"Élise, Monsieur Dorian!" Didier said warmly. "Welcome back!"

"You heard about what happened?"

"We heard about the king! We assumed...well, that's not important! Go inside, Timothee will be delighted to see you are okay!" He opened the gate for them and stepped to the side.

The luxurious gardens of the Chobat chateau were a welcome change from a dirty prison, and even with the troubles yet to come for France, she would appreciate a night in her own bed.

They headed up the stone steps, through the door and into the main chamber. Timothee was there, and rose upon their entry.

"Élise! So pleased to see you! And Arno Dorian, I...I...suppose I'm glad to see you too."

"Have you heard the rest of the news?"

He plopped back down on his scarlet chair, took out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead.

"Yes, Choderlos told me everything. Oh it worries me, Élise! When the foreign powers hear of us dragging our king back to Paris like some kind of...convict..."

Élise settled into the nearby couch.

He continued, "...I just, I fear the worst."

"What exactly?"

"An invasion, perhaps."

"You really think they would invade France over poor old Louis?"

"Yes, these recent events have rattled royalty across Europe. But this? This is like nothing I ever thought possible."

His wife walked past him, towards the kitchen. He addressed her. "Sophie, dear, would you fetch me...anything with high alcoholic content, please!"

Then he turned back to Élise. Élise could see the pain on his face.

All this made her think. If the royals had died in that ambush, the foreign monarchs would have found that worrisome. But it would have been laid at the feet of six radicals hiding in a riverbank.

If they had not died? Perhaps that would have been worse.

"Some of the others seemed to think Louis was fleeing to Austria to start an invasion himself." She hesitated, knowing she was broaching a sore subject, but still asked, "Do you think maybe we were wrong in protecting him?"

Timothee, sighed, looked down. The silence was thick in the air. Without looking up, he responded:

"Perhaps. I had such thoughts just as you left."

It had seemed a strange mission. Perhaps the desire of vengeance against Weishaupt's traitors had clouded their judgement. There was a short, thick silence. Élise decided to fill it:

"For what it's worth, we did manage to kill several Illuminati agents. The local authorities interpreted them as highwaymen."

If that news impressed Timothee-Abbé, it was not enough to get him to look up. But his wife's approach was. She handed him a bottle of whiskey and corkscrew. He took both. "Thank you, chère," he said. Sophie returned to whatever her previous endeavors were. Meanwhile, Timothee vigorously uncorked the bottle.

He took a swig, then exhaled heavily. He looked to Élise, then to Arno.

"Monsieur Dorian would you...go somewhere, please," he said making a shooing gesture. Arno did not say anything, but began his way towards the back door.

As soon as Timothee heard the door open and close behind him, he leaned in and said in a low voice:

"How did he perform?"

"Fine. He fought competently and did exactly as we were told."

The Chobat patriarch leaned back, seemingly digesting the words.

"Good...good," he said just above a whisper. "That's good. Maybe he'll be of use to us yet."

He looked off in a strange direction, as if lost in thought. Élise broke the silence:

"Now if you'll excuse me, Monsieur, I'd like to get something to eat."

"Oui, oui, be my guest, go ahead, my dear!"

Élise did not envy his leadership role at a time like this. She rose, and headed towards the kitchen. Although she had been thinking about pickled pork on the ride over, she also wanted some time alone to reflect. The week had been such a powerful succession of events. Maybe she should have been considering her role in all of this with more gravity.

But out of the window, Arno caught her eye. He was leaning against the patio railing, looking out into the backyard.

They had first met under terms of charm and tenderness. Yet their political divisions had shoved a bitter wedge between them. But in the prison, she had felt him soften, ever so slightly.

Maybe Arno would never come around to the Templar cause. But at the very least, she believed he would join her against their common enemy in these turbulent times.