Escort For The Witch: The Mystery of Psyche's Ruby - стр. 2
"Good heavens!" Blanche exclaimed, barely controlling her emotions. "Bernard… They say Louis is on his deathbed. Is it true?"
"It is. And I fear he won't last until dawn."
In the dim, flickering candlelight, the man could almost see all blood drain from Blanche's face.
"That can't be!" she whispered, glancing out the window. The impenetrable darkness of the night was beginning to fade, giving way to the first light of autumn dawn.
"What will become of us now?" she cried out, shuddering as she heard the soft footsteps outside.
"Don't worry, it's just Auguste. As for us… It's clear. The moment the King dies, his regent will step in. And he will waste no time putting us in the Place de Grève1," Joel smirked grimly.
"Thibault won't return," Blanche whispered in despair, her gaze blankly sweeping the small room where she, her son, and her loyal maid had been waiting for her husband for the past four days.
The man shook his head in silence, noting an instant change in Blanche's face: only a minute ago she had been lively and almost cheerful, now he saw a drooping mouth, dull eyes, and a wrinkly forehead. With a heavy sigh, Joel stood up and walked over to an old dresser in the corner of the room. He grabbed a bottle of red wine and two glasses.
He couldn't bear to see the pain and grief locked in the eyes of the woman to whom he had just delivered the gloomy news that all her hopes for a bright future had been in vain.
"No, Blanche. He won't return," he said darkly, filling his glass. "Frankly, we don't have much time left either. You know that as well as I do," he took a few greedy gulps of his favorite wine. "Ah, good wine, by the way! It's the only thing I'll genuinely miss in the afterlife," he added bitterly. "Blanche, I'll understand if you decide to…"
"No, I won't break my oath!" she said fervently. "I won't betray my husband or the others. Besides, they'll execute me anyway. So, sooner or later, but this was coming. I just didn't think it would be quite so soon. How much time do you think we have?"
Blanche stared out the window with an air of impending doom. She watched as tiny raindrops fell silently on the pavement outside, as if mourning the inevitable end.
"I don't know exactly. A few hours at most. No time to escape. Guards are posted all over France. They'll catch us no matter what, Blanche," Joel whispered, slowly approaching the petite figure of the young woman. He noticed she had grown even paler, and her trembling fingers fidgeted with a crystal rosary on her left wrist. "My brother was very lucky to have you as his wife," he said gently, placing his hands on her slender shoulders. "You have an unyielding will. Just like him. You were a perfect match. And I'm grateful to you for your loyalty – to my brother and to our Order. But now we must hurry."
"Yes, you're right. You're always right," she said with resignation, clutching the rosary so tightly that her knuckles turned white. "Leonie!" Blanche called, trying her best to appear composed. "Leonie! Come here, please!"
"Yes, Madame," the frightened maid whispered.
"Leonie, we need to talk," Blanche gestured to a chair, inviting the girl to sit down. The maid stared confusedly at Blanche and her guest, who was pacing the room like a caged animal, a glass of wine in one hand, the gilded hilt of his sword in the other.