James hesitated, bracing his elbows on his knees. ‘Looks like you have your drop point figured out. Easy to lose track of who has who in a crowd like that? What was it your father always used to say, Cam? There’s no such thing as fate, no destiny. Everything is a choice.’ He gave her an encouraging smile, pleasant and trusting. ‘I think we have a choice to stand up to some pretty nasty people, and that’s always going to be the choice I make. I understand why you didn’t want to tell me the truth. But you can trust me, Cam. You know that?’

She hesitated, feeling the weight of all their eyes on her.

Did she trust him?

‘I think what you’re doing is right, and brave. Liberté, égalité, fraternité, that’s what it should be about. I’m with you. I always will be.’

He was smiling at her, all cheekbones and dimples and hair tumbling into his eyes. On his other side, Ada sat looking at her hands, picking at her cuticles.

‘Fine. We’re going ahead with the drop tomorrow. You can help.’

She couldn’t stop now. This was bigger than them.

Terror, Dorval had said. Paris had already seen enough terror for a lifetime.

4

The Charnel House

19 Prairial Year II, one day until the deadline

Camille had folded herself up to sleep in an alcove that once held a heap of rib bones – the crypt beneath was too damp for her fragile lungs. They hadn’t wanted to risk moving Guil any distance, so they’d stayed put for the night. They had one more day until the deadline, and she’d put her battalion in mortal danger already.

But it seemed like one good thing had come out of the disaster at the theatre: surely Dorval couldn’t have escaped the burning building unscathed.

Unable to sleep longer, Camille waited for her coughing to subside. She didn’t want to look at the red speckling her sleeve. She was fine. She had to be.

Only Guil shared the upstairs room with her, still silently stretched like a body awaiting burial. Camille fetched a damp cloth and pressed it against his face. A scar ran around his bare shoulder, a memento from his time in the army.

She wanted to leave the room, not look at him. She couldn’t help but stay. Pick at the scab of her culpability and feel the pain she deserved.

Footsteps sounded on the stone stairs and Camille moved backwards quickly, wiping the beginning of tears from her cheeks.

James appeared, hair ruffled from sleep. Dark circles were smudged under his eyes and his lips looked bitten.

‘Morning. I’ve come to check on the patient.’

‘Thank you. For helping Guil, but also for being so … understanding.’