Grue didn’t move. Andre actually whimpered.
When I reached the street, I didn’t hesitate. Shoving Andre toward Grue’s outstretched arms, I turned and fled to Soleil et Lune.
I didn’t stop to stanch the bleeding or set my fingers until I was safe in the theater’s rafters. Though I didn’t have any water to wash my face, I smeared the blood around a bit until most of it was on my dress instead of my skin. My fingers were already stiff, but I bit down on my cloak and set the bones anyway, using a piece of boning from a discarded corset as a splint.
Though exhausted, I couldn’t sleep. Every noise made me flinch, and the attic was too dark. A single, broken window—my only means of entry—let in the moonlight. I curled up beneath it and tried to ignore the throbbing in my face and hand. For a brief moment, I contemplated climbing to the roof. I’d spent many nights up there above the city, craving the stars on my cheeks and the wind in my hair.
But not tonight. The Chasseurs and constabulary were still searching for me. Worse, Coco was gone and Bas had abandoned me at the first sign of trouble. I closed my eyes in misery. What a rotten mess.
At least I’d procured the ring—and she hadn’t found me yet. This thought alone gave me enough comfort to eventually drift into an uneasy sleep.
Two Named Wrath and Envy
Reid
The clashes of swords filled the training yard. Late-morning sun bore down on us—chasing away the autumn chill—and sweat poured from my forehead. Unlike the other Chasseurs, I hadn’t discarded my shirt. It clung to my chest, wet fabric chafing my skin. Punishing me.
I’d let another witch escape, too distracted with the freckled thief to realize a demon had been waiting inside. Célie had been devastated. She hadn’t been able to look at me when her father finally steered her inside. Heat washed over me at the memory. Another failure.
Jean Luc had been the first to discard his shirt. We’d been sparring for hours, and his brown skin glistened with sweat. Welts covered his chest and arms—one for every time he’d opened his mouth. “Still thinking about your witches, Captain? Or perhaps Mademoiselle Tremblay?”
I smashed my wooden sword into his arm in response. Blocked his counterstrike and elbowed him in the stomach. Hard. Two more welts joined the others. I hoped they’d bruise.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Doubling over to clutch his stomach, he still managed to smirk up at me. I obviously hadn’t hit him hard enough. “I wouldn’t worry. Everyone will forget the townhouse fiasco soon.”
I clenched my sword until my knuckles turned white. A tic started in my jaw. It wouldn’t do to attack my oldest friend. Even if that friend was a miserable little—
“You did save the royal family, after all.” He straightened, still clutching his side, and grinned wider. “To be fair, you also humiliated yourself with that witch. I can’t say I understand it. Fatherhood isn’t particularly my taste—but the thief last night? Now she was a pretty little thing—”
I lunged forward, but he blocked my advance, laughing and punching my shoulder. “Peace, Reid. You know I jest.”
His jests had grown less funny since my promotion.
Jean Luc had arrived on the church’s doorstep when we were three. Every memory I had included him in some form or another. Ours had been a joint childhood. We’d shared the same bedroom. The same acquaintances. The same anger.
Our respect had also once been mutual. But that was before.
I stepped away, and he made a show of wiping my sweat on his pants. A few of our brethren laughed. They stopped abruptly at my expression. “Every jest holds truth.”
He inclined his head, still grinning. Pale green eyes missing nothing. “Perhaps . . . but does our Lord not command us to lay aside falsehood?” He didn’t pause for me to answer. He never did. “‘Speak truth, each one of you,’ he says, ‘for we are members of one another.’”
“I know the scripture.”
“Then why silence my truth?”
“You talk too much.”
He laughed harder, opening his mouth to dazzle us with his wit once more, but Ansel interrupted, breathing heavily. Sweat matted his unruly hair, and blood flushed his cheeks. “Just because something can be said doesn’t mean it should. Besides,” he said, risking a glance at me. “Reid wasn’t the only one at the parade yesterday. Or the townhouse.”
I stared at the ground resolutely. Ansel should’ve known better than to intervene. Jean Luc surveyed the two of us with unabashed interest, sticking his sword in the ground and leaning against it. Running his fingers through his beard. “Yes, but he seems to be taking it particularly hard, doesn’t he?”