“She raised herself and stood, panting. The creature that was Henri but not Henri lay sprawled before her, his chest heaving. But he would wake soon. And then her soul would be more in danger than ever, and the monster before her would be angry. Very angry. Slowly, she turned to the bag. The Roman short-sword gleamed there with its own internal radiance. Images flashed through her mind of lifting the sword high, bringing it down, and the metal cleaving through flesh, and the blood … the blood wa...s everywhere. Françoise gasped. Somewhere a wail still echoed in the air. She looked around wildly. Where was she? Frantic knocking reverberated through the room. “Mademoiselle. Mademoiselle, are you all right?” Annette’s voice. She breathed. This was only the luxurious, feminine room that wasn’t really hers. “Coming, Annette.” She threw back the bedclothes and got up. Her knees were shaky. She started for the door, then paused and looked back. Underneath the bed, right about where her pillows were, that strange leather case squatted like some interloper.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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