Read Chapter 24: The Choice of Honor

Roland read the message three times, as if the words might rearrange themselves into something less brutal. The parchment bore the King's seal and the envoy's florid hand: three days, the true ledger in Paris, or the woman hangs from a beam in Limoges square at dawn.

"They'll kill her regardless," Isabelle said. She stood by the window of the inn room, watching the street below. "Even if you give them what they want. You know that."

Roland crumpled the letter. "I know that I won't let her die."

"Then what do you propose? March to Limoges with the ledger and hope de Molay keeps his word? You've seen how these men bargain."

He didn't answer. Instead he laid the ledger on the table, its leather cover scarred from hard travel, and put his palm flat upon it. Émile's face rose unbidden—the way his friend had coughed blood in that frozen ditch and pressed this same book into Roland's hands with the last of his strength. *Carry it to Isabelle. Trust no one.*

"I made him a promise," Roland said quietly.

"You made me a promise too." Isabelle's voice was soft but carried iron. "Or have you forgotten? You swore to see this through. The ledger can undo the Bishop's lies, can expose the debt scheme for what it is. It can save thousands who will bleed in a war built on forgeries. Is Aelis worth more than all of them?"

Roland turned to face her. "Yes."

The word hung between them like a blade. Isabelle's jaw tightened, but something in her eyes shifted—not surrender, but understanding. She had watched her father and brother die for causes. She knew what it cost a person to choose one life over a kingdom.

"Then we don't surrender the ledger," she said slowly. "We do this mad thing you're planning. We find another way."

Roland blinked. "You'd help me?"

"Don't mistake me." She stepped closer, and for a moment her face held the fierce devotion of a woman who had unlocked a dead Templar's vault with nothing but faith and her family's cross. "I still believe the ledger must reach Rome. But I've watched enough men die for the sake of 'greater goods.' I won't watch another—especially not one who kept his word when it would've been easier to break it."

Roland let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "Then listen."

He outlined it quickly, the plan forming even as he spoke. A guard at Limoges garrison—old comrade from his mercenary days, a man named Etienne who owed Roland his life after Toulouse. If Etienne still wore the King's colors, he could smuggle a false ledger into the execution grounds, plant it where de Molay's men would find it and think the real one was being delivered.

"While they're busy gloating over the decoy," Roland said, "I climb the gallows and cut her down. You create a diversion—loose horses, smoke in the stables, whatever you can manage. We ride out before they know the book is false."

"And when they discover the decoy within the hour?"

"Then we're already a mile gone with Aelis between us." Roland shrugged. "It's not a perfect plan."

"It's a terrible plan," Isabelle said. But she was already reaching for her cloak.

---

The execution was set for first light, when the square would fill with vendors and gawkers and the King's men would be at their most drowsy. Roland spent the night in a ditch outside Limoges, watching the walls, while Isabelle moved through the city shadows to find Etienne.

She returned near midnight, smelling of smoke and horse. "He's with us. The decoy is planted in the guardhouse, wrapped in oilcloth. He'll make sure it's seen an hour before dawn."

"And the gallows?"

"Southeast corner of the square. Twenty feet high, wooden. They've got two guards at the base, one at the top platform." She paused. "Aelis is already there, chained to the post. They brought her out at dusk—to let the crowd get a good look at what happens to traitors, apparently."

Roland's fists clenched until his nails bit his palms. He forced himself to breathe. "Then we go at the changing of the guard. Third bell."

---

Third bell came with a hazy autumn dawn. The square was half-empty, the crowd thin and shivering. Roland moved through the shadows in a laborer's rough tunic, hood pulled low, carrying a rope coiled over one shoulder like a workman bound for a day of hauling.

He saw Aelis at the gallows—head high despite the chains, the bruise on her cheek from de Molay's men still livid. She hadn't broken. Of course she hadn't.

The guards were changing. Roland crossed the last stretch of open ground, heart hammering, and seized the ladder's rungs.

"Aye, you—" one of the guards began.

"Executioner's assistant," Roland said gruffly, not stopping. "Sent to check the knots."

He climbed. The platform creaked beneath him. Aelis's eyes widened as she recognized him, and she shook her head almost imperceptibly—*go, leave me*—but he ignored her, drawing the knife from his belt and sawing at the rope binding her wrists.

"Roland—" she breathed.

"Don't talk," he said. "Just hold on."

The rope parted. He grabbed her arm, pulling her toward the ladder, when a voice rang out from the crowd below, clear as a bell.

"Captain Roland. How good of you to join us."

Roland froze.

Jacques de Molay stood at the base of the gallows, flanked by a dozen archers whose bows were already drawn. The envoy smiled up at him, arms spread wide in mock welcome.

"Did you really think," de Molay called, "that I wouldn't watch the one thing in this kingdom that could make you break your vow?" He gestured, and two men dragged Etienne from the crowd, bloodied and bound. "Your friend placed the decoy as you asked. He also told me everything else—after some persuasion."

Roland's hand tightened on the knife. Aelis stood beside him, trembling, and below them the archers drew their strings taut.

"You have a choice, Captain," de Molay said, his voice carrying across the silent square. "Drop the rope and surrender the real ledger—or watch her die twice."