Chapter Twenty-Two Claire #2
If Gérard reveals my secret, Abel might pass me off to Jardincourt’s resident slayers. Any of them would make a show of it: moonmetal chains, spike collars, standing stocks on a public road.
Please, no.
“Monsieur Dupont, do you know who I am?” Abel asks.
“Everyone knows the slayer family names,” Gérard murmurs.
“I’m asking if you know what I’m infamous for.”
Gérard’s grip tightens on his glass.
Play nice, I will him.
“You froze up when your brother turned and got your family killed. Lost your riches in the fire.” He laughs, full of spite. “Guess you’re not as bad at your job as people say. You found me.”
My heart races, as if I’m the one who spoke the damning words. Based on the notes, I thought he’s been trying to live life to the fullest, not enrage slayers. What does he hope to gain?
What does he hope to lose?
“Yes. I found you,” Abel replies simply.
“Let me guess: I’m your way back to fame? Gold? The public’s good graces?”
“No. I wanted to know how you feel about slayers.”
Gérard looks to me. “This…pretty thing was going to bring it up to me?”
“Yes,” I confess. My safest plan of action—at least in front of Abel—is a degree of honesty.
Gérard throws his head back and laughs, then slams his fist on the table. Everything on it jumps. “You’re sick. Why not let the Gendarmerie take me? Do you get off on watching people count down the days until certain death or something?”
“No,” Abel sighs, but instead of the frustration I expect on his face, he sets his jaw and opens the journal. “I’m here to make you an offer.”
“An offer?”
I don’t realize I whispered that until Abel lifts his eyebrows at me. I clear my throat and set my shoulders, tugging at my ponytail.
He opens the journal and verbally translates the first entry: the one where he declares his intention to experiment on his brother.
Dread pools in my stomach.
Is that what this is about? Abel wants another test subject in his pursuit of a cure?
“Before I tell you my offer, I need you to understand that I tried everything I could think of to find a cure for my brother.” He makes a gesture at the blood-smeared pages.
“Medicines, paralysis, even prayer. Anything that could remotely inform my experiments, I tried it. My attempts became so aimless and cruel, my brother begged me to slay him. Even then, I didn’t kill him. He died from exhaustion.”
“Sounds like you put in a lot of effort for nothing.” Gérard’s hopeless stare lands on me. “If you want me to be your new test subject just so I can keep breathing…”
My heart leaps painfully. Is he about to reveal me as an option?
Abel slams the journal shut.
“No more experiments,” he declares. “And no more arrests. Marshal Bard wants me to follow standard procedure and let the gendarmes deliver you to a dragon pit. I don’t want to do that any more than I want to sit back and watch Claire lie to you.
It was wrong of me not to have been honest from the start. ”
Gérard must be as stunned as I feel, because slowly, cautiously, he sits up in his chair. “What are you getting at?”
“On behalf of the Slayers Guild, I want to formally apologize for the creation of the culture that drove you to hide from us instead of seeking help.” Abel gestures to Hanna’s splayed notes.
“Frankly, I don’t care what moral failings my fellow slayers see in you.
About any dragon, for that matter. As far as I can tell, Diu’s idea of humanity’s greediest individuals is flawed. ”
My jaw drops. A slayer just insulted Diu’s judgment.
“You’re a human being who didn’t ask for any of this,” he continues. “Just because you have to die doesn’t mean you should suffer for it.”
Gérard stammers. “So your offer…”
Abel tucks Hanna’s notes inside the journal and wraps it inside the waterproof canvas. “My offer is this: I’ll let you live your last days in freedom. I will order the Gendarmerie to keep their distance so long as you create an end-of-life plan with me.”
“An end-of-life plan?”
“To start, you’ll be free to say or write your goodbyes to any surviving loved ones. Second, you’ll decide the location of your death, so long as it is away from the general populace,” he explains. “Finally, I’ll give half of the bounty on your head to any person or charity you wish.”
“And on Ignition Day?” His voice hitches.
“I promise you the swift ending I should’ve given to my brother. You won’t feel a thing.”
Gérard laughs shakily. “You must be the only slayer crazy enough to think up these terms.”
Abel closes his eyes for a heartbeat. “For a long time since my brother died, I’ve struggled with how to handle my return to my career. No matter how kindly I treat my targets, it won’t change the outcome. All dragons must die.”
“Then why care how it happens?”
“Because cruelty is a choice.”
I share a look with Gérard but can’t maintain it for long. If I encourage him to delay his death with sleep powder, he’ll miss out on mercy, not punishment.
The sound of glass being swept into a dustpan fills the room for a short while.
“I killed Marie when I turned,” Gérard confesses, eyes glistening. “My sister. I’d taken her fishing for her birthday against our parents’ will. She loved the outdoors, not tea parties and frills.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “It wasn’t your fault.”
He nods weakly. “I guess it’s better for everyone if I take this deal.”
“You don’t want time to think?”
The words are out before I catch them. I cut a glance to Abel, but he waits patiently for Gérard to speak.
“There’s nothing to think about,” Gérard says eventually. “Diu made the decision for me.”
“Do you know where you want to go?” Abel asks. “Where you choose to die?”
“Jardincourt National Park—it’s just past the city center. I wanted to take Marie there, before…” He swallows and shakes his head. “I’d like that to be the last place I see.”
Abel nods. “Then that’s where I’ll slay you. Meet me at the station just after midnight on November twenty-third. I’ll have the Gendarmerie escort us there before dawn.”
Gérard fidgets with his cup as if expecting Abel to change his terms. But he doesn’t. Abel gives me the journal to store away, then closes his pack and rises, gesturing for me to do the same.
He tried to save Micah.
He questioned Hanna’s biases.
He refused Gendarmerie assistance for this meeting at risk of perpetuating his bad reputation.
My eyes close for a moment as I imagine my secret out in the open. No deceit. No lies. No sabotaging my way to dying first. Simply waiting, living easy until my final breath. Compared to my life over the last few months, it sounds like paradise.
“Live your last days to the fullest, Gérard,” Abel says, slinging his pack onto his shoulder. “I’ll take care of the rest.”
Unsure what to do next, I rise to follow him. A hand clasps my elbow, stopping me short.
“Wait,” Gérard rasps. “I want a word with you. Alone.”
Abel returns to intervene, but I place a hand on his chest, halting him. “It’s all right,” I say. “I feel terrible for trying to deceive him. I want to apologize.”
Abel’s stare moves from Gérard to me. His hand settles on my shoulder. Warmth flares beneath the fabric of my coat.
“Shout if you need me,” he says.
I want to lean deeper into the drug of his touch—that warmth we shared near the Tordou River. Instead, I manage a simple but convincing nod. He steps outside.
After a moment, Gérard breaks the silence. “He doesn’t know your secret, does he?”
“No.” I fold my arms, hiding the speck of blood on my sleeve. “Why didn’t you expose me?”
“There’s no reason to. If you’re sticking around him, it’s clear you’ve got a death wish.” He laughs bitterly. “What other option is there for us?”
“Are you really at peace with this arrangement?”
“No, but I get why it has to happen.”
There’s my answer. He doesn’t want to die.
Give him the sleep powder, I tell myself, thumbing the buckle of my satchel. Take his place and usurp Abel’s deal for yourself. This is what you want.
The storefront window reveals Abel standing outside with his back turned. Ever the gentleman, giving us privacy. I could cost him Hanna’s lead and he’d be none the wiser.
Oh. Oh, no.
Diu curse me twice for the selfish places my mind has been. What about Madame Afi? What about the extortion? In all my greed, I forgot that her life depends on Abel slaying Gérard. I’m a heartless, conniving, devious—
“Don’t feel bad for me. Life as a fugitive isn’t sustainable,” Gérard says, and sighs. “I’m almost out of coin anyway.”
“All right,” I concede.
Even if Madame Afi weren’t tied to this, I’d yield all the same.
Unlike me, Gérard doesn’t even consider stealing to survive. He is the better person between us. If he wants to accept Abel’s deal, that’s one thing I won’t steal: his opportunity to take it first.
“Just one question,” he adds. “If he’s going to slay me, who will slay you?”
“I have a plan,” I hear myself say, still watching Abel. Kind, earnest Abel. A man who won’t celebrate when he skins my scaly corpse. “It won’t interfere with yours.”
Gérard lifts his empty glass. “To your plan.”