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“And how long ago was that?” Tristan asked.
“Long enough, but I could practice and still do it. I know I can.”
“If anyone could do it, it’s you,” Ffoulkes agreed. “You’re small and light enough—”
“Am I the only one whodoesn’twant Alexandra to fall to her death?”
“No one wants her to be hurt, Chevalier,” Ffoulkes said, “but if all we need is a locksmith that makes our task much easier. Alex climbs up, admits us, helps the locksmith free the king, then lowers him down in...perhaps some sort of basket—”
Tristan covered his eyes. Now she was to climb up with a basket?
“And we take the child out of the country.”
“How am I to get out of the Temple?” Tristan wondered aloud. “Or is that not a concern?”
“We’ll need a distraction,” Montagne said.
“I’m good at distractions,” Dewhurst said. “A few explosions ought to do it.”
Montagne crossed to Miss Blake. “Then Honoria and I will wait in a carriage and take the king across the border. It’s past time we left Paris anyway.”
“After this, Chevalier will have to leave as well,” Alexandra said.
“Pardon?”
She gave him a long look. “You didn’t think you’d be able to stay, did you?”
He’d tried not to think too much about that eventuality. Not that he thought he would be traveling anywhere. The plan the league had sketched out was doomed at best. It would never work, and now he had no choice but to go along with it.
Thirteen
Alex could see thedoubt written on Chevalier’s features. She might have felt the same if she didn’t trust the rest of the league implicitly. They’d never failed her yet, and they wouldn’t now. But she didn’t have time to convince Chevalier of that. She had to make sure he arrived at his apartments without being caught.
“I’ll take Chevalier home while you plan the details,” she said.
Ffoulkes nodded, already consulting with Honoria about the forged documents they’d need. “We need that locksmith,” he said absently.
