Red Rider RIsing: Book 2 of the Red Rider Saga by D.A. Randall (ebook e reader .txt) 📕

Papa trudged in with a wary look, like he was afraid of me. Or of something else.

“Helena …”

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He moved like a sleepwalker to the chair beside me. Mama followed him like a dutiful soldier, head down. Her face red, her eyes squinting and sore. “Helena,” Papa started again.

“Something happened to Francois.”

“What?” I glanced from one solemn face to the other. “Is Crimson all right?”

Papa seemed to stare through me at someone else or someplace else. “I believe so. But Lightning is gone.”

“Gone where?”

Mama turned aside. The sunlight from the windows glinted off the tears on her cheeks.

“Henri, perhaps we should talk about this another time …”

“No, Celeste. She’s going to hear it from someone over the next few days. It’s just as well that she hear it from us.”

Mama fixed her gaze on me and stiffened. I felt as though they were waiting for something to happen to me.

“What’s wrong? Tell me.”

Papa swiped his large hands over his face.

As if trying to wipe something away. “Helena. …

Francois is dead. So is his mare.”

I stared at Papa, trying to understand.

Stared at his mouth that had just spoken those words. Saw him speak them again, in my mind. He said Francois was dead, just like Grand’Mere Marie was dead. Just like Pierre’s mother.

Dead.

“… How come?” My throat felt strangled.

76

Papa licked his lips. Glanced from side to side. Sat back a little in his chair. “Some wolves attacked him. In his house.”

My mind saw the blue-gray eyes again, shining out of the black tunnel. Shining out of the dark forest. Watching me. Waiting. I breathed deeper. Felt my heart beat faster. “How did they get inside?”

Papa scratched at his chin. “His door –

somehow came off its hinges. And they all went in.”

My temples throbbed, my lip quivering.

“How many?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. Looked like four of them, at the least.”

“How do you know?”

“Henri,” Mama interrupted.

“She’s going to hear it,” he repeated.

Mama bit her lip.

Papa swallowed. He stared straight into my eyes. “What happened to Francois – was very sad.

When they found him, he was – he was not in one piece. They tore him asunder. Lieutenant-General Sharrad figures it took at least four of them to do it.”

My insides felt hollow as a dead log. “And the mare?”

“Henri …”

Papa’s eyes continued to burrow into me.

“She was the same. All over the stable. They found the foal tied up in its stall. Seemed to be struggling to get out.”

“We’ve got to go get him!” I shrieked.

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Papa paled. “We can’t care for an extra horse, Helena. He needs to go someplace where he can –.”

“We’ve got to get him, Papa! We’ve got to bring him home before the wolves come back!”

Mama took a step forward. “Francois may have relatives nearby, dear. They might want the foal for –.”

“Crimson is mine! Francois promised him to me.”

Papa’s eyebrows knit together. “He didn’t so much as promise to –.”

“He promised I could ride him. How can I ride him if someone takes him away? How can I take care of him? The wolves came back for Francois. They’ll come for Crimson next.”

They exchanged puzzled looks. Mama bent

over me. “Darling, what do you mean, ‘the wolves came back’?”

“Because Francois saved me. Because he killed one of them, and they wanted revenge.”

Papa lowered his head and met my eyes.

“Helena. Wolves don’t take revenge.”

My eyes narrowed back at his. “They’re not wolves.”

They gaped at me as I remembered the wolf looming over me on its hind legs, grinning with its sharp fangs. Those same eyes would always be there, shining in my memory and my nightmares. Mocking me. Threatening me.

Terrifying me. “Where’s my cloak?”

Their eyes bulged.

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Mama wrung her hands. “Dear. Why do you ask?”

“I want it. Where is it?”

“It’s put away,” Papa said, straightening in his chair.

“It’s mine. Grand’Mere Marie made it for me. Give it to me.”

Mama lowered her chin. “Helena, that is no way to speak to your father.”

“Where’s my cloak?” I demanded. I no longer cared what they would do to me for being so brash.

Papa’s moustache formed a dark frown.

“Helena.