Page 42 of The Darkest Oath

She ignored him.

“What of us?” a voice finally echoed, an older woman clutching a threadbare shawl. Her face was weathered, lined with years of labor and hunger. “Do we starve while the deputies speak for us?”

Soon, the plaza was filled with questions asking, “What of us?”

“Thebourgeoisieare nothing more than merchants with finer boots,” another man spat, his fists clenched. “They will speak for their own profits, not for us.”

Divisions among the middle and lower classes rippled through the crowd.

“Necker!” Someone yelled, and a great cheer rose at the minister’s name. “Minister Necker will introduce the social injustices and gross inequality.”

Gabin approached her.

But she couldn’t stop. “If we are the Third Estate—if we are everything—then we cannot settle for deputies who won’t even look at us.”

Malo shifted uneasily beside her, his hand brushing her arm in warning.

“That’s enough,” Gabin growled, grabbing her arm in the crowd’s uproar. “It is time to close that pretty mouth of yours,” he gritted.

Élise’s hands clenched into fists. She wanted to scream, to lash out, but the crowd’s attention was already turning to others who were shouting for plans, for action. It didn’t matter. Gabin would not control her.

“Let me go, Gabin.” She yanked free from his grip, leaving red streaks down her arm, sure to bruise.

He gripped her tightly right under her shoulder joint and armpit. If she yanked, he’d break her arm. “Close your mouth,” he whispered in her ear with no further threat needed.

A wiry man stepped onto a crate, raising a hand to command attention. “We must draft our grievances, as the decree allows. Every district is to send its demands to the Estates-General. If thebourgeoisiewon’t speak for us, we’ll ensure they have no choice.”

Cheers broke out. Gabin shoved Élise aside to join the growing knot of men discussing the logistics. She stumbled back, her breath hitching as Malo caught her elbow.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he whispered, his face pale. “Gabin won’t forget.”

“Good,” Élise said, though her voice wavered. “Maybe it’s time someone didn’t forget.”

She dusted herself off and turned over a crate of her own. She had a voice—a gift—and no one would silence her.

CHAPTER17

Rise of the Beaten

FAUBOURG SAINT-ANTOINE, PARIS, FEBRUARY 1789

January endedwith a bone-chilling cold that blurred Rollant’s view of the streets of Paris. Duty pushed him onward to carry out the crumbling throne’s request, yet desire pulled him along. Fear of what became of the woman who had captured his thoughts slowed his steps. The King’s Decree had come two weeks earlier, and Louis was worried how the Third Estate would react before the Estates-General. Rollant volunteered to go again to Paris, to which Louis agreed.

Rollant rolled the coat’s collar up around his neck and narrowed his eyes to slits. His breath became foggy in front of his face. The liveliness on Rue de Charonne paled in comparison to the prior year. Its inhabitants were bundled in rags with pitiful sneers. Hate lingered in their eyes at the stranger in a thick, unstained coat walking along. The whispered disgust was tangible. Rollant ignored them and walked faster. He would have to do a better job of blending in if he wanted a good report to the King that would ultimately fall on deaf ears and inactive hands. Louis desperately wanted the people to love him, but because he was so detached, he couldn’t see that they did not and would not, at least not anymore.

Fragments of conversation blew past with the wind. Élise’s name emerged. His heart settled. She was still alive. He drifted toward the conversation: two men huddled around a fire outside a closed-up woodshop.

“Pardon me,” Rollant interjected.

They looked up and examined his untattered clothes and nicely kept leather boots. “What do you want?” one man growled.

“I heard you mention the name Élise. Would that happen to be the Élise atAu Pain Roux?”

They shared a glance. “And who are you to be asking?”

“Rollant Montvieux.”

One of the men smiled a toothy grin. “Ah, we’ve heard of you too. The rich man.”

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