The Wolf Esprit: Lykanos Chronicles 3
Chapter Four

“He has to go on,” Father said, raising his voice.

His volume startled me from my nap, and I struggled to believe I’d heard him right. The nightmare he’d woken me from still echoed in my thoughts, and for a moment, I looked around to replace the devil from the forest floor.

“You can’t be serious,” Mother said as if she were just as unprepared for his reversal of sentiment.

“The viol is unrepairable, so he can’t join the musicians. And I will not allow him just to lie here because of his face,” Father insisted. “Find him a party mask to wear for the first half. Make-up must suffice to cover his bruises well enough for the second. But make it look natural. Don’t rim his eyes with charcoal.”

“It hurts him when he talks, Claude. His ribs are bruised. How will he speak to the crowd? How will he sing?”

“Nonsense. His nose isn’t broken, so he can still sing well enough. Or leave the song out if he must. Besides, his body will heal faster the more he uses it. If he can walk, he goes on.”

“But, Claude—”

“It’s fine,” I said, sitting up on my cot to feel the very pain they debated.

Mother shook her head at me with a worried scowl.

“Father’s right. I’ll be fine. It hurts, but the pain won’t stop me.”

“Go to Monsieur Rivere to replace him a mask,” he told her. “Nothing too much, now. Something simple and unobtrusive that will blend into his costume.”

Mother looked at me once again, uncertain of my acceptance, but soon turned to leave Father and me in the tent.

“We go on no matter what,” Father said when we were alone. “Do you understand? We all count upon one another, and if you can stand, you go on.”

“I understand, Father,” I answered.

He nodded and turned to leave, but then stopped.

“You did fine yesterday. We all heard them scream for you. But you must make yourself sound more like a man, Esprit. You understand now the danger you invite when you let yourself talk like a woman, even for a minute.”

It was the most he’d said to me in the year since discovering the truth about me. Or, at least, since I’d confirmed his suspicions.

Father sighed as if he had more to say, but the matter was clearly one he didn’t want to discuss.

“I understand, sir.”

I was grateful for Henri’s doublet. Though it was damp from the wash and still gave a light scent of urine, I was grateful for the extra support its stiff fabric and tight fit offered my frame. The pain in my ribs was considerable when I sang scales with Uncle Guillaume to warm up my throat. But I didn’t consider leaving my solo out of the performance; I wanted to do it too much.

The mask Mother brought me was more difficult to wear than I expected. While it bore handsome red leather on the outside and left my mouth and jaw exposed, the rough fabric inside agitated my face and smeared the makeup. But my genuine concern was that its thickness occluded the floor beneath me. It took me a while to overcome the unnerving sensation of not seeing the floor as I walked. But I was adamant that nothing would stop me.

After the show began, I peeked out into the crowd through a slat from beside the stage. The assembly was larger than the night before, and I panicked as I scanned for the young men who beat me. I was both angry at them and terrified of seeing them again. But I knew they couldn’t harm me while I was on the stage, and I wouldn’t let my fear stop me from performing.

Father’s words had left their mark. I wasn’t just performing for gratification; I was here to support the others—the troupe that was my extended family. For them, I would fight through the pain even just to sing for Anton, who’d coughed up blood for most of the night because of his injuries. I couldn’t say how the beating might’ve ended for me if he hadn’t come to my aid and distracted my attacker’s wrath upon himself.

My eyes fell upon a man standing in front of the stage, only about ten feet from where I peered out. For a moment, I would’ve sworn he’d been staring at me, though coming into focus, I saw he was watching the dancing on stage. As I watched him, I realized just how distinguished the man looked. He was taller and quite robust. His plain clothes didn’t fit him well, his large shoulders and arms stretching the otherwise loose material to its limit. I thought he was likely the town smith.

Studying the man’s closely shaven face, I realized just how handsome he was. He had a firm jaw and light golden hair grown long and pulled back with a ribbon. And when he smiled and applauded the dancers’ finish, I sighed.

I wish I could know you, I thought.

At once, he shot his piercing green eyes at me. It was the strangest sensation—the precision by which he found me while the tarp and mask hid almost all but my eyes from him. He stared directly at me and smiled.

“Let’s go,” Henri said from behind, and his hand on my shoulder startled me.

“I’m ready,” I answered on instinct and moved to follow him to the stairs.

If I’d been nervous about the performance, all that anxiety gave way to my new state of distraction. I struggled to do anything as my mind raced to remember the man’s face. Even as I heard Uncle Guillaume singing the opening speech of the play, Henri had to push me when it came time to enter.

On stage, I got lost twice as I stared into the crowd to replace the man. After struggling through the first lines, I had to force myself to stop looking out. But it wasn’t until I stood at Juliet’s side during the party scene, and the crowd let out its enthusiastic whistles, that I gave the performance my full attention.

During my song, I struggled against the pain in my ribs to achieve greater volume, but still reached the notes with perfect pitch. And while I failed on my first attempt to climb to the riser that acted as Juliet’s balcony, I remembered my lines when I got up to her.

Kiss her, a man’s voice said in my mind.

I jerked my head as if another man had hung beside me from that ledge beside me to whisper the words in my ear. Though I looked around to replace the source, I knew no one was beside me but Louise. Still, the man’s voice resonated inside my head.

In my confusion, I lost my footing on the ledge and slipped seven feet down to the main stage floor. Stars exploded in my head when it snapped against the floorboards. For the second night in a row, I felt myself pass out.

“That was careless of you,” Father whispered.

I regained consciousness to replace myself in a backstage tent surrounded by dim candlelight, my parents, and Uncle Guillaume. From outside, I heard my dialogue voiced by someone else.

“It was an accident, Claude,” his older brother mumbled.

“Henri is out there finishing the play for you. Do you realize how stupid that looks, to have Mercutio turn into another character halfway through?”

“It was your stupid mask that caused it!” I shot back at him. A jarring pain shot throughout my side when I yelled, but it didn’t stop me from rising to my feet to rip the mask from my face and throw it at Father’s feet. “I couldn’t see where I was stepping!”

For a moment, Father looked at me as if the anger in my voice had stunned him, though he soon returned with outrage.

“Not now, frère,” Uncle whispered and placed his hand on Father’s arm as if to stop him from setting upon me.

“Go to our tent at once,” Mother said in a hush and pulled me back to usher me out with a shove.

In anger, I pulled away from her and stormed out of the tent. I felt furious at everything and everyone, including myself, and pulled my hair out of my face in frustration.

In the tent, I almost ripped Henri’s doublet as I took it off to throw at the floor. I stalked around the small space, breathing heavily as my hand pushed my fallen hair back again and again.

“Esprit?” a little voice rang at the door.

“What is it?!” I barked.

Thérèse’s liquid brown eyes peered inside, and I exhaled to turn my back on her in a huff.

Without a word, she entered and moved to stand by my side. She reached up to cradle my face with her feather touch and kissed my cheek. In seconds, all the anger fell from my body, and I lowered my head onto her shoulder to weep soundlessly in her arms.