ADIEU » LES MISÉRABLES | ✓

CHAPTER TWELVE

The most unsettling thing about it all, Claudine realized, was the silence. Apart from the crackling of fire and the sizzling of burnt things, there was no sound to be heard. No shouts, no screams, nothing.

Claudine wanted to believe that they had escaped. The other possibility she dared not explore.

Biting hard into her cheek, she wandered further into the graveyard. The heat from the raging fire nearly singed off her eyebrows, but she kept going, holding on to the hope that she would find something that pointed to their whereabouts. She heard Enjolras struggling to keep up, his feet crashing over the undergrowth. He was coughing. Of course the bourgeois boy couldn't stand smoke -

A fresh wave of smoke invaded Claudine's nostrils, and she doubled over, tears in her eyes. Fire coursed through her air passageway, into her lungs, and she couldn't breathe, couldn't move. She felt something warm against her waist, steadying her, pulling her back.

"... Dangerous!" Enjolras's voice cut through the haze of her thoughts, sharp and piercing. 

Of course she knew that. They were all in danger - which was why she had to rescue them! In a sudden surge of strength, she freed herself from Enjolras's hold and stumbled forward.

Enjolras caught her once more, and it would be so easy, really, to lean back into his solid chest and bury her nose into the folds of his clothes, to inhale his fresh, clean scent amidst the toxic fumes, to let him take her to safety. But then she caught a glimpse of something black, something moving. Something alive.

Hope surged through her entire body. 

Melanie. It had to be Melanie.

And it was. 

The fire had not yet spread to the field. Melanie, a dark shadow against the hazy smoke, was straining against the rope that tied her to the fence, fully aware that something had gone wrong. 

Claudine sprang towards her with a speed and strength she never knew she possessed. She untied the knots in the rope and ran her hands soothingly down Melanie's mane, trying to calm her down.

The poor horse was in a state of panic. Melanie had always been unpredictable, and in her younger days, she had been feral and near untameable. The only human she had ever listened to - and loved - was the little girl with dark hair and bright eyes. Claudine hoped fervently that all their years of training together would be enough to get them both out safely.

She mounted the horse and clicked her tongue. 

Melanie bolted forward immediately. The wind whipped at Claudine's face, heavy with the fire's toxic fumes, but despite it all, some part of Claudine still felt young and exhilarated. There was nothing she loved more than riding a horse. The sharp wind would tear all of her worries away, even if it was just for a brief moment. 

___

Enjolras always reserved a part of his brain for old memories, no matter how bitter or sweet they were. They were always accessible, and if he wanted to, he could reach out for one of them and replay it in his head. He never forgot anything. 

When he was eight, his mother used to read him stories. They were the stupidest stories ever, and he found it absolutely ridiculous that the princess had to get rescued by her knight in shining armour every time.

"This is idiotic," he had said, ignoring his mother's exasperated sigh. "The princess is always portrayed as a weak, defenceless little fool who is incapable of fending for herself in any way. Why does it have to be like that? Sometimes, the princes need rescuing too. No story ever mentions that."

When Claudine thundered out of the thick smoke with her black horse, it was as if she had sprung out of a story book - one that he would have approved of as a child. She stretched out a hand, and he looked up into her blue eyes, which shone with a calm, serene brightness that he had only seen once before. 

My princess, he thought with a silent awe, feeling like an eight-year-old once again. He took her hand and hauled himself up onto the horse.

The horse moved fast. Faster than he had expected. His hands instinctively clasped her waist. For the first time, he was holding on to her, not holding her back. He squeezed his eyes shut, resisting the urge to lean his forehead against the back of her neck. 

Safe. He felt so incredibly safe with her. There were so many questions he wanted to ask, so much he wanted to say, but with the steady pounding of the horses' hooves against the ground and the ends of her hair grazing his cheeks, all he wanted to do was fall asleep. 

But he couldn't. He had to understand. 

"What - why -" he blurted out, his usual eloquence failing him. 

"Stop," she said before he could continue. There was raw hurt in her voice, and for some reason, it did something to his heart. He had never felt anything quite like it before.

"I-" he tried again quietly, but he never got to finish his sentence.

"Stop!" She shouted, her voice breaking. "Don't talk to me. I don't want to hear what you think. I just lost my entire home."

"That was your home," he repeated, the true weight of the situation sinking in. She lived in a graveyard?

There was no response from her.

"Stay with me. I have a spare room."

"I don't really have a choice."

"You don't," he agreed. 

They reached the main square of the city. Without the smoke, he could see much better. He could see the moon, and how its light spilled over her skin, pale and ethereal. 

At night, everything became softer; the river, the rain, the light. And so did his heart. The words, words he would never have dreamt of saying in the day, came out of his mouth before he could stop himself. "I am from a world that is so different from all that you are. You are such a mystery, Claudine. There is so much about you that I don't understand." 

"Perhaps it is better if you don't," she said harshly.

"Why?"

"Because I am selfish. I have lost too much already. I don't want to lose you as well."

A beat of silence passed between them. "What are you hiding, Claudine?"

He did not expect her to answer. She didn't. 

Instead, she leaned back against his chest. He stiffened, and for a moment, all he could hear was his own heartbeat, fast and traitorously loud. 

"I am so tired, Enjolras." Her voice was small, defeated.

It amazed him how much she could hide in her petite body. She hid her feelings, her secrets, her tears. It was no wonder that she was tired. His heart twinged, and, seized by a rare, sudden rush of something that suspiciously resembled affection, he lifted his hand and touched her cheek.

Just a touch, light as a feather, nothing more. Still, he felt as if a great weight had been lifted off his heart, a weight he never knew existed.