Page 114 of Don't Let Me Go
My blood runs cold. I look to Thierry, who stands in stunned silence, the color draining from his face.
“There must be some mistake,” he protests. “The king—he wouldn’t do that. He wants peace. That’s why he married his sister to a Huguenot!”
“The princess and her husband have been arrested.”
“No. No, that doesn’t make any sense,” Thierry exclaims, shaking his head in disbelief. “The king’s the one who arranged the marriage. He’s the one who invited all the Huguenots to come to Paris and celebrate the wedding!”
“It was a trap,” I say, the cruel truth dawning on me with terrible certainty.
Thierry turns to me, horror-stricken. “What?”
“It was a trap,” I repeat, spitting the words in disgust. “To lure us to the city. To trap us within the walls like rats so they can pick us off one by one.”
Thierry’s knees go weak. He grips the bed to steady himself as Madame Montague crosses herself. “I must warn my other guests.”
Before she can take a step, though, a loud and violent pounding erupts from downstairs. Someone is beating against the door of the inn.
“Open up!” a voice shouts.
“It’s the king’s soldiers,” Madame Montague hisses. “You must hide!”
I want to laugh at the absurdity of her suggestion. There’s nothing in our room to give us shelter except a spindly table and a wooden bed. But I grab Thierry and pull him and our rapiers under the bed with me. Madame Montague hurries downstairs, and for a moment there is no sound but Thierry’s panicked breathing beside me. I put my hand over his mouth to muffle the noise, and when I do, I feel his entire body trembling.
Why did we come to Paris? Why didn’t I listen to my father? He tried to talk us out of it. He said there would be danger. But I laughed and called him a paranoid old fool. I wasn’t about to miss the wedding of the century. I wasn’t going to be the one Huguenot who sat at home while the rest of his countrymen celebrated such a momentous event.
And poor Thierry followed me. Because how could he not? He’d follow me to hell if I asked him to. And that’s where I’ve led him.
“There are no Huguenots here,” Madame Montague shouts in the stairwell. I wonder if she’s lying to save our necks or her own. More to the point, I wonder what she’ll do if she’s forced to choose between the two.
“I don’t rent rooms to Huguenots. I never rent rooms to Huguenots. I’m a good Catholic.”
I hear her approaching footsteps followed by the heavy clomp of several pairs of boots.
The door to our room swings open, and Thierry goes stiff in my arms.
“Whose room is this?” I hear a soldier bark. I can’t see his face, only his feet, but his voice alone is sinister enough to conjure the specter of death.
“No one’s,” Madame Montague answers, stepping between the soldier and the bed to obscure his view. “There were some country boys staying here for the wedding, but they left last night.”
The soldier scoffs. Whether it’s because he doesn’t believe her story or because he’s disappointed at not finding two Huguenots to slaughter, I can’t say. But he storms out of the room. Madame Montague hesitates, then follows, shutting the door behind her.
I hear the soldiers moving through the inn, banging on doors, demanding papers. Someone pleads. Someone screams.
Thierry covers his ears and buries his face in my shoulder. I want to comfort him, but I don’t dare move. One creak of the floorboard might bring an army of soldiers crashing through our door. And as romantic as it might be to die in Thierry’s arms, I want to live.
I want to live.
The scream continues—then ends in an abrupt and fatal silence. Minutes pass. Or perhaps hours. Who can tell? When you’re waiting to die, every second is an eternity.
Finally, the door of our room scrapes open again. I hold my breath until I hear the soft tread of Madame Montague shuffling across the floorboards. She stops and stands without speaking for a long, terrible moment. Then quietly, simply, she says, “The soldiers are gone.”
A sob of relief escapes my throat, and Thierry heaves a sigh beside me.
“You must go,” Madame Montague says sharply, turning on her heel.
Her words renew my dread. Up until ten seconds ago, my only thought was to survive the soldiers’ search. But now that we’ve done that, I realize our dangers are far from over.
“What are we supposed to do?” I ask, scurrying out from under the bed.
