Page 67

Ashes of the Crown

The streets of Paris ran red, and the blood of priests, peasants, and political rivals oozed between the cobbled pathways.

Rollant’s boots splashed through puddles of crimson, leaving scarlet pinpricks on his white culottes.

The stench of decay clawed down his throat and turned his stomach.

He had seen cities crumble and kingdoms fall under the weight of war, but never had he witnessed a nation devour itself with such brutality.

The Convention had become a terror, but he had seen the fate of those who spoke out against it, even those who had fought to give it life. Robespierre was at the helm, directing the ferocious beast to devour any enemy of its contorted reason and logic.

King Louis had been but the first victim.

Others had followed, including Queen Marie Antoinette.

Priests, nuns, and the common man—all victims of the beast’s appetite were convicted, sentenced, and executed on the same day.

He hadn’t seen any inmates at the Temple from beyond the city walls, but he knew it was only a matter of time.

The eight-year-old Louis Charles bore bruises on his arms and legs, and Rollant’s heart twisted at not being able to prevent them.

He could not be there morning and night or give away his true identity and purpose, ultimately preventing him from protecting the boy while he stood guard.

He’d already pushed away Louis Charles’ caretaker, the drunk Antoine Simon, with his coarse wife.

Rollant didn’t want to know what they were doing with little Louis at night, for his screams were heard throughout the Temple.

In the beginning, Rollant marched to Louis Charles’ room, where screams radiated, and pounded on the door to break it down, but his commanding officer stopped him.

“He is a child!” Rollant had screamed in his face.

“Return to the barracks, soldier,” was the cold reply.

Rollant protested but was met with, “He is not your concern. Now, be gone before you appear to be an enemy of the state.”

The following day, Rollant entered Louis Charles’ room and sat on the edge of the bed. Louis Charles was curled in the corner. “I am afraid of Citizen Simon,” he whispered. “But he doesn’t do anything to me when you are my guard.”

His words nearly crushed Rollant’s spirit. “As long as I am breathing,” Rollant offered. “I will be here as much as I can.”

The days turned into weeks, and winter neared. He often wondered if élise had married Hugo or if she had waited in vain for his return. She occupied his thoughts as he stood guard and fell asleep, though the image of Hugo and her sharing a kiss in the meadow still burned in his mind.

One November evening, Rollant walked the prison corridor to turn in for the night when he passed by a cell with a nun inside. He’d seen priests in prison, led to the guillotine, never to return, but it was the first time he’d seen a nun at the Temple. He debated whether to stay or keep walking.

The notion of forsaking a nun knotted his belly, so he turned his head. Her familiar face still held kind eyes that sparkled upon meeting his gaze.

“Rollant de Montvieux,” she whispered.

His head swiveled to ensure no one was listening before shrinking beside her. “It is Rollant Montvieux in here,” he whispered.

“I remember you from Le Marais,” she said and laid a finger alongside his lips. “You loved dear élise. I still keep her in my prayers.”

“You remember us?” He asked with a scrunched brow. “After all these years?”

“Yes, I remember all of my patients,” she said.

“But I was never your patient.” Her face came to him. “Sister Francine,” he said.

“No, but you were a haunted man, one I pray for.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Wanting to love but afraid to,” she whispered.

His jaw fell agape. “How did?—”

She shook her head as if it were not important.

“What are you doing here?” he asked instead.

“I pledged my allegiance to God, the true king. For my crime, I am due for execution in the morning at the order of the Revolutionary Tribunal.”

Rollant sighed. His shoulders slumped as he leaned against the door and slid down.

“I will be in paradise soon. Do not be sad for me.” Her voice soothed his angst.

“You may think me a fool, but I envy you,” he said, hoping he could finally share his secret with someone who had least cared to remember him.

“You could have eternal life as well,” Sister Francine said with a gentle smile.

“No, God has cast me out. I’ve made too many mistakes.”

“Nothing separates you from God except your?—”

“No, Sister,” Rollant said and drew a deep breath. She was not a priest, but he hadn’t been to confession in centuries. His head hung on his chest. “I accepted magic, and now I cannot die. I am immortal.”

Her silence mocked him. She didn’t believe him. He looked up at the stone wall across the way. He rolled forward to stand, but at her whisper, he paused.

“Magic is a serious offense, but nothing is too serious if you keep your focus on God,” Sister Francine said, watching him.

He sat back. “I feel as if God has forsaken me. I spat in His face by becoming immortal, trading the natural for the supernatural as he is.”

Sister Francine nodded, but hummed in debate. “You’re immortal, you say, but were you born?”

“Yes, in 1122,” Rollant whispered.

“If you were born, you have a beginning, and you will have an end,” she said with absolute certainty. “Your body is not eternal.”

“But when? When will it end?” he asked, feeling as if he were about to confess six hundred years of sins to her. The overwhelming sense of losing control made him shut his mouth.

Sister Francine reached through the bars and stroked Rollant’s cheek. “Perhaps it is not when you die, but when you choose to live,” Sister Francine said.

“Live?” He scoffed. “What is life?”

“Life is love,” Sister Francine said.

“No, life is pain. I should never have fallen in love with élise or let her fall in love with me.”

"You say life is pain, but I say life is love," Sister Francine said softly. "Pain is a part of love, yes, but it is also the proof of it. Why would God let your heart ache for élise if not to show you that it still beats?"

Rollant winced at the truth in her sentiment. His indifference had melted away when he fell in love. “But I told her to marry another, one she could have a future with.”

“Why can she not have a future with you?” she asked.

“Because I am cursed. She would die, and yet I would live on without her.”

“Maybe she is the balm to your curse, Rollant,” Sister Francine said.

“It is too late; she was to be married this past summer in Charonne,” he said.

“Well, was to be and is are two different states,” Sister Francine patted Rollant’s hand. “If you care about her, you must go to her, especially now, if you say she is in Charonne. I was in Saint-Denis, where I was arrested.”

“That is outside the city walls,” Rollant whispered.

“Yes,” Sister Francine nodded. “They are expanding their reach.”

Rollant sat in silence as Sister Francine’s words faded into the dark abyss of his mind.

His heart ached. élise. Her name came as a whisper in his head, and with it came the memory of her tear-streaked face the day he left her in Charonne eleven months prior.

He had told himself she was safer without him, but had he been wrong?

The Revolution’s shadow was growing, well beyond the city walls, if it had reached Saint-Denis.

And if it reached her—if she fell victim to the chaos—could he live with himself?

“I need to warn her,” he finally said. “But I can’t leave Louis Charles to the tortures alone.”

“I heard his screams,” Sister Francine said with tears in her eyes. “He needs protection, but what more can you do? You are not there now. élise needs protection as well. Two souls—equally important. Right now, you can only help Louis Charles so much. Warn élise. You’ll come back for the child.”

Again, torn between duty and love, love and duty. But she was right. Both souls were equally important. They wouldn’t kill Louis Charles, though they didn’t mind bruising him; they needed him as leverage in the war. However, they did not need élise.

He rose, indebted to Sister Francine. “Come with me,” Rollant whispered. “I can help you escape.”

Sister Francine shook her head. “My child, I’m exactly where I need to be, and by tomorrow’s end, I will be with my Lord, which is where I wanted to be all along.”

Rollant knelt and kissed her hand.

“Bless you, Rollant Montvieux,” she whispered. “Now go and warn your love.”

Rollant dipped his chin to her in gratitude before going to his commanding officer’s quarters to ask for a few days of reprieve for an urgent personal emergency.

He hoped that, with the little humanity left, they wouldn’t hurt Louis Charles too much in his absence.

Upon review, Rollant Montvieux had never requested a reprieve; it was granted, and Rollant left for Charonne by nightfall.

* * *

True to his word, Rollant went to Hugo’s family home first rather than to élise, in case she had gone through with the marriage. His heart wished she had not, but logic and reason desired her to be blissfully happy with Hugo. He pounded on the door.

Jacq, dressed in a long shirt and breeches, holding a small candle, opened the door. Rollant’s heart sank, thinking Hugo had moved in with élise as her husband.

“It is near midnight. Is all well, Citizen Montvieux?” Jacq asked.

Rollant shook his head. “We need to leave Charonne now.”

Jacq nodded. “I’ll have my family ready,” he said and closed the door.