Dawn on day one… The sun’s advance is heralded by a brilliant band of yellow, pink and gold hovering at the edge of the earth. In the dark crowded yard, under flickering lamplight and pending dawn, the dust is rising. Carriages and wagons are lined up, the horses moving restively in the traces, bobbing their … Continue reading Chapter Ninety, Calculating Strategy, by Corso
Chapter Eighty-Nine, Family Near and Far, by Corso
…Glenay… Lucien throws down the quill and rubs his eyes, flexing his neck side to side. There is a knot between his shoulders. He blows out his breath and looks toward the sputtering fireplace, standing to put fresh logs on it. “Which one of us is in charge of this fire?” Lucien inquires gruffly, positions … Continue reading Chapter Eighty-Nine, Family Near and Far, by Corso
Chapter Eighty-Eight, What we leave behind, by Mordaunt
Bianca has shifted from sitting, to kneeling, to standing on the kitchen bench so that she can reach easily over the great table where her shells are spread, separated according to shape, size, and color. She is engrossed in her work, stringing them into bracelets and necklaces with colorful glass and silver beads, using the … Continue reading Chapter Eighty-Eight, What we leave behind, by Mordaunt
Chapter Eighty-Seven, The Riddle of Rochefort, by Corso
…Glenay… He is still holding her hand, carrying the lantern in his other hand as they enter the house and go up the stairs. Lucien turns toward their bedchamber when he feels her hand slip from his. “What?” he says moving back to her. “Come with me.” She turns in the opposite direction. “Shall I … Continue reading Chapter Eighty-Seven, The Riddle of Rochefort, by Corso
Chapter Eighty-Six, First Light, by Mordaunt
“I meant to wait for Alexandre in the carriage,” Constance says. “Madame Charbonneau tells me Athos is not here. She insisted I come inside.” Perhaps it is Constance’s apologetic tone or perhaps it was something in the air at Glénay, in the sidelong glances and the measured confidences, that Alessandra perceived even though she was … Continue reading Chapter Eighty-Six, First Light, by Mordaunt
Chapter Eighty-Five, Tangents, by Corso
Lucien crouches down to add wood to a fire already burning briskly. He feels the heat against his face and stands, with one hand braced on the mantle, watching the flames. Behind him, Porthos and d’ Artagnan discuss the return to Paris, details of assembling their families, servants, guards and belongings, how many horses, how … Continue reading Chapter Eighty-Five, Tangents, by Corso
Chapter Eighty-Four, Glow of Midday, by Mordaunt
Even though she has seen nothing of the house, she recognizes it. From the time they arrived, early in the evening, she remembers only the torchlight and the commotion at the gate, and being carried inside but little else. Yet, everything about the bedchamber where she finds herself is familiar: how the daylight pours in, … Continue reading Chapter Eighty-Four, Glow of Midday, by Mordaunt
Chapter Eighty-Three, Tranquillitas ante tempestatem…(a deceptive calm before chaos), by Corso
...the coast of Normandy... On a windswept promontory overlooking the restless waters of the Atlantic ocean a small priory is perched. Ocean waves crash against the cliffs, spray rising to mist the ancient stone walls, westerly winds howl and seep through thinly mortared rock. In a narrow monk’s bare cell, a naked man kneels on … Continue reading Chapter Eighty-Three, Tranquillitas ante tempestatem…(a deceptive calm before chaos), by Corso
Chapter Eighty-Two, Lingering Shadows, by Mordaunt
The bedchamber is imbued with hazy light from a handful of flickering candles and the glow from the fireplace. There are others here. Shuffling sounds, and distant hushed voices that she recognizes: the physicians, the nurse, and the midwife. She cannot understand their words. Only Sophia’s whisper reaches her. “I will return in the morning,” … Continue reading Chapter Eighty-Two, Lingering Shadows, by Mordaunt
Chapter Eighty-One, Lèon, by Mordaunt
In the heat of midday the stonewall feels pleasantly cool against Athos’ back. He exhales loudly as he sits at the bench, reaching for his flask of water. “Was that too much for you, Old Man?” Seated next to Athos, Lucien sounds equally out of breath. Just like Athos, he is covered in mud and … Continue reading Chapter Eighty-One, Lèon, by Mordaunt
Twelve Years After 