Finding Gabriel Read Free Page A

bombarded her mind. Along with her strength and health, the illness had spirited away a part of her child’s youth. And that was one burden Ariah’s heart wasn’t fit to carry.
    “Well. I could use some fresh air before the storm comes,” she whispered to Miriam. “Would you mind watching Emmaline for a moment?”
    •
    Ariah fastened the moth-eaten shawl around her neck and stepped into the black of night. An unsettling coldness instantly overcame her. With each passing day, disguising her tears with feigned smiles and empty laughter was becoming more difficult. And the outside world offered no comfort and only grim reminders of her family’s doom. To lose her daughter would be to lose herself; the very notion was unbearable and brought a choked sob from her throat. Cupping her mouth, she fought back the whirlwind of emotions and shivered in the frigid air.
    Strings of lanterns dangled overhead while they fought to brave out the stormy weather. Cradled by the wind’s breath, they lolled from side to side, imbuing the walkways with a ghostly ambiance. Ariah shuddered as she recalled the image of a mutilated corpse hanging from those ropes – something that would forever be tattooed upon her memory. Only years before, such a thing had become a common occurrence. Now that blatant desperation had vanished and in its place stood an unsettling calm. Indeed, much like Emmaline’s fate, the city seemed to be trapped within a strange, surreal limbo.
    Paris had never recovered from the Allies’ invasion the previous year. Even well after the Cossacks had traveled across the Rhine River and entered France, the citizens had brushed away the impending siege as an absurd feat. But the war quickly transformed into a harsh reality. Ariah’s heart had grounded to a dead halt when the desperate cries rang from the rooftops: “The Cossacks are marching on Paris! Our walls are about to collapse!” Seemingly overnight, the infirmaries swarmed with wounded men and women, starved soldiers roamed the streets, and Bois de Boulogne’s beautiful birch trees were chopped down to provide material for the barricades. And by the third week of March, the telling roar of cannons echoed in Paris.
    Almost a year had passed since then, but the streets remained desolate, every crevice filled with broken souls. Tonight a damp gray fog blanketed the city, shattered only by the faint glow of oil lamps. Wary of the darkness, Ariah took care to stay beneath the comforting pools of light.
    Thunder boomed once more, considerably closer now. She flinched at the sound, then focused her gaze and struggled to discern the shadows around her. The night air was humid, thick to swallow. Fear bloomed inside her as the memories seized hold. And she vividly remembered them all –
    The whisper of a dying man’s breath. Screams. Burning tears. The sensation of splitting, incomprehensible pain – followed by bone-chilling laughter.
    Clutching at her tattered shawl, Ariah battled the temptation to return home at a fierce sprint; but a storm was indeed coming, and it would be days before the weather would permit her to leave the house again. Besides, the time had come for her to abandon the horrors of her past. She’d begun a new life, free from desperation and restraints. Now it was simply time to begin living.
    Even so, she was neither simple-minded nor ignorant. She was a survivor. She’d learned to keep her back to walls, to trust no one, and to defend herself against unlikely predators.
    Steeling her nerves, Ariah surged forward. She released her shawl and felt for her dagger. Sheathed in a leather cocoon, it was tucked beneath her skirts and securely in place – just as it had been for seven years. She eased her skirt up and ran her fingers over the hilt, keeping the weapon a thrust away. Granted, it bore a rather small blade – yet a swift slice to the throat could fell a man as easily as a greatsword.
    A sense of empowerment rekindled her courage and