“Those who could not live up to the strict standards of chivalry of the shining court became one of them. Some Scottish legends claim that the Unseelie were fallen Seelie,” Gavril added.
Francis grunted angrily at Gavril’s unwelcomed participation. He was obviously still peeved with him. Also I had the strong feeling that Francis hated the fact that a sworn enemy knew as much if not more than him. I rolled my eyes.
Ask him why he hasn’t killed me, Gavril asked me. We both knew Francis had held back his lethal attacks since we left St. Mary’s. There had to be some other reason behind it, besides the fact that he was my friend.
“Francis, why haven’t you killed Gavril,” I asked him.
Chapter 28
Francis narrowed his eyes at Gavril, his glance turning murderous. He’d obviously caught me delivering the question for Gavril. However, he had a good sense of ethics, so he answered Gavril’s question.
“I have a personal debt with one of them.” He paused, remembering the time. “Our brotherhood was composed of many. We were all Christians, Catholics, pagans, and even mercenaries, but we all were a family. We would all give our lives for each other to defend the world from evil. However, things changed with every crusade and every kingdom.
“Ideologies changed in the world with every century, and we could no longer be brothers and fight the same wars. One could be a heretic if you were Christian, Cathar of Occitania, Druid, Gnostic, or pagan mercenary. Evil had infiltrated all our political systems, as it does these days. On our last crusade in the holy land, we defended the city of Acre, known as St. Jean d’Acre in northern Israel.
“But we were betrayed, the crusader army was outnumbered, and our allies were completely defeated within forty-eight hours by Saladin’s troops. Every army was slaughtered or enslaved. We had lost so much, the few of my brothers left alive, including Émil and myself, were suddenly prisoners. We were tortured. But before beheading us, a British knight led by King Richard I of England came to our rescue. His name was Sir Sid Smith, a werewolf.”
“Aye, Sir Sid,” Émil cheered. Gavril smiled at this. I was gaping.
Wow, Francis was a Catharist. At one time, I had been ultimately curious about the origins of Our Lady of The Stars. I had come across the Cathar symbol, a pre-Christian Cross of Occitan origin with twelve points that symbolized the twelve houses of the Zodiac. It was initially worn by ascetic priests with Druid roots.
The medallion in Émil’s paintings was one of those crosses, just like the cross carved into the base of the marble statue in the old chapel. Was that a simple coincidence or fate? Sister Magdalene had been upset and outspoken when she learned I had been reading behind her back about this almost pagan faith. She had called me all kinds of names that day.
Francis sighed and resumed his story. “He could have left us to rot and die for he knew we were Strzyga, yet he saved us without asking or judging. Sid had risked his life to save his ancient enemies. He, too, understood the value of good versus evil,” Francis said and sighed.
“Unfortunately, many Strzyga royals have strong and ancient grudges against werewolves. Our histories go back in time since the beginnings of our races, and they are dark and often violent through time. But I know there is good and bad on both sides,” Émil said.
“Uh, technically he isn’t a werewolf,” I explained to the other stranded immortals inside the cave.
“Ailie, you are less safe with the company of the infested flea-fur-back. No one will care whether he is a werewolf or not. He will be the enemy, and you a traitor to the crown,” he forewarned. Please trust me, Francis said, sending his personal thought to me.
I trusted him some. I wished he were faster at delivering information, like who the primordials were or the fact that he was my legal guardian or that I was not human or that I had a name and a mother and father somewhere. I had the distinct impression there were so many things about this world I didn’t know. Crap.
“Good, now that we all are friends can you tell me who these primordials are?” Gavril asked again, profiting on the temporary truce.
Francis and I both rolled our eyes at the implied connotation of “friends.”
Francis changed the subject, avoiding Gavril’s question. “Not the best get-away plan, Émil.”
No kidding.
“But I’m curious, how long did it take you to put it together?” Francis asked. Geez, Émil almost drowned us and Francis was patting his shoulder. It was somewhat incongruent to the moment. It felt like that had been ages ago…
Of course. Just sit tight and wait until we are face-to-face with one of them again. Great idea, undead freak, Gavril muttered loudly inside my head. Ugh.
My hand traveled to his eye. It was getting too swollen.
Don’t worry, Gavril said, blushing slightly.
“It took me a couple centuries to carve those tunnels, but let me tell you that life in the tunnels is not as fun as I’d hoped. Frankly, I was being an incurable optimist, thinking she wouldn’t show up, that nobody had noticed her existence at St. Mary’s—but I was wrong,” Émil said making light of the trouble we were in.
“You are him… Saint Émilion,” I said, realizing with dismay that Father Dominique, Francis’s friend Émil, and Saint Émilion were one and the same.
“Yes, and you are her, the legend of Astræa,” he said.
We both exchanged welcoming and out-of-place grins. Gavril and Francis grunted simultaneously. I was exhausted, and all of this made had me hungry and with a real need to pee.
“So how do we get out of here,” I asked, somewhat relieved to steer away from the painting topic and hoping we could find our way out—soon. At that exact moment, we heard a loud crack of rocks and spurts of water breaking through the little dam I had made moments before. Crap.
“Farging Bull-spit.” Émil used his colorful and outdated vernacular again. Was this a Strzyga thing?
Nevertheless, we followed his gaze. The water level was rising very fast. There were no exits from the stairs. A tunnel without an exit? We looked at Émil for guidance. He had built the place after all.
“I closed this exit a few centuries ago after the city began to build the drainage tunnels for the city. I didn’t want humans or others stumbling around and finding those paintings.”
“Well, since Ailie is here, I think we can get out,” Gavril said matter-of-factly.
Émil nodded.
Francis urged Émil. “Show us the way.” The water was reaching our feet rapidly. Émil pointed at a wall with his flashlight.
“What if I bury us under the rock?” I asked them, feeling apprehensive.
“Well if you prefer we all drown first, it’s up to you.” Francis’s tone of voice told me he was still annoyed with the fact I hesitated too much.
Of course, he didn’t know I couldn’t drown. However, I wouldn’t like to harm them. The water was reaching our hips. It was rising faster than before. Crap. I had no other choice.
I aimed gently at the spot Émil had pointed out. The wall crumbled easily, unlike the solid thick bedrock before. Gavril moved into the hole and cleared the cement and rock pieces out of our way. The water was spilling over the new opening. He pulled my arm across the other side. I sighed with relief at the sight of an old metal ladder above us that led to a street drainage.
“You go first.” Gavril helped me reach the ladder without waiting for them.
I moved the heavy cast-iron disk with the help of my mind, just as I had done the large rock before. Sunlight fell onto my face, blinding me shortly, as I climbed out. Once outside, I became suddenly aware of the dark blue uniforms surrounding me.
“Vous êtes en état d’arrestation pour de gros dégâts de la ville,” the French police were arresting us for the damages to the city. Crap.
“Uh, guys,” I said, unsure of what to do as the police placed my hands into handcuffs. Even if I had the chance to escape, I couldn’t leave the rest of my friends at the mercy of the French police, eve
n when all I wanted was to reach for the most immediate public toilet. I shook my head, realizing that had to wait.
At the same time, Gavril was coming into the light. Gratefully, Gavril had shifted from his half-werewolf form into his fully human Gavril before climbing the drainage ladder. The police were now handcuffing him too. My stomach made grumbling noises. I guess food too, was out of the question for the time being.
Five men in ridiculous outfits ran toward us. They wore yellow men’s hose, black shiny leather boots, richly embroidered balloon shorts with blue and gold stripes, and a yellow-and-gold fitted jacket with blue ribbons, shoulder pads, and undersleeves. I realized at that exact moment that they were dressed like the floating body I’d seen in the water-flooded tunnels. Maybe he was a friend of theirs.
Nuh. They didn’t look the friendly type when they surrounded us. A simple glance told me those swords and large automatic guns on their side were not Renaissance fair props for a movie. They were real. Their serious expressions and hand position over their impressive guns told me that much. Maybe they were a different faction of the Swiss guard at the Vatican, which I doubted. I could listen to their minds, which meant just one thing. They were Strzyga, and the royal guards that we had seen driving by. Note to self, circus Strzyga, uh, not the friendly type.
“Uh, weird people dressed like circus clowns from the seventeenth century and the police are out here arresting us,” I sarcastically announced as Émil and Francis were coming out.
One of the circus men gave me a once-over. I realized I was just wearing a thin, wet white tank top, and it was impossible, in plain daylight, to hide my platinum long hair that had dark tinted ends as the boy haircut had grown out. I felt the impulse to cover my chest from his intense stare, but I was out of luck as my hands had been handcuffed behind my back. He wasn’t happy I had mocked his outfit.
My eyes traveled around, seeking primordials. I didn’t want us to confront them in this rather humiliating situation. A crowd was beginning to form. They were taking pictures of the men in Renaissance outfits.
None of us had shoes on. I hadn’t even considered how we must have looked in their eyes. Wet, shaggy, and as if we had survived the collapsing of the most important attraction in town, Saint Émilion’s cathedral.
The crowd grew larger with tourists taking pictures. The police kept them away from us. The royal guards were the second-best attraction after the collapsed cathedral. A pile of rocks and dust at the end of the street was a clear testimony of the city’s tragedy. More than a thousand years of history in ruins. I couldn’t help but feel guilty. Gavril stood in front of me.
Hey, I want to see, I complained.
Shush, I am protecting you from pictures, Gavril said. I guess I hadn’t thought of that.
“Nous sommes en charge maintenant. Allons’y prendre ces prisonniers pour interrogatoire.” The men in crazy outfits and autocratic bad attitudes had taken control of the situation. Whatever the situation was. They had the authority over the regular French police to interrogate us. Crap.
Their intimidating stare fixed on me.
They are mere royal guards, Francis thought. I kept forgetting to demand a whole explanation about primordials or royal guards from Francis. But now wasn’t exactly the right time since we were under some sort of arrest. Handcuffs and all. Neither Francis nor Émil argued, so Gavril and I followed their example.
“Nous avons eu la fille,” the leader told someone on his personal phone.
La fille—the girl. He was talking about me. I opened my eyes wide. Crap.
Gavril exchanged glances with me.
“Well, I would hate to be in your shoes right now, Reginald.” Obviously, Francis knew the leader by his name. Reginald seemed not to fit the Strzyga DNA very well. He wasn’t too muscular or tall like Francis or Demyan, and he reminded me of Christmas ornaments Sister Joana used to put together, with those embroidered silly balloon shorts.
“Why is that, my lord,” Reginald asked. A little quiver in his voice told me he was somewhat scared of Francis.
“Simple, I would hate to be the one explaining to His Royal Highness that you have treated his future bride and our future queen like a criminal. I am sure the embarrassment and apologies to come won’t do any good to your useless and inflated ego,” Francis said.
What? I was gaping at Francis. I stepped back. He was pulling the queen of hearts foul card at that moment. How dare he say I was… I was, that I… I had to marry—the prince. Crap. I hated it. Was this why they were here for me? I counted to five…
Émil chuckled, interrupting my counting. Gavril’s wide grin told me how happy he was. Ugh. I was about to give everyone my mind, but Gavril turned around and stopped me from blurting the dragons out of my mouth as he fixed his firm and resolute eyes on me.
Ailie, stop. You have to meet the prince. Gavril heard my grumble. This wasn’t fair, and he knew it.
No. We should find the medallion first. I had to. Ash had to pay for what he did to Mother Clarisse.
Hello-o, didn’t you see those paintings today? This is how you end the world.
I couldn’t rely on Gavril’s or Émil’s or Francis’s opinions. And as much as I cared for them, they all had sketchy lives, personal agenda’s I didn’t understand, and unanswered questions. Even my dearest best friend. Trust no one. I couldn’t trust anyone for this. Avenging Mother Clarisse’s death was my job—and only mine.
“Regardless, I have orders to bring all of you to the palace. The crown adviser wants to have a word with you,” Reginald said to Francis.
“Wouldn’t it be more appropriate to send invitations, even a phone call?” Émil complained humorously, as we all were being shoved away from the watching crowd.
My poorly educated guess was that no one wanted to attract any more attention to us nonhumans who were suspects at the destruction of the city’s main attraction.
“I don’t think Rurikovich knows how to be appropriate, Émil,” Francis said conversely back to him.
However, Reginald set his lecherous gaze on me. His hand reached for my waist. My reaction was instinctual, and my adrenaline took care of the rest. I acted out of self-preservation, even when my body needed rest, peeing, and refueling.
In one move, I twisted my feet into his, forcing him to fall on his face. Simultaneously, with my handcuffed hands behind my back, I took his sword and took control of it as he used his hands for the fall. Awkward—I should know—Francis had done this to me during training a hundred times.
On two, Reginald was on the floor eating dust. Thank you, Francis. His own sword pointed at his heart, and I had put my foot between his jaw and neck, hoping my need to pee wasn’t going to make me dance over him or being so tired wasn’t going to make me unaware if I had softened the pressure on his neck.
The other five guards lifted their swords and pointed them at us. Tourists flashed pictures. The rest of the circus guards exchanged glances with hesitation. The last thing they wanted was public attention or his boss dead.
On three, I warned them. “Touch me again and Reginald gets a permanent neck condition and a humongous Band-Aid in his back.” One false move and my weight could accidentally thrust his own sword, and his neck would be broken. Reginald’s face turned scarlet against the floor. My sock was wet and slippery, but the pressure from my cold foot was unequivocal.
“Take her down,” Reginald, the moron, muttered, as my foot partially pressed his jaw to the floor.
Thankfully, the royal guards hesitated again. I listened to their mind process. I was going to be their queen, although their boss was going to be potentially—dead. Neither were good choices for them. I rolled my eyes at the stupidity of the situation, but I had the advantage. Although I really, really wanted to scream at them that there was no way in this world I was going to play their sexist game and be the submissive little queen, I didn’t.
“Ailie.” Francis used his fake warning tone of voice—the one he would typically use for a spoiled li
ttle brat like Simone or Tiffany. “Be a good girl.”
I knew then he was proud of my quick maneuver.
“Reginald, you should get used to being in that position of respect for your future queen.” He continued using the queen card. Crap. Crap.
It infuriated me further, but I had no choice but to take my foot off him with a grunt and drop the sword on the floor. I stood away from him, as mightily as I could under the circumstances. Reginald regarded me with resentment as he lifted himself slowly from the floor, massaging his neck.
“Fine, you are all still coming with us,” Reginald said, ignoring the queen part and the handcuffs.
We were still under arrest. Crap. I hated feeling so helpless. I just could not figure out why everyone was so passive. I wanted to fight and escape this charade. Why did we have to go to the palace handcuffed like criminals?
“Might as well be the one to give Count Rurikovich some social pointers,” Francis said. The name. I finally remembered who they were talking about. This Count was the same man that Demyan hadn’t killed in my dream and somehow had been the queen’s lover and the one I suspected to be the king’s murderer. Demyan had been warning me about him. Now I was sure of that. Crap. Crap.
It was settled. We were going to the palace. Things were not looking good.
No worries. Your hair is long. Just remember to smile when you meet the prince. Gavril was cracking jokes at the wrong time again. Like the prince was going to see past the fact we were his prisoners. Not funny.
Oh, crap. I forgot to bring my glass shoes.
Ha-ha, funny. Gavril’s mind bantering was distracting me from the dreadful situation. On the other hand, if I was to search for the medallion, where would I start? The palace wasn’t a bad choice.
That is if toy soldier lets you out of his sight. Gavril was right. Reginald had his eyes fixed on me. Perhaps he thought he could intimidate me. Ooh, really scared… look, I am terrified. Nuh. Not really. However, I had made Reginald my fervent enemy now.
Crap. I had to figure a way out of the handcuffs first. I sighed.
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