A plume of smoke hung over the buildings of the Left Bank, trailing Ada along the river like Ariadne’s thread following Theseus into the labyrinth. Through bleary eyes she watched it coil over the rooftops, her head fuddled and aching. Something big was happening but she couldn’t think what.
Slowly, her senses came back to her in scraps and snatches. The smell of sewage from the river, the numb ache of her hands tied behind her back, the slap and splash of oars in the water. It hurt too much to move. Her father was somewhere nearby, talking in hushed tones.
None of it felt real.
Someone appeared in her line of sight. The duc looked down at her, thin mouth lifted in a smile. She tried to speak, but realised that the fuzziness in her mouth wasn’t just from the drug, but a rag stuffed between her teeth. She settled for glowering.
He disappeared and she went back to watching the sky as they sailed upriver past the Île de la Cité and the Conciergerie where this had all started. She’d swum for her life here. Now she was helpless. Camille had fought for her life in the river too. But Ada had left her. Like she’d left her in the theatre. Like she’d left her now.
She loved her, she knew that much was true.
Maybe love wasn’t always enough.
2
The Bedroom, Au Petit Suisse
Camille woke up with James’s arm slung over her waist. They were curled up in her bed, his slow, sleepy breath on the back of her neck. Her throat was raw from crying. The long summer evening had nearly faded outside the windows.
Ada hadn’t come home. Neither had Al.
James had talked her into going back to the Au Petit Suisse. Guil was recovering well, but James didn’t like his patient being stuck in the damp. Camille had agreed – Ada might have made it back there, and anyway it was for the best if they kept moving. Guil could just about walk now, if slowly, and with the chaos of the festival, it was easy enough to disguise themselves as just another group of drunks staggering along.
She’d lain down still in her clothes on top of the covers, telling herself she wasn’t going to sleep until Ada was back safe. James had joined her. She’d meant to push him away, she really had. But it was cold, and she was tired and lonely. And she’d already crossed so many lines with him. So she let his arm stay around her, pressed herself against the warm bulk of his chest. Somewhere between the warmth of the fire and the steady, comforting thud of his heart, she had fallen asleep.
A rapid hammering on the bedroom door sent her shooting upright, then Guil threw the door open, leaning heavily on the door frame to support himself.
‘Camille! Wake up!’
‘I’m up – what is it?’ She tried to shuffle away from James, combing the knots from her hair. It felt obscene now for him to be in the bed she shared with Ada.
Guil hesitated on the threshold, taking in the scene, expression clouding over. But he said nothing, simply limped across the room, holding out a news-sheet.
‘It’s Al.’
She took the paper, scanning it quickly.
Al had been arrested. His trial was tomorrow.
Wordlessly, she pushed the paper into James’s hands. He read it, then looked at them both in horror.
‘You know how to fix this, don’t you? Isn’t rescuing people the battalion’s job?’
‘It is,’ said Guil, ‘but usually we have a full compliment of uninjured people.’
Camille giggled.
‘I don’t understand,’ said James. ‘What’s so funny?’
She waved him away. ‘Nothing. Only, the one thing I’ve tried to do is find a way to keep my friends – my family – alive, and yet all I’ve managed is to get people hurt or killed.’ Her laugh turned into a sob. ‘I supposed we really are going to be the Battalion of the Dead soon.’
James rested a hand on her back in comfort, and she couldn’t even bring herself to shrug him off.
‘Well.’ A voice came from the doorway. Olympe stepped over the threshold, still wearing the dress she’d been shot in, a neat hole burned into its front. ‘I suppose it’s a good thing I’m still alive.’
‘You have to kill me.’
The day before the deadline, Olympe had sat next to Camille on the steps to the crypt, gloved hands folded in her lap as she laid out her idea.
