This was my mother’s handiwork. All of it. But why?

The question plagued me, consuming my thoughts. Why here? Why now? Had she abandoned her plan to sacrifice me? Had she decided to make the kingdom suffer bit by bit, child by child, instead of killing them all at once?

A small, ugly part of me wept with relief at the possibility, but . . . she’d cut off Etienne’s head. She’d burned him and left him at my tent. It couldn’t be a coincidence.

It was a message—another sick move in a game I didn’t understand.

She’d wanted me to know he’d suffered. She’d wanted me to know it was my fault. Should you attempt to flee, she’d told me, I will butcher your huntsman and feed you his heart. I hadn’t heeded her warning. I’d fled anyway, and I’d taken my huntsman with me. Could this be her retaliation?

Could this heinous evil be less for the king and more for me?

With a deep breath, I resumed braiding Gaby’s hair. My questions could wait just a few more hours. Morgane could wait. After the ascension this evening, we’d leave to rejoin Reid on the road in the morning—with or without La Voisin’s alliance. The plan had changed. If Morgane was actively hunting the king’s children, Reid and Beau were in graver danger than we’d anticipated. I needed to find them, tell them her plan, but first . . .

Gaby watched in silence as Ismay dipped a finger into the blood, as she added a strange symbol to the whitewashed pot in her lap. Though I didn’t understand the ritual, the marks she painted felt ancient and pure and . . . mournful. No—more than mournful. Anguished. Completely and irrevocably heartbroken. Gaby sniffed, wiping her eyes.

I couldn’t leave her. Not yet—and not just because of her grief.

If Reid and Beau were in danger, she was too. Morgane had just proved she could slip through La Voisin’s defenses.

Ansel tucked his knees to his chin, watching in silence as Ismay continued to cover the white pot with blood. When they’d finished, Ismay excused herself, and Gaby turned to me. “Did you get your alliance?”

“Gaby, don’t worry about—”

“Did you?”

I finished her braid, tying it with a scarlet ribbon. “La Voisin hasn’t decided.”

Her brown eyes were earnest. “But you made a deal.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell her there’d been quite a bit of gray area in that deal—like whether I’d found her brother dead or alive, for instance. I flicked her braid over her shoulder. “It’ll all work out.”

Satisfied with my answer, she fixed her attention on Ansel next. “I can read their lips, if you like.” Startled from his reverie, he blushed and tore his gaze from Coco. “They aren’t talking about anything exciting, though.” She leaned forward, pursing her lips in concentration. “Something about Chasseurs burning down a brothel. Whatever that is.” Sitting back once more, she patted Ansel’s knee. “I like the princesse, even though some people don’t. I hope she kisses you. That’s what you want, isn’t it? I only want it to happen if you want it to happen—and if she wants it to happen too. My maman says that’s called consent—”

“Why do some people dislike Coco?” I asked, ignoring Ansel’s wide-eyed mortification. Irritation pricked dangerously close to anger at her implication, and I glared at the few blood witches around us. “They should revere her. She’s their princesse.”

Gaby toyed with her ribbon. “Oh, it’s because her mother betrayed us, and we’ve wandered the wilderness ever since. It happened a long time ago, though, before I was born. Probably even before Cosette was born.”

A sickening wave of regret swept through me.

In all the years Coco and I had known each other, we’d never spoken of her mother. I’d always assumed the woman was a Dame Blanche—Dames Rouges were incredibly rare, born as unpredictably as those with color blindness or albinism—but I’d never sought her out at the Chateau as a child. I hadn’t wanted to look upon a mother who could abandon her own daughter.

The irony of my own situation wasn’t lost on me.

“La Voisin always goes on and on about how we ruled this land from its conception, long before the gods poisoned it with dead magic,” Gaby continued. Her imitation of La Voisin’s low voice and rigid calm was uncanny. “I’m assuming that means she’s ancient. I think she eats the hearts with Nicholina, but Maman forbids me from saying so.” When she glanced after her mother, her chin wobbled a bit.

“Do it again,” I said quickly, hoping to distract her. “Another impression. You were wonderful.”

She brightened slightly before twisting her face in an exaggerated scowl. “Gabrielle, I do not expect you to understand the legacy of what has always been and what will always be, but please, refrain from collaring my auguries and taking them for walks. They are not pets.”

I stifled a snort and tugged on her braid. “Go on, then. Join your mother. Perhaps she needs a laugh too.”

She left with little more convincing, and I laid my head on Ansel’s shoulder. His gaze had returned to Coco and Babette. “Chin up,” I said softly. “The game isn’t over yet. She’s just a new piece on the board.”

“This isn’t the time.”

“Why not? Ismay’s and Gabrielle’s suffering doesn’t lessen your own. We need to talk about this.”

While we still can, I didn’t add.

Resting his head atop my own, he sighed. The sound tugged on my heartstrings. Such naked vulnerability required strength. It required courage. “There are already too many pieces on the board, Lou. And I’m not playing a game,” he finished miserably.

“If you don’t play, you can’t win.”

“You also can’t lose.”

“Now you just sound petulant.” I lifted my head to look at him. “Have you told her how you feel?”

“She sees me like a kid brother—”

“Have you”—I ducked to catch his eye when he looked away—“told her”—I leaned closer—“how you feel?”

He huffed another sigh, this one impatient. “She already knows. I haven’t hidden it.”

“You haven’t addressed it, either. If you want her to see you as a man, act like a man. Have the conversation.”

He glanced again to Coco and Babette, who’d cuddled close together against the cold.

I wasn’t surprised. This wasn’t the first time Coco had revisited Babette, her oldest friend and lover, for comfort in times of strain. It never ended well, but who was I to question Coco’s choices? I’d fallen in love with a Chasseur, for God’s sake. Still, I hated this for Ansel. Truly. And though I also hated myself for the part I now played in his eventual heartbreak, I couldn’t watch as he pined away from unrequited love. He needed to ask. He needed to know.

“What if she says no?” he breathed, so quietly now that I read his lips rather than heard his voice. He searched my face helplessly.

“You’ll have your answer. You move on.”

If it was possible to see a heart break, I saw it then in Ansel’s eyes. He said nothing more, however, and neither did I. Together, we waited for the sun to set.