“Go with St. Juste,” I whisper to Ettie.

She looks at me, confused.

“Trust me.”

She lets go of me and steps away.

“If they’re going to be arrested, then I’m going with them,” she announces loudly to the world, as if she and I have quarreled.

I wobble, unable to stand properly without her holding on to me. I want to cry out for her to stay, to wait. But everything will be much easier if she’s with them.

She marches out the door with the prisoners. I hold the banister and inch myself forward, wincing in pain. Montparnasse watches from a distance. He doesn’t come to help me. As long as I’m able, he’ll let me walk for myself. I lift my chin and meet his eyes. And I could swear, for the first time in his life, he smiles.

The dauphin, however, is by my side in an instant. He stands there in his only slightly dusty uniform while I’m covered with dirt and blood, painfully aware that I reek.

“You need a surgeon for that leg. Here, let me help you.”

I shake my head and swat him away. I don’t have time; there is much still to do. He follows me out the door, trying to bully me into coming to the palace to recover. He prattles on about providing me with the best doctors. I wonder how it’s possible for any one person to be so handsome and so annoying at the same time.

The Fleshers have been rounded up and loaded onto a prison cart. The revolutionaries, St. Juste, Grantaire, le Maire, and Ettie are being piled into another. Javert is making sure they’re all together. Ettie watches me from between the bars, exactly where I need her to be. To the right, the Sisters are being loaded onto wagons that will take them to the hospital. I catch a glimpse of Azelma, her worn gown stained with the Tiger’s blood. Her eyes are dull and confused; she is skin and bone. My heart contracts. I want to go to her. I want to put my arms around her and take her away. But I know she’s safer where she is for now.

She is safe.

She is finally safe.

Content that le Maire is locked in the carriage, Javert climbs up next to the driver and snappily orders him to head for the Châtelet. The driver cracks his whip, and the cart starts to rumble away.

I give a whistle, short and sharp. Ettie turns and looks at me, and I put one hand to the neck of my shirt. She frowns, then lifts her fingers to the blood-soaked collar of her dress, where they close over the two brass hair clips I pinned there earlier. She laughs. It’s a glorious sound.

The soldiers are mounting their horses and heading away. A wave of dizziness comes over me. The prince takes advantage of my weakness to seize my arm and steer me to his carriage.