Absalon materialized at my feet just as I opened my mouth to argue—to explode—but Lou interrupted.

“It’s true. This is what she wants.” Her voice was quiet, contemplative, as she gestured between us. “It’s exactly the sort of game she likes to play. Manipulative, cruel, divisive. She expects a response. She craves a response. The wisest course of action is to stay away.”

The last she spoke directly to me.

“Thank the Maiden’s flower.” Madame Labelle heaved a sigh of relief, wiping a hand across her brow and gifting Lou a rare smile. “I knew you couldn’t have survived this long without some common sense. If there is indeed a funeral and if Morgane indeed plans to sabotage it, we wouldn’t have the necessary time to prepare. Travel along the road would be slow and dangerous with the entire kingdom searching for us. It would take nearly a fortnight to reach the Beast of Gévaudan’s packland, and the melusines’ home in L’Eau Mélancolique would be at least a week’s journey in the opposite direction.” She wiped her brow in agitation. “Beyond that, we’d need weeks at each place to foster the necessary relationships. I’m sorry, Reid. The logistics just don’t work.”

Lou watched me, waiting.

I didn’t disappoint.

“Please, Lou,” I whispered, stepping closer. “The wisest course of action isn’t always the right one. This was my job. I’ve dealt with Morgane and the Dames Blanches all my life. I know how they operate. You were right before—Morgane incites chaos. Think about it. The day we met, she made an attempt on the king’s life during his homecoming parade.” I jerked my chin toward Beau at the memory. “She attacked the cathedral during the last of Saint Nicolas Day celebrations. Always, it’s amidst a crowd. It’s how she protects herself. It’s how she slips away.” I took her hand, surprised to feel her fingers trembling. “The Archbishop’s funeral will have an assembly like the kingdom has never seen. People from all over the world will come to pay homage to him. The havoc she’ll wreak will be devastating. But we have a real chance to stop her.”

“And if no one joins us against her?”

“They will.” Guilt ripped at my resolve, but I pushed it away. For now, I needed her to agree. I’d reveal this last bit of information when lives weren’t at stake. “We don’t need the blood witches or mermaids. The werewolves’ land isn’t far from Cesarine—a day or two’s ride at most. We’ll concentrate our efforts, focus on King Auguste and the Beast of—Blaise. We’ll do whatever is necessary to persuade them. You said it yourself. Morgane isn’t a soldier. She won’t battle if we have equal footing.” My thoughts raced faster, chasing different strategies. “She won’t expect an alliance between the Chasseurs and werewolves. We’ll ambush her . . . no. We’ll create a diversion with the Chasseurs, drive her out of the city while the werewolves lie in wait. This could work,” I repeated, louder now than before.

“Reid. You know this is a trap.”

“I would never let anything happen to you.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about.” With her free hand, she reached up to touch my cheek. “Did you know my mother threatened to feed me your heart if I escaped again?”

“That won’t happen.”

“No. It won’t.”

She dropped her hand, and everyone stilled, waiting. No one even breathed. In that moment, something shifted in our camp. Inadvertently, we’d looked to Lou for the final decision. Not Madame Labelle. Lou. I stared at her in dawning realization. She was the daughter of La Dame des Sorcières. I knew that. Of course I did. But I hadn’t yet realized the implication. If all went according to plan . . . Lou would inherit the crown. The title. The power.

Lou would become a queen.

Lou would become the Maiden, the Mother, and the Crone.

She startled as if realizing this at the same moment I did. Her eyes widened, and her mouth twisted. It was an unpleasant realization, then. An unwelcome one. When she glanced at Coco, looking deeply uncomfortable, Coco dipped her chin in a small nod.

“Right.” Lou bent to crook a finger toward the cat at our feet. “Absalon, can you deliver a message to Josephine Monvoisin?” She shot an apologetic look at Coco. “This one should come from me.”

“What are you doing?” Confusion laced my voice as I caught her hand, tugging her upright. “We should focus on Auguste and Blaise—”

“Listen, Chass.” She patted my chest once before pulling away and crouching by Absalon once more. “If we’re going to do this, we need all the help we can get. The mermaids are too far away, but the blood witches—maybe your mother is right. Maybe Josephine will be amenable under the right circumstances.” To Coco, she added, “You said the blood camp is near?”

Coco nodded. “They usually camp in this area at this time of year.”

Suspicion unfurled in my stomach as Lou nodded, whispering something to Absalon. “You said she wouldn’t host an ex-Chasseur,” I said.

Coco arched a brow pointedly. A smirk pulled at her lips. “She won’t.”

“Then what . . . ?”

Slowly, Lou rose to her feet, dusting mud from her knees as the cat vanished in a cloud of black smoke. “We’re going to have to split up, Reid.”

Painted Hair

Lou

“White wine and honey, followed by a mixture of celandine roots, olive-madder, oil of cumin seed, box shavings, and a sprinkle of saffron.” Madame Labelle carefully arranged the bottles on the rock we’d fashioned into a table. “If applied and left to alchemize for a full sun cycle, it will transform your locks to gold.”

I stared at the many bottles, aghast. “We don’t have a full sun cycle.”

Her eyes cut to mine. “Yes, obviously, but with the raw ingredients, perhaps we could . . . speed the process.” As one, we glanced across camp to Reid, who sulked by himself, sharpening his Balisarda and refusing to speak to anyone.

“No.” I shook my head, pushing the bottles aside. The entire purpose of this futile exercise was to disguise myself without magic. After what had happened with Reid at the pool . . . well, we needn’t poke the bear without reason. “Were there no wigs?”

Madame Labelle scoffed, reaching into her bag once more. “As inconceivable as it sounds, Louise, there were no costume shops in the small farming village of Saint-Loire.” She slammed another jar on the rock. Inside it, things wriggled. “Might I interest you instead in a jar of pickled leeches? If allowed to bake into your hair on a sunny day, I’m told they yield a rich raven color.”

Leeches? Coco and I exchanged horrified glances. “That is disgusting,” she said flatly.

“Agreed.”

“How about this as an alternative?” Madame Labelle fished two more bottles from her bag, throwing one to both Coco and me—or rather, at Coco and me. I managed to catch mine before it broke my nose. “The paste of lead oxide and slaked lime will dye your hair black as night. But be warned, the clerk informed me the side effects can be quite unpleasant.”

They couldn’t have been more unpleasant than her smile.

Beau paused in rummaging through Coco’s rucksack. “Side effects?”

“Death, mostly. Nothing to fret about.” Madame Labelle shrugged, unamused, and sarcasm dripped from her words. I didn’t quite appreciate it. “Far safer than using magic, I’m sure.”

Eyes narrowing, I knelt to inspect the contents of her rucksack myself. “It’s just a precaution, all right? I’m trying to be nice. Reid and magic aren’t exactly amicable at the moment.”

“Have they ever been?” Ansel murmured.

Fair point.

“Can you blame him?” I pulled bottles out at random, examining their labels before tossing them aside. Madame Labelle must’ve bought the entire apothecary. “He’s used magic twice, and both times, people have ended up dead. He just needs . . . time to reconcile everything. He’ll make peace with himself.”

“Will he?” Coco arched a dubious brow, casting him another long look. “I mean . . . the matagot showed for a reason.”

The matagot in question lounged within the lower boughs of a fir, peering out at us with yellow eyes.

Madame Labelle snatched her rucksack from me. In a single, agitated motion, she swept the bottles inside. “We don’t know the matagot is here because of Reid. My son is hardly the only troubled one in this camp.” Her blue eyes flashed to mine, and she shoved a piece of ribbon in my hand. Thicker than what I’d once worn, but still . . . the black satin would barely cover my new scar. “Twice now your mother has attempted to murder you. For all we know, Absalon could be here because of you.”

“Me?” I snorted in disbelief, lifting my hair for Coco to tie the ribbon around my throat. “Don’t be stupid. I’m fine.”

“You’re mad if you think ribbon and hair dye will hide you from Morgane.”