the Thermidorian Reaction

Prologue

The cold metal bit into the skin of his wrists, the sting just enough to distract him from the ache in his shoulders. The unnatural bend, contorting his arms to link at his back was uncomfortable. The fact they had been this way for almost a full twenty-four hours was unbearable.

He said nothing, however. Regardless of his present situation, he was no fool. Anything he said could be, and most certainly would be, held against him. He had already pled his case, repeatedly telling his side of the story over and over during his captivity. The torturous hours of interrogation, all done under the blank and disinterested stare of the Elites investigators, their expressions showing just how little they cared for his statement. After the first six hours of repetition, he knew. He knew there was no point.

He was going to be found guilty, no matter what he said.

He had spent the night in the cold, stone cell of the Council dungeons alone. Usually, there would be another prisoner or two, surely. And yet, he had seen no one during his hours there. On a whim, a careless one, possibly, he had called out. Curiosity had gotten the better of him after the hours of maddening silence, wondering if he was truly as alone in this hole as he felt. When no voice called back in response, was when he finally gave up.

He had curled up in the corner of his cell some time after midnight in a feigned attempt at sleep, arms twisted at his back as they had never removed his handcuffs since arresting him the day before. It hadn't felt as though sleep had found him at any point, instead his senses on overdrive, hearing every little noise of the damp, putrid smelling holes they used to house their worst. The dripping of water from the stones, a far off sound of metal against metal somewhere down the long corridor. He was certain at no point did he lose consciousness, but when he was awoken to the end of a baton harshly meeting his stomach as he lay on the cold stone, he realized morning had come much quicker than he expected.

A hard shove at his back brought his attention back from his thoughts, to his reality. The chains linking his hands and feet rattled against each other with each step, his feet bare despite the frigid temperature of the stone beneath them.

"Hurry up, maggot," the guard growled, giving him another shove as though for good measure. "We don't have all day."

Gabriel's first inclination was to respond. A biting remark regarding the fact that if anyone was short on time, it was him. Considering their social positions alone, the comment was warranted. Add on the fact that he was certain that what little time he had left was about to be taken from him, it was much more literal.

But he kept silent. Again, knowing any response would only make his situation more grave. So instead, his head remained down, his dark, wavy hair falling into his eyes as he followed the guard in front of him.

He was pulled back then, a strong hand on his arm stilling his forward motion. Looking up, Gabriel watched as two large, towering wooden doors swung open. Ornate, dark Walnut, gold leaf patterns tracing along their edges. And in the center, splitting into two as the doors parted, the Elites seal. He knew this door; he had seen in it many books over the years, learning the history of both his kind of theirs, and how society came to be. The familiarity did nothing to ease his fear, however. If anything, a bubble of terror rose in his core, the realization of exactly where he was going hitting him like a blow across the face.

"Move," barked the guard at his side, pushing him harshly and causing him to stumble. His angled motion caused him to fall into the corner of the stonewall where the doors inset, a sickening crack of bone against rock echoing in the silent halls. Gabriel gasped, a wave of pain and nausea passing through him, before he bit down hard on his lip. He would be damned if he would give them the satisfaction of crying out from the pain.