Scowling, I massaged my temples and tried to formulate a plan. I needed to hurry—needed to somehow wash the smell of magic from my skin before the Chasseurs caught up to me—but I couldn’t just leave him. Seeing no other alternative, I hoisted him up beneath his armpits and dragged him away. We’d only made it a few paces when my knees began to buckle. He was heavier than he looked.

Angry voices reached me when I neared the staircase. Though Ansel was finally beginning to stir, I wasn’t strong enough to haul him up each step. The voices grew louder. Cursing silently, I pushed him through the first door I saw and edged it shut behind us.

My breath left me in a relieved whoosh when I straightened and looked around. A library. We were in a library. Small and unadorned—like everything else in this wretched place—but still a library.

Footsteps stormed up and down the corridor, and more voices added to the cacophony.

“He’s gone!”

“Search the Tower!”

But the library door remained—miraculously—closed. Praying it would remain that way, I heaved Ansel into one of the reading chairs. He blinked at me, his eyes struggling to focus, before slurring, “Where are we?”

“The library.” I threw myself into the chair next to him and pulled a book at random from the shelf. Twelve Treatises of Occult Extermination. Of course. My hands shook with the effort not to rip the hideous pages from their binding. “We were just in the infirmary with Father Orville and Co— er, Mademoiselle Perrot. You brought me down here to—to—” I tossed Twelve Treatises on the nearest table and reached for the leather-bound Bible beside it. “To educate me. That’s it.”

“W-What?”

I groaned as the door burst open, and my husband and Jean Luc pounded in.

“It was you, wasn’t it?” Jean Luc advanced toward me with murder in his eyes.

My husband stepped forward, but Ansel was already there. He swayed slightly on his feet, but his eyes sharpened at Jean Luc’s approach. “What are you talking about? What’s happened?”

“The prisoner escaped,” Jean Luc snarled. Beside him, my husband stilled, his nostrils flaring. Shit. The smell. It still clung to Ansel and me like a second skin, trailing from the empty cell straight to us. “His cell is empty. The guards were knocked unconscious.”

I was doomed. Good and truly doomed this time. Gripping the Bible tighter to keep my hands from trembling, I met each of their gazes with forced calm. At least the Chasseurs would burn me. Not a drop of my blood would be spilled. I savored that small victory.

My husband watched me through narrowed eyes. “What . . . is that smell?”

More footsteps thudded outside, and Coco skidded into the room before I could answer. A fresh wave of sickly-sweet air washed over us at her arrival, and my heart lodged firmly in my throat.

“I overhead the priests talking about the prisoner’s escape!” Her breath came out in short pants, and she clutched her side. When her eyes found mine, however, she nodded reassuringly and straightened, ensuring her white healer’s robes still covered every inch of her skin. “I came to see if I could help.”

Jean Luc’s nose wrinkled in distaste at the reek emanating from her. “Who are you?”

“Brie Perrot.” She swept into a curtsy, rapidly regaining her composure. “I’m the new healer in the infirmary.”

He frowned, unconvinced. “Then you know healers aren’t allowed free rein of the Tower. You shouldn’t be down here, especially with a prisoner roaming free.”

Coco skewered him with a pointed look before appealing to my husband instead. “Captain Diggory, your wife accompanied me earlier while I read the patients Proverbs. Ansel escorted her. Isn’t that right, Ansel?”

God, she was brilliant.

Ansel blinked at us, confusion clouding his eyes once more. “I—yes.” He frowned and shook his head, obviously trying to account for the gap in his memories. “You took a bath, but we—we did go to the infirmary.” His eyes narrowed in concentration. “I . . . I prayed with Father Orville.”

I breathed a sigh of relief, hoping Ansel’s memories stayed muddled.

“He can confirm?” my husband asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Charming. However, that doesn’t explain why the cell reeked of magic.” Clearly irritated by Coco’s dismissal, Jean Luc glowered between the three of us. “Or the unconscious guards.”

Coco fixed him with a razor-sharp smile. “Unfortunately, I was called away to attend a patient before I could instruct Madame Diggory in washing properly. She and Ansel left shortly after.”

My husband’s eyes nearly burned my face. “Naturally, you came here instead of returning to our room.”

I willed myself to look repentant, returning the Bible to the table. With any luck, we might just be able to survive this mess. “Ansel wanted to teach me some verses, and I . . . I went to see him in his cell. Bas.” Fidgeting with a lock of hair, I looked up at him through lowered lashes. “You said he might be hanged, and I wanted to speak with him . . . before. One last time. I’m sorry.”

He said nothing. Only glared at me.

“And the guards?” Jean Luc asked.

I rose and gestured to my small frame. “You really think I could knock two fully grown men unconscious?”

My husband’s reply came instantaneously. “Yes.”

Under different circumstances, I would’ve been flattered. Now, however, his unwavering faith in my abilities was damnably inconvenient.

“They were unconscious when I arrived,” I lied. “And Bas was already gone.”

“Why didn’t you inform us at once? Why flee?” Jean Luc’s pale eyes narrowed, and he stepped forward until I was forced to look up at him to maintain eye contact. I scowled.

Fine. If he wanted to intimidate, I could play along.

I broke our gaze and looked down at my hands, chin quivering. “I—I confess I’m sometimes inhibited by the weaknesses of my sex, monsieur. When I saw Bas had escaped, I panicked. I know it’s no excuse.”

“Good Lord.” Rolling his eyes at my tears, Jean Luc shot an exasperated look at my husband. “You can explain this one to His Eminence, Captain. I’m sure he’ll be delighted by another failure.” He stalked toward the door, dismissing us. “Return to the infirmary, Mademoiselle Perrot, and take care to remember your place in the future. Healers are granted access only to contained locations—the infirmary, its dormitories, and the back stairwell. If you wish to visit any other area of the Tower, you’re expected to wash and undergo inspection. As you’re new to the Tower, I’ll overlook your misstep this once, but I will be speaking to the priests. They’ll ensure we don’t repeat this little adventure.”

If Coco could’ve exsanguinated someone, I was sure she would’ve done it just then. I hastened to intervene. “This is my fault. Not hers.”

Jean Luc raised a dark brow, inclining his head. “How silly of me. You’re right, of course. If you hadn’t disobeyed Reid, all of this could’ve been avoided.”

Though I’d asked for the blame, I still bristled at the reproach. Clearly, my husband wasn’t the most pompous ass of all the asses; the title unequivocally belonged to Jean Luc. I’d just opened my mouth to tell him so when my inopportune husband interrupted.

“Come here, Ansel.”

Ansel swallowed hard and stepped forward, clasping his quaking hands behind his back. Unease flitted through me.

“Why did you allow her in the infirmary?”

“I told you, I invited—” Coco started, but she stopped abruptly at the look on my husband’s face.

Ansel’s cheeks tinged pink, and he glanced to me, eyes pleading. “I—I only took Madame Diggory up there because—because—”

“Because we have an obligation to those poor souls. The healers are swamped—overworked and understaffed. They hardly have time to tend to the patients’ basic needs, let alone nourish their spiritual welfare.” When he remained unconvinced, I added, “Also, I was singing a bawdy song and refused to stop until he took me.” I bared my teeth in an attempt at a smile. “Would you like to hear it? It’s about a lovely woman called Big Titty—”

“Enough.” Anger blazed in his eyes—true anger, this time. Not humiliation. Not irritation. Anger. He looked between the three of us slowly, deliberately. “If I find out any of you are lying, I’ll show you no mercy. You’ll all be punished to the full extent of the law.”

“Sir, I swear—”

“I told you the infirmary was forbidden.” His voice was hard and unforgiving as he looked at Ansel. “I expected my wife to disobey me. I didn’t expect it from you. You’re dismissed.”

Ansel dropped his head. “Yes, sir.”

Outrage washed over me as I watched him shuffle dejectedly to the door. I moved to follow him—yearning to hug him or otherwise console him somehow—but my pigheaded husband caught my arm. “Stay. I’d like a word with you.”