Enchantée(125)

“I can’t remember when last I slept,” Camille mumbled. “Days ago? Weeks?”

“Nearly there,” Lazare said. The wound across his collarbone had stopped bleeding.

Trembling, she took his bloodied hand in hers. It steadied her.

As the carriage raced from the Bois de Boulogne to the city center, the open spaces gave way to farms and vineyards, then buildings and cobbled streets. To the east, she knew, lay the ruined fortress of the Bastille. It would never again be a prison.

It was hard to comprehend what had happened in the last few days. Everything was changing. The constitution Papa had wished for would soon come to pass. No longer would the French people be shackled by the greed of the nobles or the church; they would rise up and take what had been stolen from them.

A new France.

The carriage came to a halt in the courtyard of Séguin’s mansion. Walls of warm limestone rose up on three sides; somewhere a hidden fountain burbled. Camille had hoped she might see Sophie’s face in one of the many windows, but all were blank.

What if Séguin had lied? What if she wasn’t here? Or if she was in some danger?

Her fatigue forgotten, Camille flung herself out of the carriage and raced up the low stairs to a set of glass doors. “Open the door!” She banged so hard the glass shivered in its frame.

No one came.

Camille rattled the door handle but the door remained stubbornly closed. What if Sophie were tied up, locked in? “What if she can’t come because she’s hurt?”

Lazare unwrapped her hands from the door handle. “Wait, Camille. We’ve had enough injuries.” He took the pommel of his sword and smashed one of the glass panes, then reached in to unlock the door.

They burst into a large entry hall tiled in marble and hung with tapestries. Lilies like stays in a silver vase. Ahead of them lay the house’s receiving rooms; to the right, the broad steps of a marble staircase curved up and out of sight. It smelled of magic and ash.

A maid emerged from one of the rooms. When she saw them, she blanched. “Monsieur Durbonne, come quickly!”

Dazed, Camille could not think who the maid meant. Papa? Then a boy stepped into the hall.

Alain.

It was the first time Camille had seen him since he’d threatened her in front of their old apartment on the rue Charlot. He didn’t seem to be drunk. He was no longer wearing his filthy uniform. Instead he was dressed in an expensive chestnut-brown suit, his cravat white, his face clean-shaven.

“Bring Sophie here, Alain,” she said through clenched teeth. “Now.”

“You cannot order me.” Splotches of angry color rose in his face. “Neither of you have any business here. Get out.”

Lazare loosened his sword in its sheath. “We know she’s here, monsieur.”

“What will you do, slay me?”

Camille had no time for this. She grabbed her skirts and ran. She dodged Alain and raced toward the stairs. Behind her, she felt his hand catch at her dress—but then Lazare’s sword sang out and Alain fell back.

In the hall, she stopped. A door swung open and Sophie’s slender figure emerged. For a moment she stood there, silhouetted, hesitating.

“I’m sorry, Sophie,” Camille said into the silence. “I made so many mistakes.”

At the sound of Camille’s voice, Sophie ran toward her. “Camille!” she cried, as she embraced her.

Camille held Sophie tight. “I was so worried about you,” she whispered, the words rushing out. “I thought I would lose you—I was wrong not to tell you about him. I knew what he was, but I hid it from you. I thought I was protecting you! I’m so sorry, mon ange. I will never forgive myself. But Séguin’s dead now,” she said into Sophie’s ear. “His magic is gone.”

“I thought I was saving us!” Sophie said, with something like a sob—or laughter. “I thought I would marry him, we would be rich, and you could stop working your magic. We would finally be free. We’d have a new life.” She caught her breath. “But I was wrong, too. He was so kind, before I agreed to come here. I had no idea how terrible he truly was. The things he promised he would do to me—to you. They were awful.”

“He trapped us both.”

Sophie touched Camille’s cheek, wiping at the blood. Softly, she asked, “Did you marry him?”

Camille nodded. “I didn’t know what else to do. I thought to use my magic—and I did—but I had to marry him first.”

“But you did it for me,” Sophie said in a small voice.

Camille held her close as Sophie’s ribs heaved under her stays. Finally. Finally.

Wiping away her tears, Sophie pointed to Alain where he stood by the door. “Our dear brother was the one who convinced me to write the letter to you and to come here.” Her voice shook with fury. “He was the one who furthered my connection with the vicomte; did you know that? He brought the vicomte to Madame Bénard’s so he might flirt with me and take me for walks. Alain convinced me that Séguin would marry me, and I was fool enough to believe him. Séguin kept me here as bait in the trap for you. I was nothing—nothing to him! He said the cruelest things to torture me! As if he knew what I feared the most. And Alain was just as bad—worse,” she spat. “You were absolutely right about him.”