To Vanquish Darkness (Le Sombre #1)

Chapter 35

35

1836 SERVON TO MORDELLES, FRANCE

A malie hesitated. There was a chance she’d be putting Olivie in grave danger if she followed through with this. But Ren hadn’t attacked her yet, and if he was after her blood, Olivie would be nothing to him.

She grabbed Olivie's hand and yanked her toward the storage closet after mumbling something about an asp sting to the server. Dust motes danced in the stream of light pouring through the small round window above the door, and the room smelled faintly of dust and old wood. Without a word, Amalie began stripping off her clothes.

Olivie stood frozen for a moment, her eyes wide as she watched Amalie toss her blouse and trousers into a pile on the floor. Then, as if realizing they didn’t have all morning, she fumbled with the buttons on her blouse, struggling to undo them with shaking hands.

"Here." Amalie stepped forward and yanked the fabric down over her shoulders.

Olivie let out a small gasp but didn't protest as Amalie pulled the shirt free and tossed it aside. She shivered, goosebumps rising on her arms, and undid her belt. She darted a glance around the room as she stepped out of her trousers like she expected someone to burst in at any moment. To be fair, it was a real possibility.

Amalie ignored her nervousness, focusing on getting dressed as quickly as possible. She slipped into Olivie's trousers, ignoring the way the coarse fabric scratched against her skin. Before pulling on the blouse, she handed her own clothes to Olivie.

"Thank you.”

Olivie shoved her arms through the arms of her shirt. “Don’t thank me yet. Do you think it will work?”

“I hope so.”

“And I won’t be in danger?”

Amalie shook her head, guilt blooming in her gut. “As soon as he realizes you aren’t me, there will be no reason for him to bother you.” She was almost certain that was true. Even if Ren knew the Pourfendeurs, he seemed motivated enough to keep his eyes on her. But the fact that she didn’t know why niggled at her.

“We both need to stay hidden," Amalie muttered, more to herself than to Olivie. She reached for Olivie’s cap, tucking her dark hair beneath the edges until only her face showed. Satisfied with her disguise, she turned to Olivie.

Her friend had managed to get dressed, though the trousers were tight around her hips, and the blouse hung a bit loose on her frame.

Amalie stepped back and surveyed their work. They wouldn't fool anyone up close, but from a distance, she was positive it would work. She led Olivie back toward the door, her hands shaking.

“Amalie . . .” Olivie grabbed her arm.

Amalie froze and glanced down. She was touching her.

Olivie pulled her hand back. “Take this. Please.” She handed her a small satchel that Amalie hadn’t noticed her carrying. Coins clinked as she took it. “Be careful.”

Amalie clutched the satchel to her chest. “Tell Marcel it was good to see both of you, and I’ll be in touch.” There was so much she wanted to say. So much she wanted to explain. It would have to be later.

Amalie left the closet and exited the café. She walked leisurely, blood rushing in her ears as she paused, pretending to be interested in a shop or two as she made her way down the street. More people were out, and that worked in her favor.

She could hide. Better yet, she could hopefully find someone willing to take her on as a passenger.

Amalie quickened her steps, and when she reached the main thoroughfare, she hailed a passing cart, shouting in French. "I need a ride to Mordelles. I'll pay." She held out the satchel.

The driver, an older man with a scraggly beard, eyed her warily before slowing his horse and nodding. "Get in."

Amalie climbed up and handed him the coins, then settled onto the wooden bench beside him. The cart jolted forward, and she gripped the edge to keep herself steady. With each turn of the wheel, they moved farther from the center of town, the buildings thinning out until they were surrounded by fields and orchards. The smell of growing things barely drowned out the scent of sun-warmed horse hair.

She couldn’t force her shoulders to relax even though everything had gone her way that morning. Something still didn’t feel right. It was too easy.

Amalie shook her head and scanned the horizon, taking in the rolling hills and neatly manicured fields. Why couldn’t it go her way for once?

The cart creaked beneath her as they rumbled over century old roman stone, then jolted onto a dirt path lined with wildflowers. She gripped the bench tighter, her knuckles white against the rough surface.

A flash of movement caught her eye, and she turned to see a young girl riding a velocipede along the side of the road. Her hair streamed behind her like a banner, and Amalie's heart clenched at the sight.

Oren had taught her how to ride when she was no older than that girl. He'd held the back of the seat steady while she wobbled and swayed, his laughter filling the air as she'd finally found her balance and pedaled down the lane on her own. She could still feel the wind in her face, hear the sound of their joy echoing through the trees. It had been one of those rare moments when everything felt right, when the world seemed full of endless possibilities.

The cart rounded a bend, and her gaze landed on a small farmhouse nestled among blooming flowers. The colors were so vibrant they almost hurt her eyes, and another memory surfaced unbidden.

She and Oren had spent hours planting tulips and daffodils in the garden outside his study. He'd shown her how to dig the holes just right, how to space them evenly so they'd have room to grow. Their hands had been covered in dirt by the time they finished, and they'd laughed when they looked up to see each other's smudged faces.

Amalie blinked back tears, the ache in her chest growing stronger with each passing second. Those simple, happy times were gone forever. She couldn't bring them back, no matter how desperately she wished otherwise.

She let out a shuddering breath, the memories clinging to her like burrs. Oren's warm smile, the way he'd tugged on his beard when he was deep in thought, the sound of his voice reading poetry aloud in the candlelight.

Would she find him there? Would she be able to get to her sister or cousins, to Maurielle? Amalie's throat constricted, and she forced herself to take a deep breath.

Another jolt nearly threw her from the bench, and she squeezed her eyes shut, willing her mind to still. Instead, a vivid image of Theo laughing filled her vision. His midnight hair tumbled over his forehead, his mouth open wide in delight.

Amalie's eyes flew open. That was not real. She shook her head, willing the intruding image to disappear. But it stayed there, taunting her with its familiarity.

Had she seen that moment and forgotten? Had she experienced it firsthand, or was her brain making things up? Meshing bits and pieces together until they formed a cohesive whole?

It didn't make sense. And yet, the more she tried to unravel it, the more tangled her thoughts became. Something was happening to her. It was like she was being cleaved apart, separated from the woman she thought she was and forced to meld with a woman she knew nothing about.

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes again, and this time she didn't fight them. They spilled over, tracing hot paths down her cheeks. Amalie buried her face in her hands and sobbed, her shoulders shaking with the force of it.

“Ah, mademoiselle, peut-être voulez-vous en parler?”

She shook her head. No . She didn’t want to talk about it.

How could she do this alone? How could she save her uncle when she didn't even know where to begin? She knew nothing of guardians, nothing of relics or ancient rituals. Every scrap of information she had came from Theo, and now she wasn't sure what was true and what was fabricated.

Would finding Oren even help? Would he want her to go after him if he knew what she was seeking?

She didn’t have the answers to those questions. Because he’d never talked to her about the truth.

Nearly four hours later, the cart entered a narrow lane flanked by tall hedges. Amalie’s pulse quickened, and she leaned forward, recognizing it immediately.

She stared at the shed she and Theo had sought refuge in. It felt like a lifetime ago. Her shivering next to the fire. Theo laying out her clothes to dry.

She’d hated him then. But did she now?

“I’ll get off here.” Amalie pointed to the side of the lane, and the man pulled the horse to a stop. Amalie dropped to the ground and winced, her backside aching and her legs stiff. She stretched and then forced herself to start running. The sun was dropping low, and she needed to get to Oren’s before dark.

Amalie raced through the streets of Mordelles, then retraced the path she’d taken hundreds of times out of town. She took breaks, walked, and ran until she hit the stone wall.

The gate was open when she pushed, and she rushed through the yard, jumping the steps. Amalie burst through the front door, nearly unhinging it in her haste. She didn't bother closing it behind her. "Bethany! Maurielle!" Her pulse thudded in her ears as she waited for a response.

Nothing.

She gasped for breath and took off down the hall. "Bethany! Maurielle!" Her voice was desperate, her hands beginning to go numb.

The only answer was the echo of her voice against the walls.

The house still looked lived in. Exactly as she’d left it. Hope sparked in her chest as she flew down the hall and threw open the door to her uncle’s study.

Amalie skidded to a stop, unable to understand the scene in front of her.

Uncle Oren.

Hunched over his desk, inspecting something.

With Theo bent next to him, a hand on his shoulder.