“Someone ought to.” The words left my mouth before I could stop them. I ground my teeth and turned away before I could do or say anything else I’d regret.
“Ah.” Jean Luc’s eyes lit up, and he straightened eagerly, sword and beard forgotten. “There’s the rub, isn’t it? You disappointed the Archbishop. Or was it Célie?”
One.
Two.
Three.
Ansel looked between us nervously. “We all did.”
“Perhaps.” Jean Luc’s smile vanished, and his sharp eyes glinted with an emotion I wouldn’t name. “Yet Reid alone is our captain. Reid alone enjoys the privileges of the title. Perhaps it is fair and just for Reid alone to bear the consequences.”
I threw my sword on the rack.
Four.
Five.
Six.
I forced a deep breath, willing the anger in my chest to dissipate. The muscle in my jaw still twitched.
Seven.
You are in control. The Archbishop’s voice drifted back to me from childhood. This anger cannot govern you, Reid. Breathe deeply. Count to ten. Master yourself.
I complied. Slowly, surely, the tension in my shoulders eased. The heat on my face cooled. My breath came easier. I clasped Jean Luc’s shoulder, and his smile faltered. “You’re right, Jean. It was my fault. I take full responsibility.”
Before he could respond, the Archbishop stepped into the training yard. His steely eyes found mine, and I immediately fisted my hand over my heart and bowed. The others followed.
The Archbishop inclined his head in response. “As you were, Chasseurs.” We rose as one. When he motioned for me to come closer, Jean Luc’s frown deepened. “Word has spread throughout the Tower of your foul mood this morning, Captain Diggory.”
“I’m sorry, sir.”
He waved a hand. “Apologize not. Your toil is not in vain. We shall catch the witches, and we shall burn their pestilence from the earth.” He frowned slightly. “Last night was not your fault.” Jean Luc’s eyes flashed, but the Archbishop didn’t notice. “I am required to attend a matinee performance this morning with one of the king’s foreign dignitaries. Though I do not condone theater—for it is a vile practice befitting only vagrants and scoundrels—you will accompany me.”
I wiped the sweat from my forehead. “Sir—”
“It wasn’t a request. Wash up. Be ready to leave within the hour.”
“Yes, sir.”
The unnamed emotion in Jean Luc’s eyes bored into my back as I followed the Archbishop inside. It was only later—sitting in the carriage outside Soleil et Lune—that I allowed myself to name it. Allowed myself to feel the bitter sting of regret.
Our respect had once been mutual. But that was before the envy.
A Mutually Beneficial Arrangement
Lou
By the time I woke the next morning, dusty rays of sunlight shone through the attic window. I blinked slowly, lost in the pleasant moment between sleeping and waking where there is no memory. But my subconscious chased me. Noises reverberated from the theater below as cast and crew called to one another, and excited voices drifted in from the window. I frowned, still clinging to the remnants of sleep.
The theater was rather noisy this morning.
I lurched upright. Soleil et Lune performed a matinee every Saturday. How could I have forgotten?
My face gave a particularly painful throb as I threw myself down on our bed. Oh, right—that’s how. My nose had been smashed to bits, and I’d been forced to flee for my life.
The noise downstairs heightened as the overture began.
I groaned. Now I’d be stuck here until the performance was over, and I desperately needed to pee. Usually, it wasn’t a problem to sneak downstairs to the toilet before the cast and crew arrived, but I’d overslept. Climbing to my feet, wincing at the dull pain in my back, I assessed the damage quickly. My nose was definitely broken, and my fingers had swollen to twice their size overnight. But I wore a fine enough dress to pass by the patrons unnoticed . . . except for the bloodstains. I licked my good fingers and scrubbed at the stains furiously, but the fabric remained irrevocably red.
With an impatient sigh, I glanced between the racks of dusty costumes and the trunk beside the bed I shared with Coco. Wool pants, scarves, mittens, and shawls spilled out of it, along with a couple of moldy blankets we’d found in the garbage last week. I touched Coco’s side of the bed gingerly.
I hoped she’d made it to her aunt safely.
Shaking my head, I turned back to the rack of costumes and picked out an outfit at random. Coco could take care of herself. Me, on the other hand . . .