Red Rider RIsing: Book 2 of the Red Rider Saga D.A. Randall (top 5 ebook reader TXT) 📖

show her support and comfort in this time of great loss. It’s more than anyone, especially a young girl like Helena, should be forced to bear.”

I felt the eyes of others staring at me. Even Pierre glanced at me. To see my reaction.

I ignored all of them, staring back at Father Vestille in stony silence. Memorizing each hollow word.

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He stood a little taller, finding more of his voice. “But we must encourage ourselves, not only in the face of death, but in life. In all that we face, even in the midst of the most horrible tragedy, we must seek the face of the Lord and draw strength from him to continue with every task of daily life.

With every disappointment, every grief, every threat –.”

I rose from my seat.

Father Vestille stopped.

Covering the cream dress, I still wore the red cloak, which had drawn several curious stares when we entered the church. But no one dared criticize what I had chosen to wear for the burial of my remaining family. And no one would interfere with me now as I stepped toward the caskets. I stopped in front of the smaller one and stared down at it. I turned to Father Vestille.

“Open it.”

His skin paled like a phantom. “Helena. I –

I know how horrible this is for you, but –.”

“Open it.”

He stood frozen behind the pulpit, with no idea how to respond. The rest of the crowd kept silent in their seats.

I walked behind the wooden coffin. Peeling my hood back, I lifted the lid.

Inside, a few pieces of Suzette’s body had been carefully laid. Each one stripped clean of the majority of decaying flesh and dried blood. I marveled at how quickly Father Vestille had gathered and prepared them. Each piece had been neatly arranged, the hand and partial skull and 164

ribcage exactly where they should be. Except that the lower part of the ribcage was a pile of fractured sticks.

This was not my sister. Only her bones. My sister’s soul had ascended and I would not see her again until my own death. All that remained of her was this pile of lifeless flesh, which would never smile again, never run again, never laugh again.

I faced the spectators. Neighbors, cousins, and friends I had not seen for months. I couldn’t even remember some of their names. Pierre and his parents, Duke Laurent and even Simonet, stared at me in shock, almost fear.

I lifted Suzette’s skeletal hand up high, to show everyone it was no longer connected to her tiny wrist. Women squealed and nestled against their husbands, while mothers shielded their children’s eyes.

I no longer cared. I met their stares, glaring back at them. I held the hand higher. “This … will end.”

I laid the hand gently back in its place with the rest of my sister’s useless parts.

Then I slammed the coffin lid down, letting it echo through the sanctuary. I secured my hood once more and marched past the stunned crowd toward the rear oak doors. Ignoring Father Vestille as he gaped from the front. Past Duke Laurent, Papa’s old friend, who seemed ready to stand and comfort or dissuade me, but wisely held his place.

Past Pierre, wrinkling his brow with worry, as his parents looked on with stunned faces.

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I pushed the double doors open and strode to Crimson, who snorted eagerly beside Pierre’s horse. I climbed onto his back and he lifted his hooves, as if sensing my urgency. We galloped off into the darkening afternoon as a storm threatened on the horizon.

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18.

I rode back to L’atelier de Forgeron de Leóne and found the spare key beneath the stone near the front stoop, where I knew Monsieur Leóne kept it. I unlocked the shop’s front door and went inside, wondering if I might ruin the late Madame Leóne’s satin gown just by walking through the warm oily air.

I didn’t climb up to the loft to rest or gather my thoughts. Instead, I lit a few candles and started rummaging through the shop. I had decided on my 167

next course of action. I just needed to work out the details.

I was still gathering bolts and knives when I heard fast hooves approaching. I continued working as I recognized Diamond’s whinny from out front before Pierre burst through the door.

“Red! Red, what are you doing?”

“Preparing for a hunt.” I continued to pace the tables and shelves, selecting weapons. “I need your help, Pierre. I need a pair of boots.”

“Boots?” Pierre wrinkled his