Paris was burning. Flames leapt up, consuming everything in their path, and Jean-Claude found himself ordering his soldiers away from their posts, telling them to leave Notre Dame to quench the fire. He would guard the cathedral, make sure the witch didn't leave its safety. Perhaps this was all her doing. Perhaps she'd managed to cast another spell, to create a fire that would divert his attention. He'd had no idea how clever she was until now, but the fire could be contained. The fire would be stopped and her escape would be foiled.
Jean-Claude entered the cathedral. It was completely deserted, and he moved through it quickly, his eyes scanning the darkened pews and alcoves. He shifted the quiver of arrows on his shoulder; he was not entirely certain of why he'd bothered bringing along his bow and arrows. Something inside of him had grabbed them as he'd left Cosette, and now he found himself wondering why. He was not terribly good with a bow and arrow. His aim was decent enough when he had to hit a stationary target. It was downright atrocious when he had to moving one.
He caught a brief glimpse of the Gypsy, heard the bells on her sash ringing as she fled. She had not seen him, did not know he was there, but she was rushing for the rear door of the cathedral. Katarina's husband was standing by it, holding it open, beckoning to her. Jean-Claude quickened his pace. He should have arrested Giovanni when he'd had the chance. He should have known that Giovanni would try to free the witch. He had probably been the one to start the fire that was distracting his soldiers!
Jean-Claude started to run as the door slammed. The Gypsy was no longer in the church, and once he was outside, he would arrest her.
~xXx~
"Take that thing off! Someone will hear us!"
Theresa fumbled with the sash, struggling to untie the knot. Giovanni glanced back at the cathedral. He thought he'd heard footsteps. The cathedral was dark, dimly lit, he hadn't been able to see anyone. Hopefully it had only been his imagination. Hopefully no one had been there and no one would connect the fire with Theresa's escape. Theresa finally succeeded in untying the sash and let it fall to the ground. She glanced back at it longingly; it was one of her favorite pieces of clothing, after all, but Giovanni grabbed her wrist and tugged at her. She could make another sash when they reached Lyon.
"Come on."
She stumbled along after him, glancing back at the cathedral. The docks weren't far away, they could reach them. Hopefully René had kept his promise. Hopefully he would be there with a rowboat, waiting to take him and Theresa to safety. The river was coming into view, and Giovanni squinted. He could see a shadowy figure coming towards them in a boat. It had to be René. It just had to be.
He did not hear the cathedral door slam shut, but he did hear Jean-Claude shouting, and it made his legs falter. "Stop!" shouted Jean-Claude, "stop right where you are! You are both under arrest!"
Giovanni felt himself turn to look at Jean-Claude. Jean-Claude was holding a bow and arrow, aiming it at Theresa, who was staring at him, her eyes wide. "Please," she cried, her voice thin and desperate, "please, I didn't – "
Giovanni saw Jean-Claude's fingers tightening on the bow, knew that he was going to fire and felt his own paralysis break. He ran, pulling Theresa, jerking her along after him. The figure in the boat – he could see the figure, it was definitely René – could help them. He heard a splash and saw René leap from the boat, wading across the shallow bank of the Seine, pulling it after him. René was shouting, his voice drowned out by Jean-Claude's.
It happened in less than a minute, but to Giovanni, if felt as though time had slowed. Theresa was screaming, and he turned just as she fell. An arrow was jutting out of the back of her leg, just above her knee. She stumbled, her legs giving way, and landed on the soft sandy riverbank. Another arrow seemed to magically appear in her back, sticking crudely out of her right shoulder. She was on her hands and knees, screaming, and Jean-Claude was standing a few paces away, fumbling with the bow and arrow. Giovanni dropped to his knees, scooping Theresa up into his arms. His hand brushed the arrow in her back and she wailed in pain.
"Get out of my way, René!"
He had not realized that René was standing between Theresa and Jean-Claude, and in the moment, he didn't care. Giovanni held Theresa, gripping her as tightly as he could, unaware that he'd begun to cry. Her own screams of pain were pure agony in his heart; her voice had taken on an unnaturally high pitch. She gripped his arms, staring up at him helplessly, tears streaming down her face.
"Theresa," he said, "oh God, I'm so sorry, Theresa…"
~xXx~
"Get out of my way!"
"Why? So you can shoot her again? She's dying, Jean-Claude!" shouted René, "you've seen enough wounds like that to know there's no hope for her! Just let her die in peace!"
"She murdered my son! She murdered my son, and you ask me to let her die in peace?"
"What do you care how she dies, Jean-Claude? She'll go straight to Hell for what she's done!"
Much to René's relief, Jean-Claude lowered the bow and arrow. René was tempted to glance over at Theresa and Giovanni, but he held his head still. Looking at her would only betray the lie. Jean-Claude was a terrible shot; she'd be dead already if the wound was indeed fatal. If Jean-Claude left right away, if René was able to treat her wounds in time, he could save her. At least Giovanni hadn't attempted to remove the arrows; they were the only things staunching the bleeding at this point. The thought of Theresa bleeding to death terrified and angered him. He didn't want to have to turn and look at her and see the arrows jutting out of her. He didn't want to hear her screaming in agony.
"Go home to Cosette," said René. "Hold her in your arms and tell her the curse is undone."
"You're a traitor, René," said Jean-Claude. He was still gripping the bow and arrows. René suddenly wondered if Jean-Claude would kill him too. Knowing Jean-Claude's poor aim, he'd die slowly and painfully, and he'd never be able to save Theresa.
"I…I know…"
Jean-Claude's hands were shaking as he raised the bow and arrow. René stared at him. Begging would do no good. Begging for his life would only show weakness, would only make it that much easier for Jean-Claude to kill him. Jean-Claude was shaking so badly he couldn't position the arrow against the string; it fell to the ground, landing in the sand. "Get out of Paris, René," said Jean-Claude, throwing down the bow in frustration, "if I ever see you again, I will kill you."
René said nothing, watching as Jean-Claude turned and walked away, his shoulders slumped. He waited until he was entirely out of sight before rushing over to Theresa and Giovanni. Giovanni was crying, and this unnerved René. He had never seen a man cry before; he couldn't even remember the last time he himself had cried. "Please say you can save her," sobbed Giovanni, "please, please say you were lying to him…"
"Hold her still," said René, kneeling over Theresa now. He reached for his pack, dumping its contents onto the riverbank. It was unmanly to carry sewing supplies about, but they were useful nonetheless, and he would need to stitch Theresa's wounds shut. He picked up the needle and thread, slipping the needle between his teeth. "Don't let her move," he said. "It's going to hurt her a great deal, so don't let her move."
~xXx~
René moved quickly, methodically, and for an instant, it surprised Giovanni. He watched as René grabbed the sash that Theresa had abandoned, ripping it into strips. The fabric was thin, nearly transparent, and it would do nothing to stop her bleeding. René seemed to realize this and took his coat off, ripping it apart as though it was made of paper.
He reached for Theresa now, grabbing the back of her blouse and pulling. Giovanni watched as René tore the back of her blouse open, jerking fabric away from the wound, exposing her tanned shoulder. "Hold her," said René. He spoke through gritted teeth, and Giovanni saw that he was holding a threaded needle in his mouth. The black thread stood out against his pale skin. "And don't let her faint."
Giovanni nodded, tightening his grip on Theresa, pinning her arms to her sides. He looked down at her; he would not watch as René extracted the arrow and stitched the wound shut. He did not want to see his cousin's blood, did not want to hear her crying. Theresa was shaking, staring up at him, her eyes full of helplessness and desperation. What if this plan backfired? What if René couldn't save her? What if she died gasping and bleeding in his arms? It had been his job to protect Theresa, to watch over her and make sure she was safe, and he had failed. How could he return home without her? How could he face his uncle with the knowledge that he hadn't been able to keep Theresa safe? How could he tell his aunt and uncle that their daughter was dead?
"Tell me a story, Theresa," he said, trying to force back his own tears. "Come on, let's have a story."
Theresa whimpered. Giovanni glanced at René; he was gripping the arrow, preparing to pull it out of her back. "Tell the one about the princess and the peasant," said René, not looking up from the wound.
"Once…once upon a time…" Theresa's words melted into an ear-piercing scream, and Giovanni felt her muscles tighten. He gripped her, holding her still, keeping her from thrashing from the pain. René's hands were covered in blood, and he glared down at the arrow before casting it aside.
"Once there was a peasant," gasped Theresa, her voice full of pain, "and he loved a princess with all his heart…"
Giovanni nodded. "That's right," he said. "Come on, you can tell it."
"…and he had to kill the monsters…" Theresa blinked. Her eyes appeared to be dimming.
"Stay awake, Theresa," said René, his voice sharp. He was pressing strips of his coat against the wound, mopping up the blood that had pooled around it. "Finish the story. How many monsters were there?"
"…four…" Theresa shrieked in pain; René had started to stitch the wound shut. "There were four, and they were evil…and the peasant couldn't marry the princess until he cut their hearts out…"
Giovanni watched René, wondering how he had known about the story. It was one of Giovanni's favorites. He could remember begging his uncle to tell it, could remember all the different voices his uncle had used. He remembered the marionettes his uncle had carved, how the princess bore a striking resemblance to his aunt. How did René know this story? His uncle had made it up; René couldn't possibly have heard it. Did Theresa tell it to him? Why would she? Why would he want to hear it?
"And so the peasant went to the woods," said Theresa, "to find the monsters…and the first one was…big and fierce…and had…knives for teeth…"
René nodded, never looking up from the wound in her shoulder. The blood-stained needle glinted in the light; across the river, Paris was burning. The light from the flames reached out, illuminating everything. Giovanni could see Theresa and the wound in her shoulder with perfect clarity. He shuddered.
"And the peasant killed him…by cutting off his head…and he cut the heart out and gave it to the king…"
Theresa cried out, twisting in his arms. René had stopped stitching the wound and was now dabbing at it with the remnants of his coat. "All right," he said, looking down at the arrow that was still in Theresa's leg. "One more."
"…it hurts…"
"Set her down on her stomach."
Giovanni did not want to let go of Theresa, did not want to stop holding her, but he obeyed René, gently setting her down on the ground. René was pulling at her skirt now, ripping it and shoving it up around her hips, and Giovanni suddenly wanted to strike him. For an instant, it looked as though he was preparing to rape Theresa. René was looking down at the arrow, biting his lip in concentration, completely oblivious to everything else. "Hold her," he said, "don't let her move."
Giovanni put his hands on Theresa's back, pressing her down against the ground. He felt dirty, like a rapist. He'd been so terrified that René would violate Theresa, and now he was holding her down for him while he tore her skirt. "Don't let her faint." Giovanni glanced at Theresa's face now. She was crying, her shoulders shaking with pain.
"Finish the story, Theresa," he said, closing his eyes.
Theresa screamed, and Giovanni opened his eyes in time to see René yank the arrow from her leg. Blood spurted from the wound, and Theresa thrashed beneath his hands. René was pressing a piece of cloth against the wound, pushing down with both hands. The cloth was turning red. Theresa wailed, and Giovanni felt like crying. There was nothing he could do to ease her suffering. Death was the only way to end it, and the thought repulsed him. Could he really kill her just to put her out of her misery?
"Come on, Theresa, finish the story," said René, pulling Giovanni from his thoughts.
"And the king said, 'you must kill the other three monsters,' " sobbed Theresa. "And so the peasant…went back to the woods…to find the second monster…"
Giovanni watched as René stitched the second wound. He moved quickly, despite the slick red blood covering his hands. Giovanni watched the needle weaving in and out of his cousin's skin, watched René pull the thin black thread to close the wound. It suddenly reminded him of watching his uncle creating hand puppets, and Giovanni shuddered. He remembered watching his uncle work, bent over the brightly colored fabric, humming as he stitched little smiles onto the puppets. René was staring down at Theresa's leg with the same, intense concentration, his fingers working smoothly, without hesitation.
"The second monster was big…and fierce…and ugly…and had fire instead of eyes…" Theresa shuddered, gasping. "And the peasant…threw him in the lake…and drowned him…"
"All right," said René. He looked up at Giovanni now, and, for the first time, Giovanni saw the fear in his eyes. Had he been genuinely afraid for Theresa's life? He had been afraid that he'd fail, that he'd lose her? René turned and glanced back in the direction Jean-Claude had left. "We have to get going."
He rose, letting the bloody needle and thread fall to the sand. Giovanni lifted Theresa carefully, trying not to brush against the wound in her back. She groaned, but reached up and gripped his shoulders. He followed René towards the boat, never stopping to look back at Notre Dame or the bloodstained spot where Theresa had lain.
~xXx~
Though the fire had spread quickly, it had been contained fairly easily. Paris, after all, was made of sticks and straw, and the guards were trained to keep it from burning to the ground. The Gypsy girl was dead, Jean-Claude was certain of it, and writhing in Hell for her crimes. The knowledge that he had been the one to kill her was comforting, though he had hoped to have her properly executed. Still, she was dead, and it barely mattered how it had happened.
His fury for René knew no bounds, but it was mixed with some other emotion that he couldn't quite identify. René, who had once been his best friend, had betrayed him. He had probably fed the Gypsy girl, he had probably set the fire to distract everyone, he had probably been the one to orchestrate her escape. Jean-Claude knew that he shouldn't have let René live, that he should have killed him on the spot for betraying not just him, but Cosette as well. He was ashamed that he'd been unable to. Still, what would René's death have accomplished? The Gypsy's death undid her curse. René's death would have undone nothing.
Cosette was waiting for him when he returned. She stood in their bedchamber, her back to him, staring out the window. "I was worried," she said, finally turning to him, "the fire…"
"It's been contained," he said, approaching her. His uniform was wet and muddy, and it felt heavier than normal. He pulled it off, letting it fall carelessly to the floor. He sat down on their bed, suddenly feeling thoroughly exhausted. He closed his eyes, rubbing his forehead, and felt Cosette sit down beside him. He opened his eyes and looked at her. She was staring at him, her hands folded primly in her lap. "The witch is dead," he said finally. "She tried to flee the cathedral, and I killed her."
Cosette nodded. "Oh."
He put his arm around her, leaning against her shoulder. She embraced him, and he closed his eyes, breathing in her sweet, clean scent. He let her stroke his hair, savoring the way her fingertips felt against his scalp. "I love you," he said, "I love you so much, Cosette."
"I love you, Jean-Claude," she whispered, kissing his forehead. "With all my heart, I love you."
In that moment, nothing else mattered. The Gypsy's death, René's betrayal – none of it mattered at all. Cosette, beautiful, sweet, loving Cosette, was all that mattered. She held him in her arms, she stroked his hair, and she took away all his pain. Jean-Claude let her hold him, feeling blissfully empty, devoid of everything except his love for her. He loved her more than anyone or anything, he needed her; how could he even think about living without her?