Page 107 of The Darkest Oath

“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.

Rollant went to the other three families before he went to Élise. The path to her door felt longer than the journey from Paris itself. Rollant’s boots crunched against the frost-coated earth, with each step weighed down by the dread of finding them together—her as Hugo’s wife, the man who had taken his place. Jacq had opened the door to Hugo’s family home, not Hugo as he expected, and with it, the flicker of hope he had dared to hold extinguished.

He braced himself as he stood before Élise’s door. His fist rapped against the wood, louder than he’d intended. When the door opened, the sight of her clad in his shirt hanging loosely over her frame and a coat over her shoulders nearly undid him.

“Rollant?” Her whisper and the intensity of her gaze stole the air from his lungs. “You came back?” she asked with a quiver in her voice and a hopeful longing in her eyes.

For a moment, he couldn’t speak. His name on her lips was everything he had imagined in his sleepless nights—soft, reverent, aching with unspoken feelings. The way she looked at him made his resolve falter. He wanted to close the distance between them, to pull her into his arms and place a parted mouth upon hers as he had dreamed of a thousand times.

She shivered from the night’s winds, breaking his trance. “Why did Hugo let you come to the door in the middle of the night?” he asked, but he would deal with Hugo’s carelessness later. He held up his hand to redirect. “We must leave now, Élise, pack your things—yours and Hugo’s.”

“Hugo does not live here,” she said, her eyes locking with his, before his gaze dropped to her bare finger. “He suggested we wait to be wed,” she whispered. “I always take off his ring at night and pull your shirt over my head and my heart.” The action was implicit in her resolve.

His jaw fell agape. “You are not married?” he asked in disbelief, wondering why she had chosen to wait. Why was he deserving of such devotion?

She shook her head, a question in her eyes, but it never flowed off her tongue.

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