Gabriel
One second, Gabriel is staring at the dying guard, and the next, he’s running up to the horse and throwing himself onto the animal’s back. Dammit, dammit, dammit. This is his fault. Baptiste’s group came here for him because he refused to answer their letters and meeting requests. And now a guard is dead.
All Gabriel wanted was a few days to gather his thoughts. A few days to forget about the group for only but a moment. He didn’t think they would come looking for him.
“What are you doing?” Jean calls to him, eyes darting between Gabriel and the guard.
Gabriel grabs at the horse’s reins. “I have to stop them.”
Pierre snaps his head up. “Stop who? God, do you think it could be L’Ange de la Mort? Do you think he came to kill us all?”
“I’m coming with you,” Jean says, sticking out his hand so Gabriel can help him onto the horse.
“No. It’s too dangerous.”
“I don’t give a damn about the danger, Gabriel! No matter what, remember? I said I’d always help you no matter what.”
For a moment, the two stare at each other, Jean’s jaw clenched and Gabriel’s hands wrapped tightly around the horse’s reins.
I’m lying to you about your father, Gabriel wants to say. I know your father is a murderer, and I haven’t told you. I’m a liar, and you shouldn’t wish to help me with anything.
But he wants—no needs—Jean’s help.
Because Jean is the one person in this world he can trust with everything.
Because he’s scared, and he wants to be with his best friend.
“All right,” Gabriel says, taking Jean’s hand and swinging him onto the horse’s back.
“Wait!” Pierre rushes up to them, arms spread wide. “You can’t go out there. What if you’re killed?”
“We won’t be,” Gabriel says.
“But what if—”
“That guard is dying. You should go find help.”
“Oh! Right!” Pierre turns back to the guard, shoes slipping on the snow-soaked ground. “Right. Good idea. I’ll go find help.”
“We’ll talk later,” Gabriel says, kicking the horse on its side.
The horse charges forward, and he and Jean are off, darting along the grand canal—dense clusters of stars reflected in the dark water—and crashing into the forest. The trees are numerous, branches tangling in thick knots above Gabriel’s head. But the bark is bare, and moonlight spills in through the leafless gaps, rippling across the ground in a sea of white.
Gabriel follows the imprint of horse hooves in the dirt, willing the horse over loose rocks and roots bursting free from the ground. The horse’s black coat slickens with sweat, but he refuses to slow.
Just a bit more. The horse only has to hang on for a bit more.
And indeed, a minute later, he stumbles upon a clearing in the forest, where three dark figures are silhouetted against a backdrop of moonlit trees.
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L'Ange de la Mort (The Art of Revolution #1)
Historical Fiction{Wattys 2018 Winner - The Contemporaries} Versailles, France 1789: Where the only things more prevalent than opulence and wealth, are secrets. At the dawn of the French Revolution, Paris is divided. In the glittering palace of Versailles, courtiers...
