“It is?”

Zenna’s eyes narrowed to slits. She wore an emerald gown this evening—or perhaps purple. It shimmered iridescent in the candlelight. She’d painted her lips black. “Every night is a special night on the stage, huntsman. If you’re bored out there, the audience will be able to tell. A bored audience is a tightfisted audience, and if they don’t tip me because of you, I’m going to be upset.” She leveled her gilded brush at my face. “You don’t want me to be upset, do you?”

I pushed her brush aside slowly. She brought it right back. “You’re always upset,” I said.

“Oh, no.” She flashed a menacing grin. “You haven’t seen me upset.”

Deveraux chuckled as the voices outside grew louder. The shadows longer. “I do not imagine anyone will be bored tonight, sweet Zenna.”

When they shared a meaningful look, I frowned, certain I’d missed something. “Has there been a change of schedule?”

“How very astute.” He flicked my horned mask to me, waggling his brows. “As it so happens, dear boy, you are the change of schedule. Tonight, you shall replace Seraphine and me as Troupe de Fortune’s opening act.”

“And you’d better not foul it up,” Zenna warned, threatening me with her hairbrush once more.

“What?” I narrowed my eyes as I slipped on my mask. “Why? And where is my mother?”

“Awaiting you, of course. Never fear, I have already alerted her to the change in schedule. Beau is affixing her to the board as we speak.” His eyes glittered with mischief. “Shall we?”

“Wait!” Zenna pulled me back to her cot and carefully arranged a lock of hair over my mask. When I stared at her, bewildered, she shoved me toward the door. “You’ll thank me later.”

Though there was nothing inherently suspicious in her words—in either of their words—my stomach rolled and fluttered as I stepped from the wagon. The sun had almost set, and anticipation thrummed in the evening air. It shone in the faces of those nearest me. In how they bounced on their toes, turned to whisper to their neighbors.

My frown deepened.

Tonight was different.

I didn’t know why—I didn’t know how—but I felt it.

Still grinning like a cat with cream, humming under his breath, Deveraux ushered me to the stage. A wooden square in the center of the field. Lanterns flickered along its perimeter, casting faint light on the hard-packed snow. On the coats and scarves and mittens. Someone had turned my throwing board away from the audience. I couldn’t see my mother, but Beau stood slightly apart, bickering with her. I moved to join them.

Deveraux caught my arm. “Ah, ah, ah.” He shook his head, spinning me forward and stripping me of my cloak simultaneously. I scowled. Then shivered. Eyes bright with excitement, the crowd watched me expectantly, clutching goblets of mead and spiced wine. “Are you ready?” Deveraux murmured. Instinctively, I checked the knives in my bandolier, the sword strapped down my back. I straightened my mask.

“Yes.”

“Excellent.” He cleared his throat then, and a hush fell over the field. He spread his arms wide. His smile spread wider. “Lords and ladies, butchers and bakers, plebeians and patricians—bonsoir! Salutations! Drink up, drink up, if you please, and allow me to kindly express my deepest gratitude for your hospitality.” The crowd cheered. “If you delight in our performances this evening, please consider gifting the actors a small token of appreciation. Your generosity enables Troupe de Fortune to continue providing Beauchêne with that which we all love—unbridled frivolity and wholesome entertainment.”

I glanced down at my leather pants.

Wholesome.

As if reading my mind, someone in the crowd catcalled. Ears burning, I squinted in their general direction, but in the semidarkness, I couldn’t discern the culprit. Just shadows. Silhouettes. A shapely woman and lanky man waved back at me. Scoffing, I looked away and—

My eyes flew open.

“Hear me, all, and hear me true!” Deveraux’s voice rang out, but I hardly heard him, inching closer to the stage’s edge, searching for the familiar woman and man. They’d disappeared. My heartbeat pounded thunderously in my ears. “Honored guests, tonight and tonight only, we shall witness a singular experience on this stage. A wholly and completely new act, a saga—a paragon—of dangerous intrigue and deadly romance.”

New act? Alarmed, I caught his eye, but he only winked, striding past me to the throwing board. Beau grinned and stepped aside. “And now, without further ado, I present to you our very own Mort Rouge”—Deveraux gestured to me before wheeling the board around— “and his bride, Sommeil Éternel!”

My jaw dropped.

Strapped to the board, Lou grinned back at me. White butterflies—no, moths—covered the upper corner of her face, their wings disappearing into her pale hair. But her dress . . . my mouth went dry. It wasn’t a dress at all—more like strands of spider silk. Gossamer sleeves trailed down her shoulders. The neckline plunged to the curve of her waist. From there, the delicate fabric of the skirt—sheer, shredded—blew gently in the wind, revealing her legs. Her bare legs. I stared at her, transfixed.

Deveraux coughed pointedly.

My face burned at the sound, and I moved without thinking, tearing my cloak from his hands as I went. Lou snorted when I lifted it to shield her, to cover all that smooth, golden skin—

“Hello, Chass.”

Blood roared in my ears. “Hello, wife.”

She glanced behind me, and this close, her grin seemed . . . arranged, somehow. Fixed. At my frown, she smiled all the brighter, lashes fluttering against the silver dust on her cheeks. Perhaps she was just tired. “We have an audience.”

“I know.”

She eyed my hair, following it to the line of my jaw before straying to my throat. My chest. My arms. “I have to admit,” she said with a wink, “the eyeliner works for me.”

My stomach contracted. Unsure whether I was angry or ecstatic or—or something else—I stepped closer, tossing the cloak aside. Another step. Close enough now to feel the warmth emanating from her skin. I pretended to check the straps on her wrists. Trailed my fingers down the inside of her thighs, her calves, to tighten the ones on her ankles. “Where did you get this dress?”

“Zenna, of course. She likes beautiful things.”

Of course. Fucking Zenna. Still, relief quickly overwhelmed my disbelief. Lou was here. She was safe. Slowly, I dragged my gaze up to hers, lingering at her mouth, before rising. “What are you doing here?” When she moved her chin toward Ansel and Coco, who now hovered beside the stage, I shook my head, interrupting. “No. You. What are you doing strapped to this board? It’s too dangerous.”

“I wanted to surprise you.” Her smile stretched farther. “And only actors ride in the wagons.”

“I can’t throw knives at you.”

“Why not?” When my frown deepened, she wriggled her hips against the board. Distracting me. Always trying to distract me. “Have I exaggerated your prowess?”

Reluctantly, I took a step back. “No.”

Her eyes gleamed wicked. “Prove it.”