A tongue of fire licked up, crackling the air. The heat was curling the hair on the back of her neck and sending rivulets of sweat between her breasts.
‘You may have seen a few things, but you have no idea what my master has planned. The girl is only the start. The world must be righted, Camille Laroche. The natural order must be restored. The king on his throne and the treasonous scum of the Revolution put down like dogs.’ A curtain engulfed in flame collapsed behind him, rippling down from the smoke-filled ceiling. ‘If the Revolutionaries want terror, then we’re more than happy to provide it.’
She spat in his stupid, hateful face.
Dorval scraped the glistening globule of spit from his cheek, his expression changing from smug satisfaction to unveiled rage. He twisted his fist in the front of her shirt and hauled her up so his meaty breath filled her nostrils.
‘Fine. Play games. If you don’t produce the girl by tomorrow, we’re coming for you,’ he hissed. ‘The duc was being polite. I won’t be. I’ll cut your skin from your face until you beg me to let you die.’ Camille felt the sharp line of a blade against her ribs. ‘I’ll cook it in front of you. Crisp it up nice in a pan. Not so much food round these days, we have to make do with what we can. Lots of hungry people around willing to eat a hot bit of meat without asking where it came from.’
Finally, fear gripped her. She’d taken a stupid risk and lost control of the situation again. Again.
Maybe this was who she really was. A stupid, scared girl who fell apart at the moment it mattered most. Maybe her luck was finally about to run out.
No. An answering kernel of anger caught light in her gut. She wasn’t going to faint, or cry, or beg, no matter how much her body hurt or how afraid she felt. She was Camille Laroche. Luck was something you made. If she was going down, she would take these bastards with her.
Working the moisture from her fire-dry mouth, she spat in Dorval’s face again.
‘I hope you choke on my blood when you kill me.’
He snarled.
‘You little bitch.’
He scraped his once-fine sleeve against the mess on his face and she took the opportunity to slam her knee between his legs.
He doubled over, cursing, dropping her to the floor.
The boards were hot to touch, fire had circled them, gobbling the walls and floor until the whole world was orange flame and black smoke. Far above her, the gantry groaned and heaved, raining ash and splinters. There had to be a way out. If she could just stand. If she could just move.
‘Camille!’
Guil’s voice, rasping and low, came from beyond the flames.
Struggling to see him through the smoke on the other side of a bank of burning props, she called back, ‘Get out of here! Find Olympe. Keep her safe. Go!’
‘Not without you. I won’t desert my battalion again.’
A hysterical laugh bubbled in her throat. Her battalion. Her choices.
‘I order you to leave.’
For a moment, the smoke cleared and she could see his smile.
‘No, Camille. If this is where things end for us, I choose to lose my life standing by your side.’
Oh, god. She didn’t deserve the faith they all placed in her.
Before she could reply, a boot slammed into her chest and she was flung onto the boards. Dorval loomed above her, grinding the sole of his boot into her sternum. The pressure was immense, strangling any last breath she had. She heard something crunch and prayed it wasn’t her ribs.
‘I don’t think you’re taking me seriously, Citoyenne Laroche. You can stand up for this quaint notion of what’s right and kill the few people you have left. Or you can choose to keep them safe.’
Safe for how long?she thought, trying to catch her breath. They knew about Olympe, knew what she could do. How long would the battalion be allowed to live with that knowledge? And what had he said? They had no idea what terror was coming.
This wouldn’t end with handing Olympe over.
Whatever this was, it was only just starting.
He stepped back, straightening his waistcoat.
