Fabien stood on the road where the Parthenays had been slaughtered. There were large patches of dried blood on the dirt and crusted on the nearest trees. He studied the ground carefully, searching for clues as to the ambush. Then he spied a small set of footprints leading from the road into the field by the woods. He traced the prints to the meadow’s edge and discovered a flattened path through the grasses. Someone had run through here. Waving gnats from his face, he followed the path to a spot where that same someone had lain down. No, had fallen. There were clots of browned blood on the crushed weeds.

He walked toward a far copse of trees, following another trail of trampled grasses.

And she was there. Curled up at the base of an almond willow tree.

Charlotte.

Fabien knelt beside her and drew her gently into his lap. The amount of blood that had soaked her gown told him her wound was fatal.

Charlotte’s lashes fluttered but her eyes remained closed. “Will I die?” she managed.

Fabien sighed. “Yes.”

She tried to lick her lips. “Can you help me?”

“No. But you will not be alone.”

There was a brooch upon her collar, and her feeble fingers fumbled for it as if it were a rosary. Fabien listened, waited. It would not be long. Any moment.

Suddenly Charlotte’s eyes opened and she looked straight at Fabien, her gaze filled with a terrified ecstasy. “ I saw angels!” she cried.

And then she folded into herself and her life flew away.

Cassel awakened the snoring, drooling Montcourt by pissing on his face.

“Filthy dog!” sputtered Montcourt into the cold floor as he struggled into consciousness. “I will end you!” Then his eyes focused enough to see it was Cassel pissing and he went quiet.

“You deserve it!” said Cassel. “You arrived here so drunk that you donated the contents of your bladder to the corner of my kitchen and now lie like a pig in the fireplace. Consider this merely the repayment of the loan.”

Montcourt sat up. He ran his hands along his face, streaking black soot like war paint. “Where…where is our share?”

“Here,” said Cassel. He leaned over and slapped Montcourt soundly. “Is that enough or would you like more? You murder a noble family on the road, then come to my house?”

“She heard my voice.” Montcourt struggled to his feet. “She knew me.”

“How is that possible?”

“Unlikely, but I could not take the risk.”

Cassel glared. “You murdered a noble family where they stood. Every single one.”

“Not quite. A young girl escaped into the field. But she’s wounded and won’t live long.”

“You did not follow her?”

“I did not think it safe to linger.”

Cassel leaned in to the piss-smelling, soot-covered man. “Return! Finish what was begun! She still has her tongue, I presume?”