CHAPTER 24

THE SCOTTISH PLAY

❝ It will have blood, they say. 

Blood will have blood. ❞

London always slept with one eye open, but Piccadilly Circus was wide awake that night. Jazz tunes dripped from open windows and fluttering curtains, an endless flow of bodies spilling from the sidewalks onto the road as bright lights nailed their shadows to the walls.

"They can't be far away," Rose said over the music and the chirpy laughter. Behind her eyelids, the red neon signs kept changing to the bloodied stain her sister had left in the river. "

Thomas gripped the wheel tighter, the Bentley leaving a trail of smoke and gravel behind as they wended their way through the streets. "We will. Left or right?"

He nodded to the crossing in front of them. Rose brought her fingers to her temples. She kept seeing Audrey fall into the water, kept reaching for her and kept losing her. She wanted to fall down to her knees and shout until her voice broke; shout at the people around her, blissfully oblivious to her suffering; shout at time, who never stopped, not even for grief; shout at all those she had lost for leaving her behind with nothing but open wounds and a useless heart.

Suddenly, she glimpsed the fountain on the middle of the square. Perched on the stone like a bird about to fly, Anteros rose above the hustle, bow pointed to the left.

"Left."

Thomas turned the wheel around, and as they drove down Shaftesbury Avenue, Anteros kept pointing the bow at them.

***

Turns out Anteros was right; when the Bentley turned the corner to Gordon Street, Rose spotted the lion tattoo near the hospital, and opened the door even before the car stopped.

"Check if there are any bombs around here." She shouted, keeping her eyes on that lion. Sometimes, when it grew restless, the hunter came to the prey instead of waiting.

Rushed footsteps echoed behind her on the cobblestones. She sped up, following Callan, struggling not to lose sight of him in the crowded streets.

She took her gun out, arm protesting against the weight. She didn't trust herself to aim and not hit someone else. Police officers had been well paid; there were none in sight.

Her ankles snapped as she raced after Callan. She couldn't let him get to his car. More footsteps now, heavier, louder. Soon enough more Saurets crowded in on her from darkened alleys; soon enough more Kissers spread around her, protecting her from all sides.

In an instant, bullets filled the air, shattering the upbeat tunes of Charleston and causing a commotion among the couples flirting by the lampposts.

People stopped coming in and out of pubs, scattering and running instead. On the back of her mind, she knew Callan was leading her towards the lion's den, towards a trap. She didn't care. There was just her and that lion and her hunger to be a hunter for the first time. To forget Audrey's blood by spilling some other.

She ducked to dodge a bullet, and it hit the streetlamp right beside her. Another whizzed the air right next to her leg, shooting someone behind her.

She kept running. Every person she couldn't save was another wound to her skin, but the hunger was bigger now. It hurt more.

Shots and shouts roared all around her; the smell of powder clogged her nostrils, made her eyes ache.

Somewhere on her left a child started crying. Rose stumbled, hesitated, looked around. The reality of the situation rained down on her as mercilessly as stray bullets. People bled on the sidewalks, sobbed against the walls.

The lion kept running. Rose gritted her teeth and stopped, turning to the child instead. Two Saurets targeted her as she threw herself down. She didn't reach the baby. A jolt of pain shot through her when her shoulder struck the ground.

But then Kaya was there, stubborn curls falling out of her braid as she picked the child up and shielded him.

The Saurets fired at her, one, two, three times, and Rose scrambled for her gun, but her arm was as good as dead. She opened her mouth to scream, in warning, in grief. But then there was the screech of tires, an abrupt change of air; a burgundy car halted before Kaya, the bullets bouncing off the plate.

The door flew open, and from behind the wheel, Alfie Solomons stretched his hand out to Kaya.

"Come on then, love," he said, ruggish voice slurred and welcomed, the first rain after a drought. Kaya stopped, the toddler weeping in her arms. "Let's go for a ride, shall we?"

Kaya jumped in, the clatter of bullets hitting the spot she was in mere seconds before. "I didn't need your fucking help!"

"And I didn't need these fucking feelings, so it seems like neither of us got what we wanted, eh?" Alfie shouted back. He glanced at Rose, limping her way towards the car. From the side streets, more men rushed in, most of them bearded and bearing hats. Their presence made the Blinders twitch, but it renewed the Kissers' drive as they shot back at the Saurets. Rose returned Alfie's glance. She could have kissed him right there.

"Forget the lion, Rose." He said as she climbed inside. "There are far worse animals out there."

She nodded. Her sight had been blurred by blood and the taste of revenge, but now she knew what she had to do.

"Take us to the theater then. I heard they're playing Macbeth now."

The child on Kaya's lap started crying again.

***

When Rose burst open the Palace Theatre's doors, Macduff was raising his sword to kill Macbeth on stage. High above her, the lights on the ceiling flickered, then faded out, and the stage went dark.

Rose halted on the corridor, hushed murmurs compressing her from both sides. Her pulse roared in her ears. Her head was spinning, her lungs tight as if she was still underwater. There were Saurets in each door, trapping everyone inside.

Then the lights came back on, and the murmurs rose to questions, then hollers. Tavish stood at the center of the stage, the light circling him like a halo. Behind him, four strong men held Macbeth and Macduff at gun point.

"Quiet," Tavish said, ringed finger coming to his lips. The screams ceased, people moving restlessly on their seats like a wave that doesn't know in which direction to crash. "Rose. Care to join us?"

He gestured towards the frightened actors. Rose looked around. Callan was at one of the balconies, aiming at her. Most Saurets were doing the same.

She reached the middle of the theater, lonely steps echoing around the building. "No, thank you. I was never one for acting."

"You don't say." Tavish smiled, polished shoes gleaming more than the gold on the walls. "You're quite good at lying."

"I'm better than most," she conceded. She was a pistol against machine guns. A single bullet amidst cannons. Still she marched on, determined to change the play's story this time. "Your brother was an excellent teacher."

Tavish cracked his neck, gelid eyes flattening to slits.

"This is where ambition will lead you," he said to the audience, spinning his revolver before pointing it at the actor dressed as Macbeth. "To the same place my brother is in."

Rose stopped right below the glazed dome of the ceiling, every nerve inside her taut as he gazed at her.

"To the same place your lovely sister is in."

The Luger on her hand trembled, and Rose tugged at her wrist to keep it from dropping. There was a click as she released the safety of the gun. Tavish raised a brow, circling around the actors like a vulture around fresh meat.

"Remember the evidence I have on you, Rose. Remember the bombs."

By the curtains, a flash of light caught her eye, the glint of a pocket watch.

"You killed my sister." Her arm didn't shake this time. "I don't remember anything but her."

Tavish scoffed. "An eye for an eye. Or have ye forgotten ye murdered my brother?"

"After he tried to murder me!" Her voice cracked, her heart about to burst from her chest and lay down. Maybe it should. Maybe then her curse would finally become a blessing, and she could rest in heaven after a life spent in hell. "After he fucking murdered my mother!"

"Funny that's not what it says on his gravestone. His cause of death was you and you alone. I warned him about you, French women. You lot are worse than the French fields. I would rather have him die on the trenches than at your hands."

Those words struck a chord with her. It was like her entire life was nothing but a path of destruction for others to walk in, for them to meet their end. She was the beginning and the end of the rope around men's necks.

But right now, it was Thomas who had a Sauret on a stranglehold by the curtains that led to the backstage. The man slipped from his arms silently, eyes closing like a baby put to sleep.

"That makes two of us." Her voice was harsh, coated by years of regret and sorrow. From the shadows, Thomas lifted his gun, jabbing it at Tavish. His finger met the trigger, hooded eyes for the first time as readable as a book in French. Just say the word.

Not yet.

"Fair is foul," Tavish quoted, cocking the hammer of his gun. "And foul is fair."

Rose smiled.

"I know I look like an innocent flower." She tilted her head to the side, gave the smallest twist to her wrist. "But I'm the serpent under it."

Tavish's nose scrunched up, his smug smile turning to confusion as one by one the people on the seats got up and took their guns out; Peaky Blinders, French Kissers, and members of Alfie's gang alike. In an instant the odds changed, the tides turned and four shots rang out; the men surrounding the actors fell down loudly, blood soaking their clothes.

Tavish shouted and spat as the actors scattered and ran; from the balconies, sounds of fighting erupted, fists against ribs, bullets against skin. Bodies dropped to the floor below; Rose paid them no attention as she raced towards the stairs and onto the stage, every word Tavish had ever said to her biting down on her heels, making her run faster.

Thomas and Tavish had their hands wrapped around each other's necks; Rose aimed at the Scot's head, but her arm gave in and the bullet hit his leg instead, making him bend down and kneel on the ground.

She adjusted her aim, finger sliding around the trigger. Cold sweat gathered at the back of her neck. Bright dark spots painted her vision black. Soon the curtain would fall. Soon she would too.

Two bullets grazed the air around her curls; the sound of her name coming from Thomas' lips grazed her ears just as fiercely. Then more bodies came tumbling from the upper floors; Rose looked up, recognizing Angeline's golden hair fisted by two hands.

She moved her arm from Tavish to the balcony instantly.

"Let her go," she said between clenched teeth. A lump sneaked its way around her throat as Angeline struggled to break free.

"Aye, don't touch her," another voice said from above. Callan paraded down the balcony, revolver firmly pointed at Angeline. "The singer's mine."

He cocked the hammer. Rose inched forward. Then another voice, gentle as the first chords of a piano, rose behind him.

"You're wrong," he said simply, barrel resting on Callan's neck, right into the lion's mouth. "She's mine."

Jules pulled the trigger. The bullet pierced his neck and came out from the other side, rolling to the floor until it reached Angeline's feet. Callan's body convulsed and shuddered, and he fell to the ground in a blur of red rage, the lion's roar finally silenced.

The other Scot staggered, but still pulled Angeline closer to the handrail. She elbowed him strong on the nose, pushing him off the balcony with a hard shove. He fell with a loud clank over three velvet seats, neck and spine broken.

Above the corpse, Angeline turned around, her whole being gravitating towards Jules. She threw herself onto him and kissed him the same way she did everything else: with subtle aggression, to the point where his lips were bruised when she stepped away.

"I don't care if you haven't proposed yet," she said, grinning, "I'm going to marry you."

Rose glanced at Tavish, still kneeling on the ground with a hand around his leg. He was frozen in place, eyes glued to Callan's wrecked body, jaw so clenched his teeth might break. The S on his ring dripped blood.

Arm shaking, he moved his gun to Jules, but like two hawks to the same prey, Thomas and Rose surged to him, barrels in line to his head.

More noise came from the backstage as Saurets and Kissers poured into the stage; it was a battlefield, painted in red and white, an eerie orchestra of shots and growls interrupted only by dying whispers.

Suddenly someone jabbed her in the back and Rose stumbled forward, losing sight of Tavish. Her body crashed against another, fingers wrapping around familiar tweed, his hand sneaking down her back to support her like it belonged there, like it had come home.

He held her against him while firing at the Saurets behind her. Rose aimed her gun over Thomas' shoulder and returned the favor. Then the swarm of the fight broke them apart, but seeing Kaya and Nicolas flanking Thomas eased her mind.

A loud curse rose from the Scottish ranks as Angeline and Jules fired from above. Rose saw Tavish limping his way to one of the exits and ran after him. She was about to catch him when a side door opened, a man with tousled hair and wide eyes barging in.

"Yer house!" He said as he grabbed onto Tavish's lapel like a lunatic. The S on his neck glinted in the sliver of light that crept in. "Yer house in Scotland... our buildings... everything is just... gone!"

Tavish stopped, snapped the men's hands away. The moonlight turned his face even paler. His eyes could be blue, but he'd never had the moon in them. Only the dark that surrounded it.

"Even the ones in Glasgow?"

"All of them! Edinburgh, Aberdeen, Inverness... they're all gone! Everything exploded! The clan... our family..."

Inside Rose's brain, the gears clinked as they turned. She glanced over her shoulder. On the stage, Thomas and Nicolas locked eyes. Trust my love. She should have known. Love was always the last bullet on their chamber.

"Fuck!" Tavish yelled, saliva leaping out of his mouth as he shoved the Scot away and reached for the doors, for the safe air outside, for the escape a hunter like him always had planned when they turned prey.

But Rose was faster, closing the door right on his face. She pressed her back against it, gritted her teeth when a shock ran up and down her arm. They raised their guns at the same time. Her shoulders trembled. Just a little bit more. She needed to stall. She needed to know all the bombs were disabled so she could finally send him to where he belonged.

His finger twined around the trigger. She held her breath. Come on, come on, come on.

Boom. Bright shades of red snuck inside from the windows, coloring Tavish's face and making him falter. London's night sky rained red as flares burst throughout the city. Finally. The signal she'd been waiting for.

His finger was still on the trigger. But Rose pulled hers faster, and a single bullet crushed the air between them and pierced through his head. His mouth opened with a jerk, eyes rolling back, knees faltering and bending in an impossible angle.

He fell at her feet, bloodied ring rolling off his finger with the impact.

"Shoot for the head, you said." She nudged his body with her heel, kicked the ring away. "I did."

For the first time in a long time, she sighed. At last Macbeth fell and with him, Rose's curse.

***

It was late into the night when the fight ended and the Kissers gathered around Antero's statue at Piccadilly Circus. Many had gone home. Others would never return.

"These are all the places where we have found and disabled bombs." Rose clicked her pen shut as she pointed at the circles on the map. "Most of the Saurets were at the theatre, but we got the location of the few that weren't. Guess blood and family don't mean much when you're at deaths' door."

"Are we sure all the bombs are disabled?" Nicolas asked.

"No. We'll continue searching in the next days. But so far none has gone off, so I'll consider that a victory. Speaking of which..." Rose turned around, resting her back against the Bentley. "You blew up the Saurets' properties in Scotland. Both of you."

Nicolas nodded, stubborn locks falling to his eyes. The sky behind him was fading from dark blue to purple, much like the bruises on his face.

"Thomas helped me get the explosives and ordered some of his men to go to Scotland to set them in the properties. All their evidence against us is gone."

Rose ran a finger along the car hood. "Were there casualties?"

Thomas flicked his case open, taking a cigarette out and offering another to Nicolas, who took it quietly. "Yes, there were casualties."

Rose rubbed her temples. "Innocent people too, I assume."

"It's like you said, Rose, I'm more ruthless than you. That's why I didn't tell you. That's why I did this with Thomas. He understands. That you need a brutal heart against a brutal world."

"And mine is too soft," Rose muttered.

"Yes." Nicolas leaned forward, touched a strand of her hair. Thomas looked away. "We want to keep it that way. We knew you just wanted to destroy the warehouses with the evidence. Thomas and I wanted to raze their territory completely so they wouldn't have a chance to rebuild and come back. Their gang is ashes, Rose. Ever since Steaphan, you've been plagued with nightmares. You can sleep now."

Rose grasped his hand, noticed how Nicolas' eyes widened, how Thomas' fingers went stiff around the cigarette.

"But can you? I don't need you to do my dirty work for me. I appreciate it, but I don't need it. Next time, tell me the truth."

Something in Nicolas' eyes changed. It was like giving someone a carefully chosen flower just to see them rip away the petals.

"Next time, trust me more." His voice was a thorn, pricking at her insides. "I would never have doubted you. And you did. I can't be your right hand man if you don't trust me enough to hold the gun or take the bullets for you."

He pushed her hand away and turned his back. Everything in her wanted to go after him, to try and fix what was broken, but she was afraid she'd just break it even more.

"He'll come around." Thomas blew a dense cloud of smoke into the chilly dawn, his tone a rough wind that somehow eased the ache in her chest.

"He's right. I should've never thought he was the traitor. But I did. I let the doubt seep through me, poison my mind."

"All leaders do."

"But you didn't." Rose shook her head. Thomas' face was a mosaic of scars and bruises and yet she still had trouble looking away. "You made a deal with him. How did you know he wasn't the traitor?"

"Men like him, they don't go to war because they're loyal to a country. Nicolas didn't go to war for France, but for you. He told me as much, the first time he threatened me." Thomas snickered, flickering the ash to the ground. "First of many."

"I still can't believe you worked with him all this time."

"So what if I don't like him?" Thomas shrugged. "Doesn't your life matter more?"

Rose swallowed. "Thank you. For... being by my side when you didn't have to."

"You still owe me a minute." His voice was a different kind of thorn, ragged and unpruned, the kind you grazed for the thrill of getting pricked. "I want to take you to dance."

"A minute is not enough time to dance."

His tongue dipped to his bottom lip. "I'll find a way to get more."

"You—"

Rose froze when she caught a glimpse of a familiar form across the square. The woman in the shadows, who'd been watching her for years. She turned around and started walking, and Rose raced after her.

"I thought you'd be wise enough to leave the country, or at least the city," Rose said when she caught up to her, her tone cold enough to freeze the air itself. "Your brother is dead. So is your cousin."

"I know. They all are."

"What are you doing here then?"

Élodie gulped, her eyes small compared to the circles around them. She looked like a fraction of what she had once looked. Perhaps treason did take a toll on people.

"I've come to undo some of the damage I've caused." Her face was swollen and waxy, a mix of defiance and regret; Rose couldn't bear to look at it for more than a second.

"There's nothing you—"

"Not all the bombs are disabled. I know because I placed this one myself."

Rose stopped, clutched the wall beside her. That's when she realized where they were headed; the safehouse Renée was hiding in.

Her skin pierced when she buried her nails in her palms.

"I didn't know," Élodie said, but Rose heard her from far away. They were running now, both of them. Every second might be too late. "I didn't know she was staying here."

It could be a trap. But Rose was willing to risk her life just to make sure Renée's was never in any danger.

"She's pregnant!" Rose shouted, and true sorrow morphed Élodie's face into something unrecognizable. She stopped abruptly, pulling Rose with her.

"I'm sorry," she said, and pushed Rose to the ground. Rose fumbled with her feet, tried to grasp something to hold onto, but she was already falling, watching helplessly as Élodie darted towards the house. Rose tried getting up, but she had had no strength left to rise, much less to run.

Her heart thumped in her ears. She glimpsed Renée's blonde hair in the window, then Élodie rushing her outside, Renée struggling against her grip. It had to be a trap. Élodie wouldn't risk her life for her sister, not after Rose had murdered her kin in cold blood.

Renée's voice broke through the peaceful dawn as they burst through the door and ran down the path; Rose shouted, and Élodie only had time to push Renée out of the way before a roar shook the entire street and the house behind them erupted in a sea of red flames and dark smoke, engulfing Élodie in it.

As soon as Rose's arms wrapped around her sister, she passed out.

***

"What?" Arwen's lip trembled as she heard the news. They were outside the hospital Renée was in. "Élodie... died?"

"Yes." Rose nodded, feeling the weight of the world within the confines of her brain. Her head hurt too much. She could barely feel her heart from all the punches it had received the past days. She could still hear Élodie's screams. She'd watched her die. Why would she fear sleep when her nightmares happened while awake? "Saving Renée."

Arwen closed her eyes, allowing Kaya and Sienna to embrace her as she wept.

"How's Renée?" Nicolas asked. Even upset, he hadn't left her side.

"She's got minor burns. We don't know if the baby survived."

"If he takes after his family, he will," Andrea said, hands entwined with Finn's.

"Excuse us, miss." Rose turned around, almost rolling her eyes at the sight of the blue uniforms in front of her. What now? "Are you Rose Salvage?"

"I am."

The police officers shared a glance, moustaches twitching in sync, as if confused themselves.

"We're here to take you under custody. For the explosion that happened in Vine Street an hour ago. We have enough evidence to believe it to be a terrorist attack led by the Glasgow forces for independence. We have also discovered your connection to a Scottish gang from the Highlands and believe the two to be connected."

Rose wanted to cry, to yell until her lungs gave in. Instead she laughed.

"And what evidence is that?"

"We've found correspondence in your properties between the IRA and the Glasgow forces. From it, it was clear you are providing them a base here in London to rebel against the Crown and the sovereignty of England."

Tavish had warned her he would find a way to link any attacks back to her. She should have known even in death he would find a way to haunt her. He should have known some roses bloomed even in the most arid situations.

"Fine." She slumped her shoulders down and extended her hands. "Arrest me."

One of the officers took the handcuffs out, but then Nicolas took a step forward and came between them.

"This woman has nothing to do with the attack."

"And how do you know, sir?"

Nicolas' eyes passed over Rose for the briefest moment, but it was enough for her to decode his intentions. Men like him don't go to war because they're loyal to a country.

"Because I'm the one responsible for it," he said under the bewildered eyes of the policemen. "So arrest me instead."

"Sir, with all due respect, the evidence was found at her house—"

Nicolas' stare was hot coal, liable to burn if one looked long enough.

"Sir, do you seriously believe a woman could have planned all this? On her own? I'm confessing right now. Isn't that all you need?"

The officers exchanged a glance, then shrugged. It had been a long night, and as long as they brought someone down to the prison, no questions would be asked as to who was really to blame.

They tightened the cuffs around Nicolas' wrists and dragged him towards the car. Rose followed suit, grabbing his arm and making him turn around to face her before he disappeared completely.

"Nicolas, you'll hang."

Nicolas smiled. "Do you remember how we met?"

The question took her aback. Still she answered in a blink.

"Yes. I stole your bike so I wouldn't be late for school."

He nodded. "Not just my bike."

"I... I never gave it back to you."

"It's okay." His smile widened. It was a sad smile, the kind that looked like Tchaikovsky's music. He looked down at his chest. "You can keep both."

She grabbed her hand and held tight.

"I'll get you out, Nicolas. One way or another, I'll get you out. I'm not worth going to war for."

Nicolas squeezed her hand back. "Peace is not worth without you either."

Maybe the thing between them was indeed broken; maybe it worked better that way.

author's note.

hii guys!! first of all I'm so sorry for the long wait, if you're still reading this story, ily <3 

so many things happened in this chapter, it was quite daunting to write, but I hope you liked it and pls don't hesitate to share your thoughts on it! It's dedicated to the late Helen McCrory, who will be deeply missed.

so we're done with the Saurets... any theories on what's going to happen next? ;)