She let out a great breath and relaxed her shoulders when the carriage door opened to an empty bench inside.

As they moved through Paris, Claire’s energy turned to an absolute giddy fever the closer they came to the Bastille.

“Why are we going to the prison?” Scarlet clutched her satchel closer to her body. She wished she had maintained a closer form of contact with her league. They knew her general whereabouts, but her next check-in time was still days away.

“He keeps his offices at the Bastille now. He says it inspires his mind to greatness.”

Scarlet nodded and reached inside to find her spectacles. Placing them on her face, she nearly went blind with their strength. She knew her eyes appeared large and distorted under the lenses.

“Oh, ma Renée. I did not know you needed those.”

Scarlet blushed. “I do. But I don’t usually wear them. Not very flattering. I just don’t want to miss anything.”

“Such a dear one, you. And so dedicated.” She squeezed Scarlet’s hand in sympathy.

Scarlet nodded and returned the pressure on Claire’s hand. She calmed her breathing and tried to act as though she were meeting a long-admired hero. The loathing she felt for him and all he did to France hid itself behind countless other thoughts Scarlet shoved in that direction. She pulled her bonnet closer over her face, and her eyes found the floor. Blonde braids draped over her shoulders. Hopefully very little of Scarlet Cavendish remained recognizable to a casual viewer.

They pulled up to the towering stone walls, and guards waved them past. Arriving in the committee’s carriage offered at least a free pass into the prison. Guards opened their carriage door and escorted them, Claire bouncing with glee, across a stone courtyard and through a door at the opposite end. They travelled through a maze of passages and poorly lit hallways. Scarlet kept meticulous track in her mind. At length, they arrived at a closed door with three guards standing outside. Four raps were answered by a muffled voice inside. And then, despite all her dread, Scarlet stood before the vilest man of the century. Her eyes could not leave his face.

He seemed calm, almost reasonable. “Come here, my dear. I long to meet the mastermind of so ingenious an idea.” He held out his hand to her.

She willed her feet to move and placed her hand in his, grateful for the gloves. She won victories over herself when she did not jerk away at his kiss, and she forced a curtsy in return to his bow.

“Did you enjoy the carriage? I don’t use them myself—such a spectacle of excess—but I see them as a useful method to transport people here.” He gestured for them all to be seated. “Please, show me this work of yours. I am fascinated with your abilities.” He smiled with encouragement and patted the seat beside himself.