L'Ange de la Mort (The Art of Revolution #1)

Chapter Thirty-Six - 14. March. 1789

 So, she keeps running. Up the steps leading to the palace. Past the entrance to the orangerie. Between the manicured pathways of the south parterre. Despite the clean, crisp air rushing by her, everything smells like blood. The stench coats her nose and fills her lungs with each shaking breath. She can even taste it, salty and metallic on the base of her tongue. 

When she reaches the Cour Royale, she stops. Courtiers are gathered there in frightened groups, huddled together underneath golden torchlight. Closer to the front entrance of Versailles, the king and queen stand, surrounded by armed guards. Everyone is whispering, crying, or glancing around for anything amiss. 

Lizabeth looks down at her gown and frowns. Her stomacher is stained with blood, splotches of it soaking into the looping mint and cream embroidery. Dirt is caked on her hem, her shoes are missing, and a series of holes are ripped in her white stockings. Entering the Cour Royale in this manner is sure to raise alarm, and Gabriel specifically said to find Jean. But the palace is large and packed and crowded with chaos. Finding Jean in the masses will take ages. Gabriel doesn’t have ages. 

Lizabeth turns, ready to rush inside Versailles in hopes that will bring her more luck—and nearly collides with Anne de la Marche. She wears a pink satin dressing gown and slippers, as if she ran out of her apartments in a hurry. When she sees Lizabeth, her blue eyes grow wide and expectant, a hopeful stare sweeping across her features. 

“Mademoiselle Morgan, have you seen Gabriel? He was here earlier, but then he ran off, and after everything that has happened tonight, I was worried—” Her gaze falls to Lizabeth’s bloody gown, and her words cut off with a choke. 

“No.” 

But it isn’t Anne who says it—it’s Jean. 

He emerges from the courtyard, blond curls falling out of his queue, sapphire eyes swollen and red. He gives Lizabeth’s dress a quick glance and swallows, shooting out a hand to rest on the palace’s stone wall. “No,” he says again. “Please, no.” 

“What is it?” Anne asks, looking between Jean and Lizabeth. Her rosy skin turns white as powdered sugar. “Has something happened?” 

Lizabeth takes a step back, arms flying up to cover her bodice. Not that it makes much of a difference. Jean and Anne have already seen the blood on her gown, and her arms are covered in it as well, great dried patches of red flaking off her skin and landing on the uneven cobblestone. “I—” Lizabeth breathes in sharply through her nose, keeping her gaze fixed on the torch across the archway, so she won’t have to see the worry on Anne’s face, or the horror on Jean’s. “Monsieur de Coligny—Jean—I need your help. There isn’t much time—” 

“Don’t say it,” Jean whispers. His voice sounds hoarse and choked. Broken. “I don’t want to hear you say it.” 

“It’s Gabriel,” Anne whispers, like the realization is for herself alone. She doesn’t cry or scream or make a fuss. She simply lowers herself to the ground, arms crossed and fingers digging into her skin. “L’Ange de la Mort killed my brother.” 

“He isn’t dead.” The sentence rips itself from Lizabeth’s throat, echoing off the palace walls. “Jean, he’s in the gardens and told me to find you. He said you would know what to do.” 

Jean shoves himself from the wall. “Anne, alert the guards and fetch the doctor. Now. Lizabeth, take me to him.” 

He doesn’t wait for Lizabeth or Anne’s response. Grasping Lizabeth by the forearm, he pulls her back through the garden entrance. 

“Where is he?” he asks, releasing Lizabeth’s arm. She hesitates for less than a second, and Jean yells, “Where is Gabriel?” 

“By the Bassin de Latone.”

With a nod, Jean starts for the fountain, and Lizabeth follows, skirts hiked up to her calves. The two don’t speak as they run, but Jean gives Lizabeth a worried glance every so often, as if to assess her level of panic. The closer they get to the fountain, the more Lizabeth tries to convince herself this was all some horrific dream, and it will soon come to an end. 

She stabbed Gabriel, convinced François he was dead, and told him she was working for Baptiste all along. But once she and Jean reach Gabriel, they can take him to the palace doctor and ensure he’s fine. Then Lizabeth can find a way to expose Baptiste’s group to the court while still proving to her mother she did something right. 

So soon. It will all be over so soon. 

Though as she descends the steps to the fountain, and her eyes fall on the spot she left Gabriel minutes before, fear multiplies in her chest tenfold. 

For Gabriel is gone.