Chapter 185: The Uninvited Table

Chuckling, she returned his nod as the doormen opened their way. "Arthur, Tom. Did you two invite the French delegation?"

"No..." The general frowned as the woman standing inside ticked something off on her tablet before offering a charming welcome, the clash of silverware and chatter of restaurant patrons coming into focus.

"Mr. Pendragon, Mr. Dallas, your seats are ready."

Rachel couldn’t catch a shift in demeanor from the Legend at the revelation; she’d expected at least a word of acknowledgment, but perhaps that would come soon enough as they were guided to their third-level tables that overlooked a rose garden.

Sitting at the table nearest to them were two fashionable figures, dressed for the occasion. Their hostess stopped as they lagged at the table; wine was already in the pair’s glasses, showing they’d been there for a short time.

Jeanne was radiant with her sparkly blonde hair, thick and drawn back into a simple knot braid that hung over the back of her chair, the black ribbon at the end nearly touching the floor.

The woman’s headband matched her simple, knee-length dress, which was chiffon blue, and the gown was a button-down style with a matching waistband. The Legend’s lilac-purple cardigan was draped over her shoulders, and a tan and dark-brown purse showed her taste in elegant and plain attire.

On the other hand, Charlemagne was in more of a modern classic style, wearing a light-brown suit jacket with a cyan shirt that hosted brown buttons. His coffee slacks matched his expensive watch, and his ruffled dark hair went well with his deceptively soft smile; Rachel could see him fitting in well with royalty. Historically, he was supposed to have blond hair, though, which she guessed shed further light on Barbara’s theory about pop culture and history mixing.

"What a pleasant surprise, Ambassador," Arthur greeted. "How did you manage to foresee I would move the time up an hour and choose this restaurant? And, Jeanne, you look radiant in blue."

The legendary European emperor offered a cordial smile as he held out his hand, his French accent coming through. "Arthur, I debated crashing this dinner or your breakfast tomorrow at the Continental, yet this promises to be a far more interesting conversation. Relica isn’t the type of company I enjoy keeping, in any case."

Rachel caught Nia’s narrow-eyed stare as Jeanne forced a pained smile; it seemed Relica wouldn’t be joining them. Things had taken a turn, yet misfortune was curving within this meeting, and if she acted out, it could turn out badly for all of them.

Doing her best not to let the sour topic tie a rope around her throat, as it had done to a particular lesser god, she held out a hand to guide the surprised blonde saint to her feet, saying, "Let’s not beat around the bush. We could go back and forth, tossing out darts and comparing sizes, but I have places to be tonight. Join us."

"Well, I do enjoy the cadence already," Jeanne chimed, pulling off her cardigan to fold over her arm while picking up her purse by the strap. "I’ve really wanted to have a proper conversation with you, Rachel, but France has kept us... busy."

"I’ve heard," she returned, forcing herself not to resist as the woman suddenly hugged her with a cheery, positive, and welcoming atmosphere that caught her off guard, her hot lips meeting each of her cheeks. "Wow, you just— You French really are something."

"Is it too much?" she asked, her accent thickening as she grabbed her elbow while Nia watched her like a hawk. "I’ve so looked forward to this meeting I got carried away; I haven’t been outside of France long, and I sometimes forget you Americans can be quite, eh, distant?" she asked, looking for the right word. "Ah-heh. Cold seems too harsh a word."

Not sensing the slightest shy twitch in Jeanne’s muscles as the Frenchwoman pulled away to give her space, Rachel refrained from scratching her tingling cheek. "Honestly, that’s the first kiss on the cheek I’ve gotten, excluding family. Let’s try to keep it to handshakes."

"Understood," she said with an authentic and accepting smile. "My apologies; I grew up in a very open household that enjoyed the sharing of one’s emotions. Anyway, please, tell me how you are doing. I hear your recovery has been progressing smoothly, and the Miami reports have shown how truly heroic you were."

"Ahem." They turned their attention to Arthur as they sat at their table, their server scooting the other table closer to bridge them and not acting as if anything was out of the ordinary, raising some red flags. "As Rachel said, let’s cut some of the pleasantries. Merlin prepared this for us to talk without the worry of being overheard..."

He reached out to flip a rather large hourglass on the table, causing the black sand inside to fall, before nodding at their hostess, showing she was one of Merlin’s spies. The second it flipped, a pulse of mystical energy shot out, creating a rippling effect in a five-meter diameter.

"We have thirty minutes to discuss things; Rayla here is an associate of Merlin who has infiltrated this establishment. She is the only one who can come and go from this barrier." He sat back as Rayla started taking Tom and Charlemagne’s drink orders, his gaze fixated on Rachel.

"Galahad nearly died this week, Rachel; Lancelot and I were able to complete a quest to obtain an elixir that has bought us more time, but your Hell Force is far more potent than we anticipated. Can you stop the corruption from spreading?"

Jeanne folded her fingers in her lap, going silent as she listened, with Tom and the dark-haired man browsing their menus without looking up. Nia joined them, but her ears were high, showing how alert she was for the slightest twitch of danger, letting Rachel handle the talking.

Maintaining a lax demeanor, Rachel opened her own booklet of options, taking the time to consider her response. Historically, Jeanne and Charlemagne were saints, yet both were also war legends who were quite brilliant, which meant they had a more realistic view of conflict.

Jeanne d’Arc had a rather short-lived life, and from what she’d studied of her history in the past several days, this woman was bound to be quite frank in her beliefs and feelings. There was also mention of a prophecy, historically attributed to Merlin, that could be related to her saving France. She could also be in contact with the archangel Michael or with the Legends of Saint Margaret or Catherine.

As she’d read online, Emperor Charlemagne was one of the most influential and prolific leaders in history, having almost never lost a war and having kickstarted the Carolingian Renaissance in Europe, showing his highly cultured and military mind. The man’s very name was synonymous with what many nations modeled their word ’king’ after, cementing his greatness along the same lines as Caesar. Arthur was a far more obscure Legend, whom she couldn’t predict. Still, she had to maintain a hard stance.

"First," she said, pointing at the water option on the menu to their server, "I would like to preface this topic with the understanding that I have no ill will toward Galahad. He was doing his job. Props to him for surviving an attack meant to kill. Merlin is the one whom I have some disdain for, for robbing me of Relica... who tried to assassinate me as a child, emotionally scarred my mother for life, and murdered my cousin... and she boasted about it."