Page 29 of The Darkest Oath

Only one other woman had moved him to tears before—Amée.

With a slight limp, he made his way to a nearby cafe and inn, choosing a seat near the window where he could still watch the tent hospital.

He ordered water, wine, and stew and stretched his aching leg as he listened to the hum of voices around him. At the next table, a group murmured about the recent promise of an Estates-General. His muscles slowly relaxed, and he lowered his head and stretched his neck to relieve the tension. Glancing back at the hospital tent, he clasped his hands over his mouth, gathering his thoughts.

Whatever came next, he vowed he would not abandon Élise to this fate. Perhaps it would be the closest to redemption he could ever hope to find.

CHAPTER12

Light of the World

LE MARAIS, PARIS, SEPTEMBER 1788

The sharp stingof mint landed on her tongue and in her nostrils, forcing her eyes open. Her gaze drifted to the unfamiliar surroundings. Rollant’s voice drifted to her from beyond the tent flap, steady and low, a tether she didn’t yet know she was holding on to. Faded light seeped through the white fabric walls, casting soft, golden hues over the patients as if angels were overlooking them. The tent was filled with the murmur of women and a child’s cough. The faint scent of dried herbs clung to the cool air, and gentle footsteps rustled like whispers against the cobbled street beneath.

A nun placed her hand on Élise’s brow. The nun’s hand was soft and cool, a stark contrast to the rough treatment Élise was accustomed to. Her low and loving voice soothed more than her fever.

“Steady, child,” she whispered. “Allow us to care for your fever and your bruises.” The nun’s eyes darkened from sorrow as she glanced down at Élise’s body. The nun’s careful eyes traced the bruises marking her arms, a look Élise had seen before in the eyes of strangers who looked upon her with pity. But the nun didn’t turn away. Instead, she lifted Élise’s hand, pressing it gently against her robes, and whispered, “You are safe here.”

The mint’s heat gave way to a dull ache that seemed to pulse through her limbs. Its reprieve filled her nostrils and soothed the throb in her head.

Her mind flashed back to the bakery—the suffocating heat of the oven, Gabin’s sharp voice, the weight of flour-dusted loaves in her hands. But the world here was softer, more peaceful, with no need to move. Her throat tightened, unfamiliar emotions welling up at the nun’s gentle words. Pity, she understood, but this place was something she’d never experienced before, as if the warmth of kindness reached deep into her soul.

“I can’t pay you.” The words weakly fell over her lips.

“There is no cost, my child,” the nun whispered.

“You may call me Élise,” she said.

The nun smiled. “My name is Sister Francine. I will watch your fever and tend to your illness.” She cupped her hand behind Élise’s head and lifted water to Élise’s lips.

“Not too much,” Francine said in soft tones before taking the cup away. “Try to sleep, my child. Your body needs much rest.” She laid a thin blanket atop Élise’s shoulders, swept Élise’s hair from her face, and began to hum; it was enchanting.

“What is that song?” Élise asked, the words barely audible. “It reminds me of my mother.”

“It is the Song of Mary,” she said. “Magnificat. I am singing it for praise and thanksgiving to our Lord that your friend brought you, carried you even, from Faubourg Saint-Antoine, and more so, that we can help you.”

Élise relaxed into the cot with her eyes lingering closed. Her fingers brushed Rollant’s coat, still draped over her body beneath the blanket. He had carried her and taken her from Gabin to a place like this. It was more kindness than she could remember receiving in her lifetime. The weight of his coat around her shoulders and his old wood candle smoke musk had kept her from falling asleep in his arms. She had tried to walk a few times, but he caught her when her legs failed. She heard his labored breath in her memory, a reminder of his silent, steady presence. The corners of her lips turned up. Gabin would never have brought her so far to be cared for. “Can you thank Rollant for all his kindness if I shall not see the morning?”

Francine’s gaze warmed. “You will see the morning, but I shall tell him when Sister Ingrid requested he return for a report this evening.” She put both hands on the edge of the cot. “Now, sleep.” She pushed off, causing the cot to rock slightly. Then Sister Francine was gone.

Élise turned to her left and then her right. Sleeping women and children were all around, and the tent blocked the sun’s warmth, though the stale air reigned supreme within the fabric walls. The nuns moved quietly between the cots, dipping with water and cool rags for their patients. The remnant drops of water still beaded on her forehead.

Such a different place than the bakery, she mused. Her body felt weak and vulnerable, but she relaxed into the cot, letting the tension of the hardships she’d faced melt into the linen beneath her bare shoulders.

She had no idea where she was except that she was in a safe place, as Sister Francine had said. Rollant had brought her there, and she’d be forever thankful to him. Yet as ease settled over her, uncertainty flickered at the edges—safety was as foreign as it was fleeting as she knew Gabin would reclaim her in a few days’ time and Rollant would have to leave again.

As she drifted into sleep, Élise clung to her resolve, reminding herself that survival was her own burden to carry. This place, these people—kind though they were—were only temporary. The bakery’s hold would tighten again, and she would once more find herself navigating its harsh confines alone.

* * *

A familiar,steady voice broke through the haze of Élise’s sleep. It was low and gentle, almost a murmur against the soft cries within the tent.

She blinked.

The edges of her vision still blurred, but her senses sharpened at the sound of her name.

“Élise,” the voice spoke again, hushed and close, a quiet insistence in each syllable.

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