“Wait!” Zenna pulled me back to her cot and carefully arranged a lock of hair over my mask. When I stared at her, bewildered, she shoved me toward the door. “You’ll thank me later.”

Though there was nothing inherently suspicious in her words—in either of their words—my stomach rolled and fluttered as I stepped from the wagon. The sun had almost set, and anticipation thrummed in the evening air. It shone in the faces of those nearest me. In how they bounced on their toes, turned to whisper to their neighbors.

My frown deepened.

Tonight was different.

I didn’t know why—I didn’t know how—but I felt it.

Still grinning like a cat with cream, humming under his breath, Deveraux ushered me to the stage. A wooden square in the center of the field. Lanterns flickered along its perimeter, casting faint light on the hard-packed snow. On the coats and scarves and mittens. Someone had turned my throwing board away from the audience. I couldn’t see my mother, but Beau stood slightly apart, bickering with her. I moved to join them.

Deveraux caught my arm. “Ah, ah, ah.” He shook his head, spinning me forward and stripping me of my cloak simultaneously. I scowled. Then shivered. Eyes bright with excitement, the crowd watched me expectantly, clutching goblets of mead and spiced wine. “Are you ready?” Deveraux murmured. Instinctively, I checked the knives in my bandolier, the sword strapped down my back. I straightened my mask.

“Yes.”

“Excellent.” He cleared his throat then, and a hush fell over the field. He spread his arms wide. His smile spread wider. “Lords and ladies, butchers and bakers, plebeians and patricians—bonsoir! Salutations! Drink up, drink up, if you please, and allow me to kindly express my deepest gratitude for your hospitality.” The crowd cheered. “If you delight in our performances this evening, please consider gifting the actors a small token of appreciation. Your generosity enables Troupe de Fortune to continue providing Beauchêne with that which we all love—unbridled frivolity and wholesome entertainment.”

I glanced down at my leather pants.

Wholesome.

As if reading my mind, someone in the crowd catcalled. Ears burning, I squinted in their general direction, but in the semidarkness, I couldn’t discern the culprit. Just shadows. Silhouettes. A shapely woman and lanky man waved back at me. Scoffing, I looked away and—

My eyes flew open.

“Hear me, all, and hear me true!” Deveraux’s voice rang out, but I hardly heard him, inching closer to the stage’s edge, searching for the familiar woman and man. They’d disappeared. My heartbeat pounded thunderously in my ears. “Honored guests, tonight and tonight only, we shall witness a singular experience on this stage. A wholly and completely new act, a saga—a paragon—of dangerous intrigue and deadly romance.”

New act? Alarmed, I caught his eye, but he only winked, striding past me to the throwing board. Beau grinned and stepped aside. “And now, without further ado, I present to you our very own Mort Rouge”—Deveraux gestured to me before wheeling the board around— “and his bride, Sommeil éternel!”

My jaw dropped.

Strapped to the board, Lou grinned back at me. White butterflies—no, moths—covered the upper corner of her face, their wings disappearing into her pale hair. But her dress . . . my mouth went dry. It wasn’t a dress at all—more like strands of spider silk. Gossamer sleeves trailed down her shoulders. The neckline plunged to the curve of her waist. From there, the delicate fabric of the skirt—sheer, shredded—blew gently in the wind, revealing her legs. Her bare legs. I stared at her, transfixed.

Deveraux coughed pointedly.

My face burned at the sound, and I moved without thinking, tearing my cloak from his hands as I went. Lou snorted when I lifted it to shield her, to cover all that smooth, golden skin—

“Hello, Chass.”

Blood roared in my ears. “Hello, wife.”

She glanced behind me, and this close, her grin seemed . . . arranged, somehow. Fixed. At my frown, she smiled all the brighter, lashes fluttering against the silver dust on her cheeks. Perhaps she was just tired. “We have an audience.”

“I know.”

She eyed my hair, following it to the line of my jaw before straying to my throat. My chest. My arms. “I have to admit,” she said with a wink, “the eyeliner works for me.”

My stomach contracted. Unsure whether I was angry or ecstatic or—or something else—I stepped closer, tossing the cloak aside. Another step. Close enough now to feel the warmth emanating from her skin. I pretended to check the straps on her wrists. Trailed my fingers down the inside of her thighs, her calves, to tighten the ones on her ankles. “Where did you get this dress?”

“Zenna, of course. She likes beautiful things.”

Of course. Fucking Zenna. Still, relief quickly overwhelmed my disbelief. Lou was here. She was safe. Slowly, I dragged my gaze up to hers, lingering at her mouth, before rising. “What are you doing here?” When she moved her chin toward Ansel and Coco, who now hovered beside the stage, I shook my head, interrupting. “No. You. What are you doing strapped to this board? It’s too dangerous.”

“I wanted to surprise you.” Her smile stretched farther. “And only actors ride in the wagons.”

“I can’t throw knives at you.”

“Why not?” When my frown deepened, she wriggled her hips against the board. Distracting me. Always trying to distract me. “Have I exaggerated your prowess?”

Reluctantly, I took a step back. “No.”

Her eyes gleamed wicked. “Prove it.”

I don’t know what made me do it. Perhaps it was the open challenge in her grin. The feverish flush on her cheeks. The hushed whispers of the audience. Unsheathing a knife from my Balisarda, I walked backward, tossing it in the air and catching it with a muted thud. Before I could rethink—before I could hesitate—I hurled it at the board.

It embedded deep in the wood between her legs. The whole board reverberated from the impact.

The crowd roared their delight.

And Lou—she dropped her head back and laughed.

The sound filled me, bolstered me, and the audience fell away. There was only Lou and her laugh. Her smile. Her dress. “Is that it?” she called. I drew another knife in response. And another. And another. Flinging them faster and faster as I closed the distance between us, kissing the lines of her body with each blade.

When I’d thrown the last, I rushed forward, breathless with my own adrenaline. I wrenched the knives from the wood amidst the audience’s applause. “How did you reach us so quickly?”

She dropped her head on my shoulder. Her own still shook. “Not magic, if that’s what you’re asking. Your Sleep Eternal hasn’t slept in a week.”

“And did you—did you get the alliance?”

Lifting her face, she grinned anew. “We did.”

“How?”

“We—” Something shifted in her eyes, in her smile, and she planted a kiss on the sensitive skin between my neck and shoulder. “It was Coco. You should’ve seen her. She was brilliant—a natural leader. It took her no time at all to convince her aunt to join us.”

“Really?” I paused in pulling another knife free. “La Voisin wouldn’t even let me enter her camp. How did Coco persuade her to work with us so quickly?”

“She just—the advantages of an alliance outweighed the disadvantages. That’s all.”

“But she would’ve known the advantages beforehand.” A shard of confusion pierced my thoughts. Too late, I realized Lou had tensed in the straps. “She still refused.”

“Maybe she didn’t know. Maybe someone enlightened her.”

“Who?”

“I already told you.” Her smile vanished now, and her expression hardened abruptly, all pretenses gone. “It was Coco. Coco enlightened her.” When I balked at her tone, drawing back, she sighed and looked away. “They’re meeting us in Cesarine in two days. I thought you’d be happy.”

My brows furrowed. “I am happy, it just—”

It doesn’t make sense.

Something had happened at the blood camp. Something Lou wouldn’t tell me.

When she finally returned my gaze, her eyes were unreadable. Carefully blank. Controlled. Like she’d pulled shutters between us, blocking me out. She jerked her chin to my knives. “Are we done here?”

As if he’d been listening, Deveraux descended upon us, his gaze darting across the audience. “Is something wrong, poppets?”

I tugged the last knife from the wood, struggling to keep my voice even. “Everything is fine.”

“Shall—shall we continue with the grand finale, then?”

Walking backward once more, I drew the sword from its sheath down my spine. “Yes.”

A ghost of a smile touched Lou’s lips. “Aren’t you going to set it on fire?”

“No.” I stared at her, thinking hard, as Deveraux wrapped the blindfold around my mask. My eyes. Without my vision, I saw another scene clearly within my mind. The dust. The costumes. The blue velvet. I smelled the cedar wood and oil lamps. I heard her voice. I’m not hiding anything, Reid.

It had snowed that evening. Her hair had been damp beneath my fingertips. If you aren’t comfortable enough to tell me, it’s my fault, not yours.