death has taken to the field. While this could be said of any battle—death and war are old friends, after all—today He rides a black horse, a pale-haired rider hunkered down in front of Him.
Annith. The most skilled of all of Death’s handmaidens and the sister of my heart.
She has done her part to avert this war—taken her shot using the last of the arrows forged by the gods, which flew as straight and true as if guided by their own hand. But now the French have seen her. Understand that it was she who shot at their king. And even though he is unharmed—harming him was never the intent—they are on her like jackals on a rotting carcass.
“Reload!” calls out Aeva, one of the dozen followers of Saint Arduinna who stand beside me along the ramparts.
Death and Annith ride hard for the gate, Mortain covering her with His body—a body from which four arrows protrude—protecting her life with His own. No, not His own, for He is the god of Death, I remind myself. But Father Effram’s warning has taken root in my heart.
“My lord, you do know what will happen if you choose to involve yourself in mortal affairs, do you not?”
The French archers release a second volley of arrows. As one, the Arduinnites and I return fire. But our arrows are too late. Mortain is hit yet again, taking two more to His side. Annith twists in the saddle, trying to hold onto Him.
It does not work, and they plummet to the ground. Annith begins crawling toward Mortain under yet another shower of French arrows. By Fate or chance, one of them buries itself in Death’s chest, and I feel the pain of it as if it comes from my own. Ice-cold fingers of dread trail down my back before wrapping themselves around my heart.
As a lone hound brays in the distance, I shove away from the battlements and race down the stairway to the gate. More hounds join the first, raising their voices in an unholy lamentation. For a moment, the world hangs suspended, like a drop of sap oozing from a tree, and in that moment I know. The god of Death—my father—is gone. He has passed from this world.
By the time I reach the gate, the French have fallen back, as if even they sense the magnitude of this moment. Nuns from the convent of Saint Brigantia swarm toward the fallen Mortain as Annith throws herself on his body, weeping. As much as I am hurting, she will be even more so.
Before I can reach them, a laugh rings out—an incongruous, joyful sound in the solemn stillness.
Puzzled, Death reaches for his chest, his hand coming away red with blood. Although I am half a bowshot away, I hear him say, “I am alive.”
It feels as if the earth I am standing on gives a dizzying spin.
He is alive. But even as far away as I am, I can see that he is no longer Death.
A great chasm opens inside me, a dark yawning maw that threatens to swallow me whole. If Death no longer walks amongst us, then what purpose am I to serve? What use will there be for my dark talents and skills?
I fear the answer was writ long ago, when I was born into the family that raised me. The family that nearly killed me and drove my mother into Death’s arms.
And that answer terrifies me far more than death ever has.
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