Chapter Eleven

Thwonk.

Merle hits the ground hard, and right on her bum.

"I HATE you, Ethan," she growls, standing up slowly.

"I'm honoured," Ethan replies, landing smoothly—right on his feet—in front of her.

"What did Dione do this time?" Neriah asks innocently.

"Well, Zoë, he pushed me through!"

"Oooh, good idea, Dione!"

"I thought so," he grins.

"You are so infuriating!" Merle half-shrieks, gesturing wildly with her arms.

"Now, now, Cosette, you need to keep your temper," Ethan says placatingly, "Or you'll draw unfavourable attention to us."

"Unfav—oh."

In the distance, a man is approaching the three; he is walking quickly, as though afraid of losing them.

"Great…" she hisses, letting out a slow breath. "What now?"

Ethan shrugs, unconcerned. "We let him find us and hope he's not in the Order."

"Lovely. And if he is?"

"We fight him."

She rolls her eyes. This…Ethan…is so lax! Order missions are planned out to the last second.

The tall, rough-looking peasant man approaches the trio. "Are you travelers?" he calls in French.

"Yes, sir," Ethan replies swiftly. "We are cousins of Jeanne D'arc. Would you know where she lives?"

"Dione?" the man asks incredulously. At Ethan's emphatic nod, his face splits into a grin. "Cosette! Zoë! How good to see you! We weren't expecting you for a day, yet!"

Ethan matches the peasant's grin. "Jacques! Passage was safer than we expected! It's good to see you again!"

"Come," Jacques says warmly. "Isabelle is getting dinner ready."

Ethan, Neriah, and Merle follow him down the hill to the small D'arc home. While not expensive, it exudes a certain lovely hominess.

"I will tell Isabelle that you have arrived! Jeanne should be in the back," Jacques informs them as he heads into the house.

"Thank you for your kindness," Merle says courteously as they head out back.

"Jeanne?" Neriah calls timidly. "Are you back here?"

"Mama?" A young girl pokes her head out from a high tree branch, shaking down some leaves. "Oh! It's you! Finally!" She smiles cheekily.

Merle can't help but stare. Jeanne D'Arc, the girl destined to lead France to victory against England, only to be burned at the stake and later made a saint…is kind of scrawny, with long girly brown hair. Small brown eyes look out of her thin tanned face.

"Oh, Merle!"

She turns, surprise and dread mounting in her chest. He wasn't supposed to have come out yet. "Blake."

"Blake?" Neriah queries softly.

"Wasn't he your partner from the Order?" Ethan demands.

"Was?" scoffs Blake, laughing. "That's a good one. I am her partner. You've done a good job, Merle. But it's time you show them your true colours."

"Merle?" Neriah asks, stunned. "Are you…really?"

"No…" Merle moans softly. Or maybe? What is she? She's not a Guardsman, but she doesn't quiet feel like one of the Order anymore, either.

As though reading her thoughts—which he probably was—Blake walks up to her, a pleading expression on his face. "Ciara…Merle…won't you come back with me?"

Four more Order members appear out of nowhere, engaging Ethan and Neriah in battle, but Merle stands frozen as Blake comes closer to her, taking her hand.

"Come away with me," he softly urges. "Let's go. You're not in the Guard, not really, and as for the Order…well, who cares? Come with me."

"Blake…why are you—" Merle starts, but is interrupted.

Because he's kissing her.

She freezes. She would pull away, but she can't. Or won't? A curious feeling fills her stomach, and her knees go weak; her legs feel like jelly. Her mind is running madly in circles. When he finally pulls away, she feels strangely dizzy.

"Blake…" she whispers, grabbing a hold of his arm for support as she sinks to the ground. "What the hell?"

"Just so you know, I've always liked you, Merle," he whispers into her ear gently. "You were always strong, powerful." He lets go of her, watching with satisfaction as she sinks to all fours, arms wobbling drunkenly. "But all the same…I'm sorry. All's fair in love and war, right? It's about time I got my dues. See you later," he adds mockingly, kicking one of her arms out from under her.

As he walks away, the full impact of his actions hits her. It's so ludicrous, really, that she would laugh if she could. Poison. Lathenia's own apprentice was undone by a poisoned kiss. Blake had used the oldest and most devious trick in the book.

Perhaps caring does make you weak, she considers as she finally collapses onto the ground. I guess Lathenia was right about that…

Merle thinks she hears Ethan's voice—or maybe it's Neriah's, she's having trouble telling—and what about Jeanne? Is she okay? She'd check herself, but she can't, of course, and somehow everything seems overloud and blurry. And she's wrecked it for the Guard and the Order, because Blake was never much of a leader, the conniving little prat…

I'm sorry…she thinks weakly as her consciousness finally, mercifully, slips away.

Nothing belongs to me! Wow. The wait for this chapter was ridiculous. It was hard to write, and I had so much going on, and--well, instead of wasting time explaining, I'll go write the next chapter!