37. Angélique
37
Angélique
I t wasn’t too hard to convince Elhyor and Brice that I needed warmer clothes if we were going to fly away. It was a lot less simple to evade Cassiopé, who wanted to go with me.
Still, having her pick up her favorite book, and warmer clothes, too, did the trick in the end. Probably more the book than the clothes.
Avoiding anyone on my way up is like a walk in the park. Everyone is so busy trying to get things in order for the battle they all think is coming that no one seems to notice the girl heading for the stairs in her all-black technical clothes.
Because, of course, I don’t need warmer clothes. What I did need were bulletproof clothes and daggers, because I am as hell not going out to the parvis without some kind of protection.
If I get to the ground in one piece at all, because there’s no way to know if Elhyor’s technique will work better than Cassiopé’s.
“Here goes nothing,” I think as I jump from Notre Dame’s rooftop.
As I start to fall, I feel a pit open up in my stomach. It’s something fierce that I can’t control, but still, there are no wings sprouting from my back, and I think that maybe jumping like this wasn’t such a great idea.
I know the fall lasts barely more than a second, but it feels like an eternity. An eternity during which I see my life unraveling behind my eyes, in reverse. Training. Whipping. More training. More whipping and more training, until I’m back to that fateful day. As my first shift happens just behind my eyelids, a searing pain tears through my back and jerks my mind back to the present.
My eyes open again, and I know they showcase the inferno that I’m feeling right now.
Because, as I step onto the parvis, with the sky turning red from the sun setting at my back , black feathery wings out, bloodied from my first partial shift, and daggers in hand, I can see the fear in the men in front of me.
They wanted me, they’re going to get me.
That might be more than they bargained for, though.
“Who are you?” The man I saw vehemently talking to Elhyor earlier is almost stuttering his question, and I find it almost comical that he didn’t even know who to look for when he asked that I was handed over to him.
I open my arms, and my wings behind me, to show exactly who I am.
“I’m your worst nightmare, and you asked for me,” I say in a voice that drips with smugness.
I know I shouldn’t. These clothes can only do so much. They’re bulletproof, sure, but some of the men have firelances, and I sure as hell won’t try to test if the clothes are fire repellent, too.
“You?” the man asks in a shaky voice as he looks behind me. “You can’t be.”
“Tell that to my father. I think he’ll love your point of view,” I answer back.
That seems to bring him out of whatever trance he was in at the sight of my wings.
“Get her,” he yells to men, who are just behind him.
I could fly if I wanted to escape—if I could manage that with no training—but that’s not why I came here.
My mission was to kill Elhyor, not to get everyone in here killed. I think my father would prefer if I let everyone die and just finish Elhyor after everything, but I’m not so cold-hearted that I would let that happen.
I’m also not a damsel in distress who needs saving.
I can do the damn saving all by myself.