Page 38 of The Mademoiselle Alliance

37

A Queen Ruling over a Palace of Bones

London, October 1943

I think about my agents, my Alliance, the people France owes so much to, rather than what Dansey believes. I send one message of hope to all sectors: Do not try to contact anyone stop am investigating ways of parachuting supplies stop you will be given all assistance and help stop love end.

Not long after, I discover that the Bordeaux, Brest, Rennes, and Nantes transmitters are still operating. Hope flickers. Perhaps Alliance will lick its wounds, will stagger back onto its feet.

But after that, it’s like watching stars fall from the sky, leaving a wound of black over France.

The next message confirms that Magpie was arrested.

My dear, swashbuckling Rivière, who’s been there almost from the very start.

Cricket, the caped Colonel Kauffmann.

Bee.

Amniarix, whom I’d believed I’d one day thank in person.

General Baston.

So many names: Unicorn, Triton, Urus, Bat, Siren, Scallop.

Dordogne falls.

Autun.

Then Brest. Eight members from the one family.

Rennes.

Paris.

Brittany.

And one more name, foretold to me by a dazzling pink field of heather.

My magnificent Eagle has fallen. And with him, perhaps, three hundred more.

The executioner’s axe rests solely in my hands. I’m a queen, ruling over a palace of bones.