Vespertine (Vespertine #1)(104)

I risked a glance over my shoulder. Between the knights, Sarathiel had rolled over and set Leander’s forehead to the flagstones, fingers clenched and body arched as though in the throes of a convulsion. I swallowed. Nodded.

Then we were out a door, into the blinding light and roar of voices, the dizzying swarm of movement that filled the cathedral’s square. A tide of people flooded past to slam the door shut behind us, throwing themselves against it, barricading it with their bodies.

“Artemisia! Marguerite!” This was Charles pushing into view. He had a wild look on his sweaty, grinning face, his tousled hair dusted with a coating of ash. “Jean and I freed the captain,” he shouted. “Halbert almost wet himself when the guard rebelled. Look!”

I followed his pointing finger to the cathedral’s front steps, onto which a group of people were shoving a wagon. Jean seemed to be doing most of the work, the muscles in his huge arms straining. He lifted one side of it and heaved; a cheer went up as it overturned with a crash against the cathedral’s front doors.

Carts were being dragged toward the other doors, toppled over in piles. Furniture, barrels, and pieces of disassembled stalls joined them. Loud thumps and clatters of wood suggested that similar measures were taking place at every one of the cathedral’s entrances and exits. It wasn’t just civilians helping, but soldiers too. In the distance, Captain Enguerrand’s hoarse voice shouted orders.

People had begun to notice me. A space was forming, a hush falling. I was met with somber face after somber face, every one of them smeared with ashes. Some were bruised and bloodied from the riots that had taken place overnight, their eyes defiant. Others clutched talismans that I recognized from the stalls—splinters of the holy arrow, scraps of cloth.

At first a number of them gazed searchingly at Marguerite, who probably looked a great deal more like the Artemisia they had expected. Then their eyes began to settle on my ungloved hand. Whispers started circulating. I couldn’t hear them, but I could imagine their contents. Look at her hand. Look at those scars.

To my relief, an approaching figure provided a momentary distraction as he jogged toward us through the crowd. It was Captain Enguerrand, though for a disorienting instant I didn’t recognize him. It gave me a strange shock to see him dressed in ordinary clothes instead of plate armor, revealing him to be average in build, only about Charles’s height and not much broader at the shoulder. Abrasions encircled his wrists where he had been tied with rope. The sword belted around his waist was his only sign of authority, but the crowd parted for him without hesitation.

“The barricades will hold for a time,” he said, his tired, perceptive gaze flicking to me before settling on Mother Dolours. “How long do we have?”

Her face was grim. “Not as long as I would like. Not long enough to evacuate the city.”

Marguerite’s hand tightened on mine. We both knew what she meant. Overturned wagons would hold back the cathedral guard. They wouldn’t contain Sarathiel.

I tried to imagine how long it would take everyone in the cathedral’s square to walk to the Ghostmarch, for the drawbridge’s mechanisms to be engaged and its weight let down. Then for everyone to cross, funneled across its span. I guessed that meant we only had about an hour, at best. Even if the city had a whole afternoon to evacuate, there would still be people left behind—the elderly, the less mobile, families who were sheltering in their cellars out of fear.

“Fleeing wouldn’t do much good in the long run anyway,” the revenant provided helpfully. “The Sevre is annoying for a revenant to cross, but not impossible. Sarathiel will regain its full strength before these humans have gotten far.”

My skin prickled in warning, and I noticed that Mother Dolours was watching me as though she’d heard the revenant speak. Perhaps she had, I thought with a chill.

“I will strengthen our defenses with prayer,” she said brusquely, leaving me none the wiser. “Captain Enguerrand, I entrust the rest to you. Don’t make any fool decisions,” she added, coaxing a faint smile from his tired mouth. “Lady watch over you, child.”

That last part was directed at me. It occurred to me that perhaps I should say something, thank her at least, but she had already charged off, unceremoniously lowering herself to her knees on the cobbles. She bowed her head. The revenant shuddered. Inside one of the cathedral’s shadowed windows, I saw the dancing flames of a candelabra go still.

I turned back around. Hundreds of anxious faces awaited my gaze. Pinned by their attention, I felt a familiar paralysis begin to creep over me. I didn’t know what to do or what to say. These people had rescued me with the expectation that now that I had been freed, I would save them in turn. But the shackles had left me powerless.

Enguerrand glanced at me, then paused and looked more closely, his brow creasing. He beckoned me aside into the partial cover of a vendor’s stall. Marguerite let go of my hand, but followed, dragging Charles along with her. I felt a pang of gratitude when they took up positions behind me, prepared to block anyone who tried to approach.

“I can’t do anything with the shackles on,” I told Enguerrand, once we had reached the awning’s flapping shadow.

“I know. Mother Dolours told us.” I supposed there had been enough witnesses in the cathedral for news of what had happened to have reached the convent. “We have a smith here to see about removing them, but Artemisia, before we go any farther…” For some reason, he looked sad. “You aren’t obligated to help. I need you to understand that. If at any point you feel like you need to stop, I want you to tell me. No one will be upset with you if you can’t help.”