Ansel gave a tentative smile—an instinctive reaction—in the awkward silence that followed. “I didn’t know witchcraft could be so academic.”

“What you know about witchcraft couldn’t fill a walnut shell,” Madame Labelle said irritably.

Coco snapped something in reply, to which Beau fired back. I didn’t hear any of it, as Reid had lifted his hand to the small of my back. He leaned low to whisper, “You shouldn’t have done that for me.”

“I would do far worse for you.”

He pulled back at my tone, his eyes searching mine. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing. Don’t worry about it.” I stroked his cheek, inordinately relieved when he didn’t pull away. “What’s done is done.”

“Lou.” He grabbed my fingers, squeezing gently before returning them to my side. My heart dropped at the rejection, however polite. “Tell me.”

“No.”

“Tell me.”

“No.”

He exhaled hard through his nose, jaw clenching. “Please.”

I stared at him, deliberating, as Coco and Beau’s bickering escalated. This was a bad idea. A very bad idea, indeed. “You already know some of it,” I said at last. “To gain, you must give. I tampered with a memory to revive you on the shore. I exchanged our sight for enhanced hearing, and I—”

To be perfectly honest, I wanted to lie. Again. I wanted to grin and tell him everything would be all right, but there was little sense in hiding what I’d done. This was the nature of the beast. Magic required sacrifice. Nature demanded balance. Reid would need to learn this sooner rather than later if we were to survive.

“You?” he prompted impatiently.

I met his hard, unflinching gaze head-on. “I traded a few moments from my life for those moments underwater. It was the only way I could think to keep us breathing.”

He recoiled from me then—physically recoiled—but Madame Labelle leapt to her feet, raising her voice to be heard over Coco and Beau. Ansel watched the chaos unfold with palpable anxiety. “I said that’s enough!” The color in her cheeks had deepened, and she trembled visibly. Reid’s temper had obviously been inherited. “By the Crone’s missing eyetooth, you lot—all of you—need to stop behaving like children, or the Dames Blanches will dance atop your ashes.” She cut a sharp look to Reid and me. “You’re sure the Chasseurs are dead? All of them?”

Reid’s silence should’ve been answer enough. When Madame Labelle still glared expectantly, however, waiting for confirmation, I scowled and said the words aloud. “Yes. They’re gone.”

“Good,” she spat.

Reid still said nothing. He didn’t react to her cruel sentiment at all. He was hiding, I realized. Hiding from them, hiding from himself . . . hiding from me. Madame Labelle tore three crumpled pieces of parchment from her bodice and thrust them toward us. I recognized Coco’s handwriting on them, the pleas she’d penned to her aunt. Below the last, an unfamiliar hand had inked a brusque refusal—Your huntsman is unwelcome here. That was it. No other explanations or courtesies. No ifs, ands, or buts.

It seemed La Voisin had finally given her answer.

I crushed the last note in my fist before Reid could read it, blood roaring in my ears.

“Can we all agree it is now time to face the monsters,” Madame Labelle said, “or shall we continue to close our eyes and hope for the best?”

My irritation with Madame Labelle veered dangerously close to distaste. I didn’t care that she was Reid’s mother. In that moment, I wished her not death, per se, but—an itch. Yes. An eternal itch in her nether regions that she could never quite scratch. A fitting punishment for one who kept ruining everything.

And yet, despite her cruel insensitivity, I knew deep down she was right. Our stolen moments had passed.

The time had come to move on.

“You said yesterday we need allies.” I stuck my hand into Reid’s, squeezing his fingers tight. It was the only comfort I could offer him here. When he didn’t return the pressure, however, an old fissure opened in my heart. Bitter words spilled forth from it before I could stop them. “Who would we even ask? The blood witches clearly aren’t with us. The people of Belterra certainly won’t be rallying to our cause. We’re witches. We’re evil. We’ve strung up their sisters and brothers and mothers in the street.”

“Morgane has done those things,” Coco argued. “We have done nothing.”

“That’s the point, though, isn’t it? We let it happen.” I paused, exhaling hard. “I let it happen.”

“Stop it,” Coco said fiercely, shaking her head. “The only crime you committed was wanting to live.”

“It matters not.” Madame Labelle returned to her stump with a pensive expression. Though her cheeks were still pink, she’d mercifully lowered her voice. My ears rejoiced. “Where the king leads, the people will follow.”

“You’re mad if you think my father will align with you,” Beau said from his bedroll. “He already has money on Lou’s head.”

Madame Labelle sniffed. “We have a common enemy in Morgane. Your father might be more amenable than you think.”

Beau rolled his eyes. “Look, I know you think he still loves you or whatever, but he—”

“—is not the only ally we’ll be pursuing,” Madame Labelle said curtly. “Obviously, our chances of success are far greater if we persuade King Auguste to join us, as he will undoubtedly command the Chasseurs until the Church appoints new leadership, but there are other equally powerful players in this world. The loup garou, for example, and the melusines. Perhaps even Josephine would be amenable under the right circumstances.”

Coco laughed. “If my aunt refused to host us with an ex-Chasseur involved, what makes you think she’ll agree to ally with the real things? She isn’t particularly fond of werewolves or mermaids, either.”

Reid blinked, the only outward sign he’d gleaned the content of La Voisin’s note.

“Nonsense.” Madame Labelle shook her head. “We must simply show Josephine that she has more to gain from an alliance than from petty politics.”

“Petty politics?” Coco’s lip curled. “My aunt’s politics are life and death for my people. When the Dames Blanches cast my ancestors from the Chateau, both the loup garou and melusines refused to offer aid. But you didn’t know that, did you? Dames Blanches think only of themselves. Except for you, Lou,” she added.

“No offense taken.” I stalked to the nearest root, hauled myself atop it, and glared down at Madame Labelle. My feet dangled several inches above the ground, however, rather diminishing my menacing pose. “If we’re living in fantasy land, why don’t we add the Woodwose and Tarasque to the list? I’m sure a mythical goat man and dragon would add nice color to this great battle you’re dreaming up.”

“I’m not dreaming up anything, Louise. You know as well as I that your mother hasn’t been idle in her silence. She is planning something, and we must be ready for whatever it is.”

“It won’t be a battle.” I swung my feet in a show of nonchalance, despite the trepidation prickling beneath my skin. “Not in the traditional sense. That’s not her style. My mother is an anarchist, not a soldier. She attacks from the shadows, hides within crowds. It’s how she incites fear—in chaos. She won’t risk uniting her enemies by presenting an outright attack.”

“Even so,” Madame Labelle said coolly, “we number six against scores of Dames Blanches. We need allies.”

“For the sake of your argument, let’s say all parties do form a miraculous alliance.” I swung my feet harder, faster. “The king, Chasseurs, Dames Rouges, loup garou, and melusines all working together like one big happy family. What happens after we defeat Morgane? Do we resume killing each other over her corpse? We’re enemies, Helene. Werewolves and mermaids aren’t going to become bosom buddies on the battlefield. Huntsmen aren’t going to forsake centuries of teaching to befriend witches. The hurt is too long and too great on all sides. You can’t heal a disease with a bandage.”

“So give them the cure,” Ansel said quietly. He met my gaze with a steady fortitude beyond his years. “You’re a witch. He’s a huntsman.”

Reid’s reply was low, flat. “Not anymore.”

“But you were,” Ansel insisted. “When you fell in love, you were enemies.”

“He didn’t know I was his enemy—” I started.

“But you knew he was yours.” Ansel’s eyes, the color of whiskey, flicked from me to Reid. “Would it have mattered?”

It doesn’t matter you’re a witch, he’d told me after Modraniht. His hands had cupped mine, and tears had welled in his eyes. They’d been so expressive, brimming with emotion. With love. The way you see the world . . . I want to see it that way too.