“So am I.”

Too soon, the tunnel opened to cavernous, empty space—like the inside of a mountain growing down into earth instead of up into sky. Crude stone benches lined the sloping walls like rows of teeth, and steep stairs led down, down, down to an earthen mouth.

And there, in the center of that primitive stage, stood my mother.

She looked resplendent in robes of black velvet. Her arms remained bare despite the underground chill, and her moonbeam hair waved loose down her back. An intricate golden circlet sat atop her head, but the corpses floating above her in a circle—peaceful, eyes closed and hands clasped—they formed her true crown. Though I couldn’t see the details of their faces, I could see their slashed throats. My stomach dropped with understanding. With dread. I shifted Ansel and Célie ever so subtly behind me.

She spread her arms wide, smiled broadly, and called, “Darling, welcome! I’m so happy you could join us!”

Around us, hundreds of people sat unnaturally still on the benches, silent and staring behind their masks. Magic coated the air, so thick and heavy my eyes watered, and I knew instinctively they couldn’t move. The eyes of those who’d entered with us emptied, and without a word, they walked promptly to their seats. Seized by sudden panic, I searched for Reid, Coco, and Beau amidst the audience, but they were nowhere to be seen. I breathed a short-lived sigh of relief.

“Hello, Maman.”

Her smile grew at my defensive stance. “You look beautiful. I must admit, I did chuckle when you melted your hair—classic mistake, darling—but I think you’ll agree the new color suits you. Do come closer, so I might see it better.”

My feet grew roots. “I’m here. Let Célie go.”

“Oh, I don’t think so. She’ll miss all the fun.” Flicking the train of her robes behind her, she stepped forward, revealing another body at her feet. My heart dropped. Even from afar, I recognized the slight build, the auburn curls.

“Gabrielle,” I whispered in horror.

Ansel stiffened beside me. “Is she . . . ?”

“Dead?” Morgane supplied helpfully, nudging Gaby’s face with her boot. Gaby moaned in response. “Not yet, but soon. With my daughter’s help, of course.” She stepped on Gabrielle’s hand as she continued across the stage. “Where is your huntsman, Louise? I had hoped he would join you. I have much to discuss with him, you see. A male witch! You cannot imagine my surprise after the little trick he pulled at Modraniht. Trading the Archbishop’s life for yours? It was inspired.”

I squared my shoulders. “Your note said you’d let her go.”

“No. My note said I’d eat her heart if you didn’t rescue her by midnight, which”—she licked her teeth salaciously—“is now. Perhaps you can offer a distraction in the meantime.”

“But I rescued her—”

“No, Louise.” Morgane’s grin darkened. “You haven’t. Now,” she said, matter-of-fact, “tell me, are there more like your huntsman? Perhaps I was foolish in sending away our sons. It has proved near impossible to track them, and those we found . . . well, they’re quite terrified of me. It seems not all sons inherit our gifts.” She looked lovingly to the corpses above her. “But I am not without reward. My labor yielded different fruit.”

“We found no one,” I lied, but she knew. She smiled.

“Come here, sweeting.” She crooked a finger at Célie, who stood so close behind me I could feel her body shake. “Such a lovely little doll. Come here, so I may shatter you.”

“Please,” Célie whispered, clutching my arm as her feet moved of their own accord. “Please, help me.”

I caught her hand and held it there. “Leave her alone, Morgane. You’ve tormented her enough.”

Morgane cocked her head as if considering. “Perhaps you’re right. It would be much less satisfying to simply kill her, wouldn’t it?” She clapped her hands together and laughed. “Oh, how delightfully cruel you are. I must say I’m impressed. With her dead sister’s flesh still fouling her skin, of course we must condemn her to live—to live and to never forget. The torment, as you say, will be delicious.”

Tasting bile, I released Célie’s hand. When her feet continued forward, however, she let out a sob. “What are you doing?” I snarled, leaping down the steps after her.

“Please, Louise,” Morgane crooned, “I desire for you to come closer. Follow the doll.” To Ansel, she added, “From the way you flit at her side, I assume you’re some kind of pet. A bird, perhaps. Remain where you are, lest I pluck your feathers for a hat.”

Ansel reached for the knife at his belt. I waved him back, hissing, “Stay here. Don’t give her more reason to notice you.”

His doe-like eyes blinked, confused. He still hadn’t connected the dots.

“I’m waiting,” she sang, her voice dripping with honey.

Witches lined the steps, watching as Célie and I descended. More than I’d expected. More than I recognized. Manon stood near the bottom, but she refused to look at me. Indifference smoothed her pointed features, turned her ebony face into a hard mask. But—she swallowed hard as I passed, mask cracking as her eyes flicked to one of the corpses.

It was the handsome, golden-haired man from earlier. Gilles.

Beside him, two girls with equally fair complexions drifted, their glassy eyes just as blue. An older brunette hovered on his other side, and a toddler—he couldn’t have been older than three—completed the circle. Five bodies in all. Five perfect corpses.

“Do not let their expressions deceive you,” Morgane murmured. This close, I could see the angry red scar on her chest from Jean Luc’s blade. “Their deaths were not peaceful. They were not pretty or pleasant. But you know that already, don’t you? You saw our sweet Etienne.” Another smile twisted her lips. “You should’ve heard him scream, Louise. It was beautiful. Transcendent. And all because of you.”

With the curl of her fingers, the bodies lowered, still circling, until they surrounded me at eye level. Their toes brushed the earth, and their heads—I swallowed a gag.

Their heads were clearly kept intact by magic.

Numb, I rose to my toes, closing first the toddler’s eyes—his head wavered at the contact—then the brunette’s, the twins’, and finally, the handsome stranger’s. Manon shifted in my peripheral vision. “You’re sick, Maman,” I said. “You’ve been sick for a long time.”

“You would know, darling. You can’t imagine my delight watching you these past weeks. I’ve never been so proud. Finally, my daughter realizes what must be done. She’s on the wrong side, of course, but her sacrifices are still commendable. She has become the weapon I conceived her to be.”

Bile rose in my throat at her emphasis, and I prayed—prayed—she hadn’t been spying on us earlier, hadn’t overheard Reid’s words in our room at Léviathan. Our bedroom. Her presence would poison those moments between us.

Please, not those.

Her finger—cold and sharp—lifted my chin. But her eyes were colder. Her eyes were sharper. “Did you think you could save them?” When I said nothing, only stared, she pinched my chin harder. “You humiliated me on Modraniht. In front of all our sisters. In front of the Goddess herself. After you fled, I realized how blind I’d been. How fixated. I sent your sisters into the kingdom in search of Auguste’s spawn.” She backhanded Gilles’s face, rupturing his skin. Stagnant blood oozed out of him. It dripped onto Gaby’s hair. She moaned again. “And I found them—not all of them, no, not yet. But soon. You see, I do not need your wretched throat to exact my vengeance, Louise. My will shall be done, with or without you.

“Make no mistake,” she added, seizing my chin once more, “you will die. But should you escape again, I will not chase you. Never again will I chase you. Instead, I will cherish dismembering your huntsman’s brothers and sisters, and I will send you each piece. I will bottle their screams and poison your dreams. Each time you close your eyes, you will witness the end of their miserable lives. And—after the last child is slain—I will come for your huntsman, and I will cut the secrets from his mind, butchering him in front of you. Only then will I kill you, daughter. Only when you beg for death.”

I stared at her. My mother. She was mad, wholly and completely crazed. She’d always been passionate, volatile, but this . . . this was different. In her quest for vengeance, she’d given away too much. All those pieces you’re giving up—I want them, Reid had said. I want you. Whole and unharmed. I searched her face for any sign of the woman who’d raised me—who’d danced with me on the beach and taught me to value my worth—but there was nothing left. She was gone.

Do you think you’ll be able to kill your own mother?

She hasn’t given me a choice.

It hadn’t been an answer then. It was now.