I frowned and reached across the table to grasp her hand. “There’s nothing to fear in death, Lou.”

She looked up at me, blue-green eyes inscrutable. “There isn’t?”

“No. Not if you know where you’re going.”

She gave a grim laugh and dropped my hand. “That’s the problem, isn’t it?”

“Lou—”

She stood and thrust a finger against my mouth to silence me. I blinked rapidly, trying not to fixate on the sweetness of her skin.

“Let’s not talk about this anymore.” She dropped her finger. “Let’s go see the Yule tree. I saw them putting it up earlier.”

“The Christmas tree,” I corrected automatically.

She continued as if she hadn’t heard me. “We really ought to get you a coat first, though. Are you sure you don’t want me to steal one? It would be easy. I’ll even let you pick the color.”

“I’m not going to let you steal anything. I’ll buy a coat.” I accepted the bit of cloak she offered me, pulling it around us once more. “And I can buy you a new cloak as well.”

“Bas bought this for me!”

“Exactly.” I steered her down the street toward the clothier’s shop. “All the more reason to throw it in the trash where it belongs.”

An hour later, we emerged from the shop in our new garments. A navy wool coat with silver fastenings for me. A white cloak of crushed velvet for Lou. She’d protested when she saw the price, but I’d insisted. The white looked striking against her golden skin, and she’d left her hood down for once. Her dark hair blew loose in the breeze. Beautiful.

I hadn’t mentioned that last bit, though.

A dove cooed above us as we made our way to the village center, and snowflakes fell thick and fast. They caught in Lou’s hair, in her eyelashes. She winked at me, catching one on her tongue. Then another. And another. Soon she twirled in a circle trying to catch them all at once. People stared, but she didn’t care. I watched her with reluctant amusement.

“C’mon, Chass! Taste them! They’re divine!”

I shook my head, a grin tugging at my lips. The more people who muttered around us, the louder her voice became. The wilder her movements. The broader her smile. She reveled in their disapproval.

I shook my head, grin fading. “I can’t.”

She spun toward me and grabbed my hands. Her fingers were freezing—like ten tiny icicles. “It won’t kill you to live a little, you know.”

“I’m a Chasseur, Lou.” I spun her away from me once more with a pang of regret. “We don’t . . . frolic.”

Even if we wanted to.

“Have you ever tried it?”

“Of course not.”

“Maybe you should.”

“It’s getting late. Do you want to see the Christmas tree or not?”

She stuck her tongue out at me. “You’re no fun, Chass. A frolic in the snow might be just what you and the rest of those Chasseurs need. It’s a good way to get the stick out of your ass, I’m told.”

I glanced around nervously. Two passing shoppers skewered me with disapproving glares. I caught Lou’s hand as she spun back toward me. “Please behave.”

“Fine.” She reached up to brush the snowflakes from my hair, smoothing the furrow between my brows as she went. “I will refrain from using the word ass. Happy?”

“Lou!”

She cackled and grinned up at me. “You, sir, are too easy. Let’s go see this Yule tree.”

“Christmas tree.”

“Nuance. Shall we?” Though we no longer shared a cloak, she wrapped her arms around my waist. Pulling her closer with an exasperated shake of my head, I couldn’t stop the small smile that touched my lips.

Mademoiselle Perrot greeted us in the church foyer that evening, her face pinched. Troubled. She ignored me—as per usual—and walked straight to Lou.

“What is it?” Lou frowned and took her gloved hands. “What’s happened?”

“It’s Bernie,” Mademoiselle Perrot said quietly. Lou’s brows dipped as she scanned Mademoiselle Perrot’s face.

I clasped Lou’s shoulder. “Who’s Bernie?”

Mademoiselle Perrot didn’t even glance at me. But Lou did. “Monsieur Bernard.” Ah. The suicidal patient. She turned her attention back to Mademoiselle Perrot. “Is he—is he dead?”

Mademoiselle Perrot’s eyes gleamed too bright in the candlelight of the foyer. Too wet. Lined with unshed tears. I braced myself for the inevitable. “We don’t know. He’s gone.”

This caught my attention. I stepped forward. “What do you mean gone?”

She exhaled sharply through her nose, finally deigning to look at me. “Gone as in gone, Captain Diggory. Bed empty. Chains torn free. No sign of a body.”

“No sign of a body?” Lou’s eyes widened. “So—so that means he didn’t die by suicide!”

Mademoiselle Perrot shook her head. Grim. “It doesn’t mean anything. He could’ve dragged himself off somewhere and done it. Until we find the body, we don’t know.”

I had to agree with her. “Have my brethren been alerted?”

She pursed her lips. “Yes. They’re searching the church and Tower now. A unit has been deployed to scour the city as well.”

Good. The last thing we needed was someone stumbling upon a corpse riddled with magic. The people would panic. I nodded and squeezed Lou’s shoulder. “They’ll find him, Lou. One way or the other. You needn’t worry.”

Her face remained rigid. “But what if he’s dead?”

I spun her around to face me—much to Mademoiselle Perrot’s irritation. “Then he’s no longer in pain.” I leaned down to her ear, away from Mademoiselle Perrot’s keen eyes. Her hair tickled my lips. “He knew where he was going, Lou. He had nothing to fear.”

She leaned back to look at me. “I thought suicide was a mortal sin.”

I reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Only God can judge us. Only God can read the depths of our soul. And I think he understands the power of circumstance—of fear.” I dropped my hand and cleared my throat. Forced the words out before I could change my mind. “I think there are few absolutes in this world. Just because the Church believes Monsieur Bernard will suffer eternally for his mental illness . . . doesn’t mean he will.”

Something swelled in Lou’s eyes at my words. I didn’t recognize it at first. Didn’t recognize it until several hours later, as I drifted to sleep on my bedroom floor.

Hope. It had been hope.

The Guest of Honor

Lou

King Auguste scheduled a ball on the eve of Saint Nicolas Day to commence a weekend of celebration. And to honor Reid. Apparently, the king felt indebted to Reid for saving his family’s skin when the witches had attacked. Though I hadn’t stuck around to watch the chaos unfold, I had no doubt my husband had acted . . . heroic.

Still, it felt odd celebrating Reid’s victory when his failure would’ve solved my predicament. If the king and his children were already dead, there would be no reason for me to die too. Indeed, my throat would’ve very much appreciated his failure.

Reid shook his head in exasperation as Coco burst into the room without knocking, a filmy white gown draped across her arm. Slinging his best Chasseur coat over his shoulder and sighing, he bent to tuck a piece of my hair behind my ear in farewell.

“I need to meet the Archbishop.” He paused at the door, the corner of his mouth quirking in a lopsided smile. Excitement danced in his sea-blue eyes. Despite my reservations, I couldn’t help myself; I smiled back. “I’ll return shortly.”

Coco lifted the gown for my appraisal after he left. “You’re going to look divine in this.”

“I look divine in everything.”

She grinned and winked at me. “That’s the spirit.” Tossing the gown on the bed, she forced me into the desk chair, raking her fingers through my hair. I shivered at the memory of Reid’s fingers. “The priests agreed to let me attend the ball since I’m such a close personal friend of you and your husband.” She pulled a brush from her robes with a determined glint in her eyes. “Now, it’s time to brush your hair.”

I scowled at her and leaned away. “I don’t think so.”

I never brushed my hair. It was one of the few rules I lived by, and I certainly didn’t see a need to start breaking it now. Besides, Reid liked my hair. Since I’d asked him to braid it, he seemed to think he could continue touching it at every opportunity.

I didn’t correct him because . . . well, I just didn’t.

“Oh, but I do.” She pushed me back down in my seat, attacking my hair as if it’d personally offended her. When I tried to wriggle away, she whacked me on top of the head with her brush. “Be still! These rats have to come out!”

Nearly two hours later, I stared at myself in the mirror. The front of the gown—crafted of thin white silk—skimmed my torso before billowing artfully at the knees, soft and simple. Delicate petals and silver crystals dusted the sheer fabric of the back, and Coco had pinned my hair at my nape to showcase the elaborate appliqué. She’d also insisted I heal the remainder of my bruises. Another velvet ribbon covered my scar.