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59

THE SCALES FALL

L éon wasn’t home when it happened.

Catherine and Souveraine were in the garden.

The gate was locked, but not barricaded, and when they broke it open and entered, Henry was in the library with émile.

He could have called out, tried the incalculable ferocity of his sister’s magic against their guns.

But not in front of émile.

Not when Léon might come home to find the house obliterated and his little brother dead.

Henry left quietly, after a few quick words for the boy.

He dropped to his knees, and asked him calmly, please tell Léon he’d gone out with some friends.

He could be found on the Boulevard du Palais, in ?le de la Cité, the address of the prison, though he did not tell émile that last part.

He asked him to inform Léon only, said that Catherine would be mad he went out without her, but to please send Léon as fast as he could.

Henry embraced émile with all the warmth and love he felt for him, then, holding his hand, he slipped the ruby ring from his finger and curled it into émile’s little fist. He kissed his cheek, then told him to go through to Souveraine.

émile watched them take Henry, his heart beating violently.

He’d spent the last four months of his life being educated in the cradle of revolution, and he was under no illusion about what had just happened.

When Léon came home a half hour after the incident, he discovered émile in the library, white-faced and shaking.

It took some time for him to explain what had happened.

The words wouldn’t come, because émile had grown to see Henry as so much more than a friend.

He knew how happy his brother was.

How in love he was. And it hurt him to revert Léon to the tired and unhappy person he had been before Henry.

The words came in fits and starts, and Léon received the news with something close to disbelief.

His head close to émile, his voice soft, “Are you sure it was Henri they wanted?”

“Yes. Henri De Villiers.”

“But they didn’t say why?”

“I don’t know why.” émile burst into tears for the tenth time, so Léon held him and tried to soothe him.

“It has to be a mistake. I’ll go and clear it up. Let me talk to Souveraine.” He held out a hand for the boy, leading him towards the garden.

Léon was in full panic inside.

Was it because he was English?

But Henry was famously one of the greatest supporters of the Revolution.

It had to be something else.

Paris felt so far from Reims. So different.

And that nagging history, while it was there in the background, felt like another life.

Surely, here in Paris, the crime of witchcraft couldn’t have caught up with them.

The Black Baron hadn’t struck in half a year.

That was old and forgotten, undoubtedly.

But what if…

He quickened his pace towards the garden, stumbled through the doors, and received his second great shock of the day.

Blue eyes and hazel eyes closing, long lashes adorned by soft snowflakes, blonde hair mingling with black, Souveraine’s and Catherine’s bright red lips met in a kiss.

Léon stumbled backwards, dragging émile into the house with him, turning away in utter confusion.

Souveraine? Who was in love with him ?

Who had always been in love with him!

He peeked back around the corner.

Yes. Souveraine and Catherine were very much kissing and— “émile, come with me.”

Léon walked émile through to the front of the house and saddled Destroyer.

He got émile dressed in boots and a cloak, then mounted on the animal.

All the while, he was thinking things through.

The surprise of seeing Souveraine with Catherine was one thing—and it was a nice thing.

He was abundantly happy for her.

But it was also worrying.

Souveraine was his confidante in all things.

But he realised that must now shift.

It wasn’t his place to drive a wedge between her and Catherine by asking her to keep secrets about Henry.

And would she, anyway?

Or would she say he was infan…

Whatever it was she kept saying.

No. It was best he at least got to the bottom of this mess before sticking his foot in the next one.

He led émile, on Destroyer, to the garden.

Popping his head around the corner, he found the two were up and playing jeu provencal in the snow.

“Just taking émile for a ride,” he called out.

Souveraine glanced about the garden.

“Did you want us out of the way?”

“No. I’m… I thought I’d take him outside today. Just for a wander up the street.”

It was perfectly, appallingly, out of character, and Souveraine’s eyes narrowed.

“Why would you do that?”

“I think it’s time,” Léon said, sounding as parental as he could.

“It’s… nice out there today. And calm. And it’s just up the street. We’ll be back soon. Only, could you… board the gate up?”

“I’m sorry, what?” Catherine chimed in.

“Just, um… Can you board it up the whole time we’re gone? I think with Louis’ execution in a few days, we might want to make sure no monarchists can get in.”

Both women lowered their brows severely at him.

“Can you just do it?” he asked.

“Where’s Henry?” asked Catherine.

This was something Léon should have thought of an answer to.

He had not, but émile jumped in for him.

“He’s gone to take a nap, and I am very bored.”

“He’s very bored,” Léon agreed.

“So just up the street. Please, can you board up the gates?”

Souveraine's eyes locked with Léon’s. She knew him too, too well. “All right. I’ll board it up. I’ll come to the gate and check for you every fifteen minutes. Throw a pebble through the mailbox when you return, and I’ll know to open it again.”

She was the best friend a man could ever ask for. “Thank you, Souveraine.” Léon led Destroyer away, and out the front gate.

Souveraine turned to Catherine and said, “Finally, they’re gone. I think it’s about time we got back to your training, don’t you?”