by Ingrid Hahn
He went and sliced away her bonds.
“You two will go and go now.” From the floor, she picked up the burnt end of the blue silk ribbon and, setting the cup down for the moment, pressed the object into Toinette’s hand. “One of the women you will free will be Jeanne. Tell her this was something I loved in my final hours.”
Toinette’s hand closed around the scrap of silk.
Sidonie tried to guide Roland back toward his cousin. “You two must go. Quickly.”
Roland stood his ground. “If you think I’m leaving you now—”
“You must.”
He took hold of Sidonie and forced her chin up so she had to stare deep into his gleaming eyes. “Once, I fled France and it left me empty. Tonight when I abandoned you, it almost destroyed me. I will never leave again.”
Sidonie’s hand found his. Their fingers twined. Roland gave her a squeeze.
He turned to his cousin, passed her the keys, and took her by the shoulders. “You are going to have to do this by yourself.”
“You must hurry.” Sidonie couldn’t spare any of herself to see if it was already too late. “One of them is on the brink of death. She’s alone. They’re all alone. She needs Jeanne.”
Toinette didn’t seem to hear her. “No, I—I can’t.”
“You can. And you will.”
Her lip trembled and her eyes filled with tears. She bowed her head. “No. I’m sorry. I can’t.”
Sidonie eased Roland aside and took both of Toinette’s hands in hers.
“What are you—” The other woman tugged lightly against Sidonie’s hold.
“Do you know what I am?”
Toinette’s gaze fell. “I . . . I think so.”
“Then you know what I can do?”
Toinette hesitated a moment before nodding once.
“Good. Now listen.” Sidonie closed her eyes and took a long breath, going perfectly still inside. If this is what it took for Toinette to do what she must, so be it. “There’s d’Ambroisin blood in you, sure enough. You were meant to do this.” She paused for effect. “It’s going to be all right. You’re going to be successful.”
She opened her eyes to find Toinette’s wide. “I—I understand.”
Roland took his cousin to the door, opening it only wide enough to peer out. “It’s safe. You must go now.”
Toinette lingered. “Cousin, I—”
He embraced her, kissing her once on each cheek. “You’re the only reason I survived these past thirteen years. Now go. They need you.”
Chapter 25
Roland closed the door after his cousin and heaved the bar back into place. He sent Sidonie a glower. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
She blinked. “Done what?”
In his shirt, her hair wild and partially damp, her gently curving legs sticking out, long and bare—she made his blood hunger for her, even now. His gut ached, his head throbbed, and he continued moving by sheer force of will alone. Still she made him want to fall to his knees in thanksgiving for God’s goodness.
That said, feigning innocence wasn’t going to work with him, not even for her. “Whatever it was you did to her.”
“I only talked to her.”
“I saw you. You did something to her.”
“I talked to her, just as I said.” She crossed her arms under her breasts. “Nothing more. I only let her believe I did something. She’ll have no strength for the task that isn’t her own. People believe only what they choose to believe. A witch has no say one way or another, but she can help a person find what is already there.”
“I—”
“I’m glad you understand.” She took the silver cup, carefully averting her gaze. His mother had done that, too, seldom daring a glance at her reflection. “You are ready?”
Roland pressed his lips together and nodded. This was what they’d come for, after all.
The inquisitor’s man rose from the stool, standing on unsteady legs. Blood flowed steadily from the gash on his head. “You can’t do this . . .” His eyes went bleary. “My daughters . . .”
Roland’s hands closed into fist. “They’ll survive. Children lose parents all the time. It’s not ideal. Then again, maybe in their case, it’s the best thing that could happen to them.”
“No, wait.” Sidonie held up a hand, a look on her face like she combed through distant memories. “The daughters . . . I saw them for a reason.” When she stared at Roland, it was like she stared a hundred years into the future. “Do not forget your promise. You will take them.”
“What?” Roland spoke at the same time the inquisitor’s man shouted.
“No!” The inquisitor’s man grimaced and pitched like he’d fall, catching himself at the last moment to crumble back into the stool. He hunched over and rocked, clutching his hand to his wound. “No, no, no. Marguerite . . . Nicole . . . Marguerite . . . Nicole . . .” His voice was becoming weaker.
Sidonie touched a hand to her heart and spoke to Roland in a tender voice. “He does love them, you know.”
“You can’t be thinking of showing this man any mercy. Think of all he’s done.”
She nodded, look in her eyes distant. “Oh, yes. The only thing left now is mercy. I have been brought here to help him. Don’t you see?”
“No, I don’t. I—”
She held up a hand. “No, listen. It’s really very simple. I didn’t come here to kill him, just as I’ve maintained all along. He’s dying. I’m here to help him to the other side.”
Roland grabbed Sidonie. “Nonsense. We leave him to die and that’s final. We’ve done enough. Nature will take its course.”
Her countenance darkened. “I thought would understand this.”
“Understand what? That there is no more reason for you to die now?”
“A soul like his must be escorted through the gateway. It won’t go willingly. It can’t stay in this world, it’d be too dangerous. Everything costs something. The price for this is—” Her voice caught. Though she’d made the admission to herself, saying it aloud was still difficult. “Is my death.”
When she raised the cup to her face and studied herself, the air began to crackle. His stomach turned. Coupled with her reflection, she was twice as powerful.
Whether or not he willed it, this was the beginning of the end. “Sidonie . . .”
“I love you, Roland.”
“Don’t you dare do this.”
“I know what I must do and I will do it. You of all people should understand duty.”
“Wait. Please, I beg you. Toinette will free the others and they can help you.”
“Far too dangerous. I haven’t come this far only to have them be recaptured mere minutes after their release.” Sidonie stepped forward, casting him one final glance over her shoulder. “Stay back.”
He grabbed her arms. “Listen to me.”
“Roland—” She tried to shake him off, but his grip was too strong.
“Use me. Use my strength. Take whatever you can take from me.”
“But—”
“It’s mine to give and I give it freely. Don’t think. Just take what you need. Promise me.”
After a long pause, she gave a single nod. Seeing this through was too important.
This was it. She needed to open a gateway. She took a long look at her reflection in the polished silver cup. Sidonie let herself go empty and reached out all her senses to take what she could from what Roland offered.
Bowing her head, damp tresses falling in her face, she stretched her arms out to her sides, cup in one hand. She stretched out her fingers, but instead of the object falling to the floor, balls of flame big as a man’s head burst from either palm.
A swirling wind cut through the room, sending Roland
tumbling backward, flipping the pages of the book on the desk, and knocking the candelabra to the floor. Smoking candles rolled over the stone toward him with waxy clinks.
Her neck craned backward and a piercing scream of anguish tore through the room. Bits of stone crumbled from the walls. Dust shook from above.
In the hearth, the fire blazed and grew until it consumed the entire far side of the room. It wasn’t the glowing orange light of the sun or a cooking fire. It was the silvery white of the moon.
Roland raised his arm to shield his vision from the blinding light. Sidonie’s hair whirled around her. Still she screamed.
The fire seemed to part . . . slowly at first . . . and then without warning, it started to close again.
Sidonie’s head bent. The pulse of her energy rolled over Roland like a giant wave on the sea in the middle of a raging gale.
She was fighting with everything she had to open the gate.
But she was weakening. She wasn’t strong enough. Her body was splitting into two complete halves . . . each might appear whole, but one without the other would be incomplete.
Panic burned through him. No. She couldn’t be split . . . not Sidonie . . . it was worse than death . . .
His pendant. The reverse side. The horns . . . Him. If someone had to die today, it would be him. He would die in her place.
Roland fought to his feet, hair whipping his face. One step. Another.
Somehow, he managed to cross the room.
Acting on instinct, he slung his arms around her torso and held her fast against him. Nothing could have prepared him for the energy channeling through him. It was like the force of light being sucked through him at impossible, unfathomable speeds.
There was a swell and a rumble. The gateway tore open again. The wider it became, the harder the room shook.
Roland kept clutching Sidonie and squinted at the dark figures standing at the threshold. Not one. Not two. But three. The inquisitor’s man twisted and fought. Two others pushed him back. Women. But not Sidonie, no. Were they angels? They didn’t look like angels.
Then Sidonie caught one of the faces of the struggling forms. Lyse. Sidonie focused on the other, but couldn’t make out the features.
With a last surge, the inquisitor’s man burst into flame and was consumed.
Roland held up an arm and squinted to try to make out what was unfolding before him. One of the two remaining figures grabbed the other and pulled her back.
With a roar, the blaze surged . . . and, with one final torrent of flames, vanished into nothing.
The cup clinked upon the stone floor.
The room went silent.
Roland crumpled.
Chapter 26
Sidonie shook Roland. “Wake up, wake up.” Her heart pounded. Stupid, stupid man. He wasn’t breathing. How had he done that? It wasn’t supposed to work like this. He wasn’t supposed to have died. She was supposed to have died.
She’d seen three figures cross. Lyse, the inquisitor’s man, and . . .
No. No. No.
She could have sworn the last figure had been a female in life. The shape . . .
Had she been mistaken?
“Madame?”
Sidonie looked into the face of Lyse who stood above them both. “But . . . I saw you cross.” Terror clutched Sidonie’s heart. There’d been struggling in that last moment. And the third figure—who had that been? The only other person here was Roland. But, no. It couldn’t have been him. It couldn’t have.
“Perhaps it’s what you thought you saw. But it’s not what happened.”
Sidonie nodded. Many more things worked that way than the general population knew.
The spirit of Lyse answered the question Sidonie couldn’t dare ask. “It was Aurélie, madame. I couldn’t go because I had to keep her back.”
So that was who Sidonie had felt on the brink of death. Aurélie. One of the younger witches. A seer. “You shouldn’t have.”
“I didn’t do it for you. ’Twasn’t her time. She’s still needed.”
And Lyse had sacrificed her own peace to keep Aurélie here. But Sidonie couldn’t say it because Lyse wouldn’t want to hear it. “I understand.”
“She’s in a bad way, madame. Caught in the in-between.”
Sidonie’s heart went heavy. “Then why did you keep her from going? She can’t come back, not from that.”
“We both agreed. Else there would have been a four of us crossing together. Instead, there was only one.” Lyse was already going toward the door. “Death wants her now, madame. And when he finds her, I will be ready.”
“Ready? Ready for what?”
But Sidonie and Roland were alone. Sidonie hadn’t seen her go, but it was like the shade hadn’t been there at all. Just like Jacques.
Charred bones lay scattered upon the floor. All that remained of the inquisitor’s man.
Roland’s head rest in her lap. Her lungs burned, her throat ached. She shook him again.
Nothing.
“How could you do this? I’m never going to forgive you.” She pounded her fist against her thigh.
There was a grunt and a cough and then a rumble of deep voice that came dry and cracked with the effort of speaking. “Never thought you were as coldhearted as all that.”
Sidonie let out an exasperated cry and flung herself to her feet, leaving Roland to fend for himself on the floor.
She was weak and drunk and delirious all in one miserable, wonderful, joyous jumble. She’d lived. Lived. Because of Roland, she’d lived.
And he was here to live with her.
Lyse’s words echoed in Sidonie’s mind. We both agreed. Else there would have been a four of us crossing together. Instead, there was only one.
A hard lump wedged itself in Sidonie’s throat. The fourth Lyse had spoken of hadn’t been her. It’d been Roland. Lyse and Aurélie both had refrained from crossing the gateway on account of having to keep Roland here.
Never could Sidonie have imagined a better gift.
Bare below his open overcoat, the garment now the worse for wear, he looked very much like he’d just stepped off a pirate ship docked in Le Havre.
Her legs weren’t quite up to the task of supporting her and she had to reach for the desk. “I detest you.”
“Unfortunate. I love you. But no matter. I’ll make do. You wouldn’t stitch your soul to mine before this. Now you will. You were right. I can’t see past my duty. My duty is you, as your husband and protector.”
“Witches seldom take husbands.”
“My mother did. And this one will also.” His eyes were intense upon her, his gaze brilliant with the sort of lusty hunger that comes in an onslaught after narrowly escaping Death.
“We can think about that later.” She huffed, so giddy with life she could have agreed to nearly anything. But there were practicalities to consider before romantic whims could be satisfied. “We’re still going to have to get out of here. I never planned an escape.”
“After what you just did, I should think that would be the least of your worries.” He rubbed his wrists.
Her hand went to her forehead. “Please don’t make light of this. It’s very serious.”
“It was serious before. Now it’s not.”
“We’re going to be captured again, you know. There is no way out. We’re going straight into the cells.” Sidonie winced. “We’ll be tortured and—”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“You think that because of what you just did that it means you’ll have your way in every other situation as well?”
“Yes.” He heaved to his feet and reached for the medallion on the floor. The pendant disappeared into a pocket.
“His daughters.” She gestured to t
he bones. “You’ll claim them as your wards. They have nobody else.”
“I’m sure I can make suitable arrangements for them with a—”
“Arrangements? You’ll do no such thing. You’ll see to it you care for them as if they were your own.”
“Two daughters.” He stared off, eyes wide, brows up, and took in a deep breath. “I don’t think I’ll be able to manage that, not on my own. They’ll need a mother, you know.”
“They’re little girls. How hard can it be?”
“Thinking of you as a girl is enough to strike fear into any potential father’s heart.”
“Thinking of me strikes fear into your heart?” She drew herself up. “How dare you?”
Roland smiled. He paused and when he spoke again, his tone was less playful. “I realize I never asked you what you’d been doing these past thirteen years. Not really. I only have a vague notion that could be as right as it could be wrong.”
So many years stretched out before her, all of them so different from what she’d envisioned her life being as recently as a fortnight ago. She licked her lips. “Before the inquisitor’s man, I had a little cottage in a quiet village at the foot of snowcapped mountains. I kept a little garden and I doctored sheep—”
“Sheep?”
“Not my sheep. The villagers’ sheep. And their pigs. You know, if they needed help.” She looked down to her fingernails. “These haven’t been clean for, oh, these past thirteen years at least. I myself only kept goats and made cheese. I do make quite a nice cheese.” There was a hollow pit in her that could use some goat’s milk cheese about now. How welcome the smooth goodness would be on her tongue. “And every week, I went around to each house and saw to what was needed. There were always babies to help into the world, sickbeds to be attended to, and people to help to the other side.”
He remained silent.
“The cottage is gone now, of course. Burnt. And if I live through this night, you’re going to have to make it up to me, so help me God.”