An Affair of Poisons(89)
Back on the platform, La Voisin howls as Gris wrenches something from her hand and tosses it to Fernand. Then Gris rolls off the front of the platform seconds before a gargantuan black smoke beast breathes a stream of fire precisely where he stood. Fernand vaults over Lesage and sprints toward us. Marguerite tries to intercept him, but he bludgeons her over the head with the butt of his dagger, then throws it into the chest of an advancing guard. Without slowing, he brandishes his sword and spins to fend off the blow of another assailant.
The hairs prickle down my neck, and my mouth falls open. There’s something strangely familiar about his thrust and parry. The way he lunges and ducks, as if carried by wings. I know only one person who fights with such grace. One person who is small enough and slender enough to pass for the mercenary. When the guard’s sword glances off Fernand’s mask, shredding it from his face, I’m not surprised to see it isn’t Fernand at all.
Louis drives his sword through the guard’s stomach, kicks him to the ground, and skids to a stop before us. He releases Mirabelle first then moves to me, glancing up as he fits the key into my manacles. “Do you have something to say to me, brother?”
I stammer incoherently, still not believing he’s here. Rescuing me. It’s so absurd, I laugh as the iron cuffs fall away.
“I fail to see anything funny about this,” he snaps.
“Where are the girls?” I finally manage.
“With Marie, safe at the Marquis de Cessac’s chateau.”
“Good.”
Louis arches a blond eyebrow. “Anything else you’d like to say?”
“Honestly? You want me to grovel now?” I wave a hand at the grisly pandemonium.
Louis crosses his arms.
“Fine. Thank you.” I can be gracious. I can admit I needed him—this once. “What do we do now?”
“Get down!” Mirabelle screams. We flatten against the boards, narrowly avoiding the claws and flame of a pearl-pink smoke beast. The back of my tunic sizzles and I roll to snuff the sparks.
Louis drags his sleeve across his sweating face, and says, panting, “I suggest you deal with the beasts. Or that.” He points across the platform to the cerise and emerald capes falling into formation around La Voisin. She rises slowly from Lesage’s lifeless body, shouting and pointing in our direction. “I’ll help Ameline and the rebels reach the platform. Hold La Voisin and her guards off until then.” He removes a dagger from his boot, tosses it to me, and shuffles to the edge of the boards.
The crowd below heaves like a great, surging whirlpool. And above the courtyard, the beasts circle and swoop, breathing swaths of fire and roaring with fury when it fails to catch.
Louis takes a steadying breath. Before he leaps, I stumble forward and clasp his shoulder. “Be safe,” I say.
He stills, looks down at my hand, and slowly returns the gesture. Neither of us recoils. I stare at his sweaty, blood-streaked face, and a burning sensation swells inside my chest. A feeling akin to pride. Or respect.
“Thank you, brother,” I say with a squeeze.
“This is no time to grovel, Josse.” A tiny smile quirks his lips, and before I can think of a retort, he bellows a war cry and dives into the chaos.
Mirabelle and I watch him vanish into the sparking haze. Then I take her hand and together we turn to face her mother.
27
MIRABELLE
The smoke from the beasts is so thick, it shrouds the cathedral, blocking all but the tops of the twin towers. My eyes water and my lungs burn, but once again Mother seems to revel in the flames and heat. She charges through the fog, shouting my name. At least ten Society guards surround her, as solid and imposing as the city wall, and another ten are flying up the scaffold steps. Instinctively, I fall back, but my heels leave the edge of the platform.
Merde.
Josse’s fingers tighten around mine. “You don’t happen to have a sword hidden in your skirts, do you?”
I force a laugh. It’s supposed to sound incredulous, but it comes out high and quivering.
“Pity. You’re always so prepared with antidotes and curatives and Heaven knows what else you keep buried under there.” He waves his fingers at my gaudy purple dress and flashes a smile. I could kiss him for that smile, for attempting to sever the tension with his black humor. “No matter. We’ll think of something.”
Unfortunately, the time for thinking has passed.
Mother’s guards streak toward us with all the ferocity of Lesage’s smoke beasts: their masks curling away from their faces like horns, their teeth gnashing. Josse’s eyes meet mine and we turn to jump from the platform, but another slew of guards waits below. The tips of their swords jut through the smoke like seedlings from the gray winter ground.
We have nowhere to go. Nothing to defend ourselves with but a single dagger.
Fear clamps around my chest as we wheel back around. The guards barrel closer. Josse pushes me behind him, and my heart swells with tenderness and then breaks into a million jagged pieces. He’s so weak from Lesage’s torture, his breath comes in ragged gasps and he can hardly keep his feet, yet still he darts forward and slashes his tiny blade. “Stay back!”
The guards lunge with a sinister laugh. One knocks the dagger from Josse’s hand and another takes out his legs. As soon as he hits the platform, the rest of the guards descend like a pack of jackals, mauling and tearing and ravenous.