Read Chapter 37: The Prisoner of the North

The stockade smelled of wet straw, smoke, and fear. René counted twelve Imperial troopers between him and the timber wall—twelve men warming their hands over a fire that threw orange light against the snow. Beyond them, the cage. A low pen of sharpened stakes, lashed together with rope.

Marie was inside. He could see the grey of her cloak through the gaps.

He had not meant to lose her. The ambush had come fast—riders bursting from a treeline that had seemed empty moments before, shouting in German, their horses steaming in the cold. René had drawn his blade, but there were too many. Marie's horse had been struck, and she'd gone down hard. He had nearly turned back. Nearly. But she had screamed at him, her voice sharp and clear above the chaos: *"Go. I'll not have you caught for nothing."*

Fool woman. He was going to catch himself anyway.

He circled the stockade's edge, keeping low in the shadow of a snowbank. The frost had numbed his shoulder, at least—that was one mercy. The wound had gone stiff and cold, the blood dried to a dark crust on his shirt. It ached, but it was a distant sort of pain, like a memory.

The prisoners. He counted them through the gaps. Thirteen men in the pen, huddled shoulder to shoulder. Soldiers, mostly. A few civilians. All of them looked half-dead with cold.

And there, in the far corner, a man whose face René knew.

He'd seen that face in a convent courtyard, years ago. Younger then. Softer. But the lines of it were unmistakable—the sharp jaw, the pale eyes. Katarina's brother. The man who had been taken by Imperial troops before René had ever set foot in that place. He'd assumed the boy dead. Everyone had.

The boy looked up, as if sensing the weight of René's gaze. Their eyes met through the gaps in the stakes. Recognition flickered across his face—not warm, but not hostile either. Curious. Searching.

René pressed his back against the stockade and closed his eyes. Thirteen prisoners. Twelve troopers. No way in through the front.

So he went through the back.

The stockade's rearmost posts were older than the rest, grey with rot where they met the ground. He worked his knife into the earth, carving a narrow tunnel beneath the lowest rail. The ground was frozen, but the frost was thin here, churned up by the prisoners' feet on the inside. He dug with his bare hands when the blade wasn't enough, the cold biting his fingers to white.

He was through in six minutes. A century.

He pressed himself into the pen, moving among the prisoners like a shadow. The others were too exhausted to notice. But Katarina's brother rose as he approached, wary, his chains rattling.

"Who are you?" the boy whispered, his accent thick, his voice cracked from disuse.

"Your sister's friend," René said. "I'm getting you out of here."

The brother stared at him. Something passed across his face—a flicker of recognition, then doubt. "My sister is dead."

"I know." René's throat tightened. "I'm carrying her message anyway."

Marie was near the far end of the pen, pressed against the stakes, her arms wrapped around her knees. She looked up as René reached her, and for a moment, her face broke open—relief, fear, something deeper. Then she hardened. "You fool," she hissed. "I told you to run."

"I've done enough running." He pulled the knife free and cut the rope binding her wrists. "Can you walk?"

She was on her feet before he finished the question. The brother rose, swaying slightly, and René saw the dark bruise along his temple, the fresh blood at his lip. He'd been questioned. The Imperial troopers had wanted something from him. What, René didn't know. He didn't want to know.

The three of them moved toward the gap in the stockade. The prisoners nearest them stirred but said nothing. They knew better. They had seen too many attempts fail.

René was halfway through the gap when the alarm went up.

A shout, sudden and sharp. Then another. Boots hammering across the frozen ground. René twisted, grabbing Marie's arm and hauling her through, the brother scrambling behind them. They broke into a run.

The snow was deep. Their boots sank, each step a fight. Behind them, the troopers poured out of the stockade, shouting, leveling muskets.

René felt the world slow.

A bullet cracked past his ear. Another. Marie was ahead of him, moving fast, her breath a white plume in the dark. The brother stumbled, and René grabbed his arm, hauling him upright. They were almost to the treeline.

And then he felt something go wrong.

He had not felt the letter shift in his boot. He had not felt his heel catch on a hidden root. But when the fall came, it came hard—face-first into the snow, his knife spinning from his grip, something dark and folded tumbling from his coat.

The letter.

The original letter. The one from the Archbishop. The one he had sworn he'd burned.

It fell into the snow before him, the blood-red seal stark against the white, and an Imperial trooper was already there, already crouching, already snatching it up.

René's hand closed on his knife. He could kill the man. He could.

But Marie was screaming his name, and the brother was pulling him, and there were too many muskets.

He ran.

The treeline swallowed them. The shots died behind them, replaced by the sound of their own ragged breath. René stumbled into the darkness, his chest burning, his shoulder screaming, and the last thing he saw before the black closed in was the trooper holding his letter up to the firelight, waving it like a flag.

<<"<STATE>>> summary: René infiltrates the Imperial stockade where Marie is held, discovers Katarina's brother among the prisoners, and breaks both of them free during the escape, but the original Archbishop's letter falls from his coat and is seized by enemy troops. threads: - Marie and Katarina's brother are free, but Marie's recapture and the brother's fate remain uncertain - The original letter is now in Imperial hands, and its contents may be exposed or used against him - René knows where the real letter is hidden, but the enemy does not yet know it was a fake - The brother's connection to Katarina and his capture may hold intelligence the Imperials wanted - René's shoulder wound has worsened in the cold, threatening infection - Madame de Chevreuse's key remains undiscovered on René's person, its purpose unknown