83. Angélique
83
Angélique
I t turns out that, no, I can’t get Cassiopé and Léandre out of the Archive room. At least, not at the same time.
I do manage to get Léandre out, but it’s reluctant, and he’s as grumpy as a toddler after confiscating his toys.
It’s simultaneously amusing and annoying.
I’ve never seen him like this with a girl, and I don’t know if he imprinted on her just because she was here and he thought he was going to disappear or if it’s really true love.
I’ve seen the way Cassiopé looks at him; I have no doubt that she truly fell in love with him. It’s like he hung the moon for her, and she is a nocturnal animal shifter, so it means even more to her.
“Stop sulking and help me,” I tell Léandre before he kicks another pebble with his foot. “You’ve always said that you wanted to fly with me. Now is the time.”
He grumbles again, and I snap.
“Stop being a baby. You’ll be back with Cassiopé in a couple hours or less. I’m going to be stuck on the ground the rest of my life if I don’t learn how to use those damn wings,” I tell him as I lose patience.
Yes, I’m prickly, probably more than he is grumpy, and I know I should probably be nicer after what he lived through, but I’m desperate.
I wasn’t yesterday evening because I was too exhausted to even start to think, but when I opened my eyes this morning, I freaked out.
Knowing the force in presence and the fact that we are obviously going straight to war—or at least that’s what it looks like—I’m going to be the only one stuck on the ground.
It evened things out that we were stuck in a corridor during the battle in Versailles, but it’s not always going to be the same.
And there are going to be guns at some point. I have no idea why so few of Micha?l’s guards used theirs, but it’s going to be different next time, and I’m going to be vulnerable—more than anyone else.
The absence of guns during the battle is still nagging at me, though. It was probably something to do with not damaging his precious palace—even if it was a huge failure on that side—or the fact that he knew that he wouldn’t be able to kill Elhyor anyway so it was better not put his own men into the crossfire, but it doesn’t make sense to me.
He has the best engineers working for him, making stupidly efficient weapons.
I used to train with most of those, even if I still prefer fighting with daggers, so I would know.
So yes, I’m more of an ass today than any other day, but I’m never going to say it out loud. I’m scared.
And yet Léandre seems to notice, because he finally looks at me closely, and his eyes soften.
“It’s going to be alright,” he tells me, and I want to believe him, but life is so fucked up lately that I don’t even know what to think anymore.
“Okay,” he says, “let’s start with the basics. You know how to shift now, right?”
I’d like to say I know how to but if yesterday is any proof of anything, it’s that yes, I know how to shift; I just have no clue how to control it.
Léandre takes my silence for what it is—denial—and sighs.
”What triggered your shifts so far?” He asks when he sees I’m not going to answer with more than a shake of my head.
“The fear of crashing to the ground?” I answer, but it’s more like a question because that was probably one of the reasons, but I wasn’t really scared.
I’ve been scared in my life, I still am even if the reasons why have changed recently, but I don’t think I could say I was scared shitless of going splash on the ground. That could have been a “relief” of not having to fight anymore, but even that is wrong. I never in my life contemplated ending my life, even when I didn’t know if I could actually shift and jumped from Notre Dame’s rooftop.
It was a mix of determination and of will to show them what I was made of, but I don’t think those are what Léandre is looking for here.
Or maybe it might.
“I wanted to prove that I could fight for myself the first time, and well, all the times with Elhyor it was more about the fact I didn’t want him saving me,” I answer.
”So, pride,” Léandre answers, thoughtful, “it might be the death of you.” His laugh is teasing, but it seems to give him an idea.
“Come with me,” he says without even looking at me to see if I’m following.
I have the temptation not to comply, just to spite him for being reluctant to spend time with me instead of Cassiopé, but I tuck my pettiness into a dark corner of my consciousness and follow after him.
He’s doing this for me, after all.
But if I know anything about my best friend, it’s that, with the smile he gave me before he asked me to follow, I’m gonna hate what’s coming.
We arrive at the training grounds, and I’m a bit lost as to why we’re here, but still, I let Léandre do his thing.
He drags a chair to the middle of the central trading, annoying the two warriors who were sparring, preventing them from training because I’m right in the middle, and they can’t use the space the way they need.
“What the fuck are you doing?” One of them asks—Armand, I think, is his name. He’s not pissed, but he’s more than annoyed.
Léandre doesn’t seem to care for any of the warriors.
”Sit,” he tells me instead.
I do as he asks, weirdly annoyed myself, too.
“You’ll stay here, on that seat,” he starts saying, still without looking at any of the warriors surrounding us who have started to glare at him. “Until you can shift, they can’t train.”
What?
Some of the warriors start swearing. I don’t know who they hate the most in this instant: me, who is preventing them from training, or Léandre, who just decided this without even warning them.
”You can’t do that, Léandre,” I say. “They need to train. You know as well as I do that we’re on the verge of a war. One day of sparring is what could make a difference.”
“Oh, you have no idea how wrong you are,” he says with an evil smile. “Elhyor said I could use any way I need as long as you shift by yourself by the end of the day.”
Of course, he said that.
I’m not even surprised and Léandre notices the realization in my eyes and shrugs before sitting cross legs on the ground in front of me.
“Now, shift if you don’t want them to miss a training day,” he says with a smug smile.
He gets a book out from his back pocket and that’s when I realize that he had planned that from the beginning.
The bastard!
I close my eyes and focus on getting my wings out a bit like Cassiopé tried to explain to me before I jumped from the rooftop. I don’t feel like it’s helping at all, but I have no other idea on how to start.
After an hour, I’m nowhere near shifted. I’m frustrated. The warriors are frustrated and even if they can still train around us, this is the ground where they usually demonstrate new moves. It’s slightly elevated, which makes everything more visible from everywhere else on the training ground and makes it even more unmissable that I’m the one preventing things from going smoothly.
I know it, and from the glares I’m receiving from all the warriors, they know it, too.
Yes, I say “I” because I’ve been watching Léandre for the past five minutes, and he hasn’t peeked around ever since he forced me to sit on that chair. He’s oblivious to the stares, or he doesn’t care.
Either way, he might be right.
My pride might very well be the death of me if I don’t shift very soon.
Maybe not the death of me, per se, but I can feel the animosity from where I’m sitting.
Still not shifted.
“Are you serious?” I end up yelling. It’s more a whisper than a yell, though, because I don’t want to incur more wrath from the training warriors.
Léandre lifts his face out of the book he’s been reading the whole time.
“You held longer than I thought,” he says in a bored tone that would be more suited to discussing the weather than to answer a frustrated warrior.
Because that’s what I am—very frustrated and itching for a fight.
“You knew it wouldn’t work?” I ask, and I feel like my frustration is slowly turning into madness.
Léandre only shrugs in response, and that gesture only pisses me off even more.
“You knew and still you made me sit in the middle of them. You made me sit while they glared at me, while they looked at me like I was a hindrance. Maybe even a failure. You made me look stupid for an hour and pissed everyone in the process.”
It all sounded like a question in my head, but instead it just went out as an accusation.
“Quiet, Angel, they’re staring,” Léandre answers me as if he actually doesn’t care about what I just said.
I didn’t even realize that I had started to raise my voice, but his calmness is having the opposite effect, and there is no way for me to be calm anymore.
“Quiet? I don’t care if I’m quiet. They can hear all they want. They’ve been glaring at me since you started that charade,” I say as I stand from my chair.
“I’m done with this shit,” I shout at the idiot I call my best friend.
Except when I try to take my first step, I’m brought back down on the chair.
What the hell?
I look around and—oh shit—my wings are out.
“What?”
It’s not meant to be out loud, and yet the word still escapes my lips.
“You were wrong,” Léandre tells me, and when I look at him, there is no smugness on his face anymore. “Your pride was never the problem.” I’m waiting on more explanation, even if I definitely know I won’t like it.
“You’re full of anger. Channel it, and you’ll be able to shift completely. Now sit and shift.”
I’m so dumbfounded that I comply, but inside I’m boiling. What does he mean? I’m full of anger?
It might be true—my wings shifted after all—but still, I don’t like the way he said that. What right does he have to tell me that? He knows what I’ve been through to get here, and still he tells me that, like I’m not entitled to some of that anger.
“I’m not full of anger,” I start. “And what if I am? What is wrong with that?” I’m not shouting anymore, but the training ground has turned deadly silent, and even with my deadly serious and low tone, I know everyone can hear me just right.
“Anyone in my position…” I start to say, but I’m cut short and can’t say another word.
I’m just pain and misery, and I want to yell and scream again, but all of a sudden it stops and I’m looking at Léandre at eye level.
“I love you, Angélique, but you’re so easy to piss off,” he says with a shit-eating smile. “Now shift back so they can finally train properly.”
I want to answer him, but it’s a croaked cry that escapes me instead.
Oh god. I finally shifted.