I don’t know what made me do it. Perhaps it was the open challenge in her grin. The feverish flush on her cheeks. The hushed whispers of the audience. Unsheathing a knife from my Balisarda, I walked backward, tossing it in the air and catching it with a muted thud. Before I could rethink—before I could hesitate—I hurled it at the board.

It embedded deep in the wood between her legs. The whole board reverberated from the impact.

The crowd roared their delight.

And Lou—she dropped her head back and laughed.

The sound filled me, bolstered me, and the audience fell away. There was only Lou and her laugh. Her smile. Her dress. “Is that it?” she called. I drew another knife in response. And another. And another. Flinging them faster and faster as I closed the distance between us, kissing the lines of her body with each blade.

When I’d thrown the last, I rushed forward, breathless with my own adrenaline. I wrenched the knives from the wood amidst the audience’s applause. “How did you reach us so quickly?”

She dropped her head on my shoulder. Her own still shook. “Not magic, if that’s what you’re asking. Your Sleep Eternal hasn’t slept in a week.”

“And did you—did you get the alliance?”

Lifting her face, she grinned anew. “We did.”

“How?”

“We—” Something shifted in her eyes, in her smile, and she planted a kiss on the sensitive skin between my neck and shoulder. “It was Coco. You should’ve seen her. She was brilliant—a natural leader. It took her no time at all to convince her aunt to join us.”

“Really?” I paused in pulling another knife free. “La Voisin wouldn’t even let me enter her camp. How did Coco persuade her to work with us so quickly?”

“She just—the advantages of an alliance outweighed the disadvantages. That’s all.”

“But she would’ve known the advantages beforehand.” A shard of confusion pierced my thoughts. Too late, I realized Lou had tensed in the straps. “She still refused.”

“Maybe she didn’t know. Maybe someone enlightened her.”

“Who?”

“I already told you.” Her smile vanished now, and her expression hardened abruptly, all pretenses gone. “It was Coco. Coco enlightened her.” When I balked at her tone, drawing back, she sighed and looked away. “They’re meeting us in Cesarine in two days. I thought you’d be happy.”

My brows furrowed. “I am happy, it just—”

It doesn’t make sense.

Something had happened at the blood camp. Something Lou wouldn’t tell me.

When she finally returned my gaze, her eyes were unreadable. Carefully blank. Controlled. Like she’d pulled shutters between us, blocking me out. She jerked her chin to my knives. “Are we done here?”

As if he’d been listening, Deveraux descended upon us, his gaze darting across the audience. “Is something wrong, poppets?”

I tugged the last knife from the wood, struggling to keep my voice even. “Everything is fine.”

“Shall—shall we continue with the grand finale, then?”

Walking backward once more, I drew the sword from its sheath down my spine. “Yes.”

A ghost of a smile touched Lou’s lips. “Aren’t you going to set it on fire?”

“No.” I stared at her, thinking hard, as Deveraux wrapped the blindfold around my mask. My eyes. Without my vision, I saw another scene clearly within my mind. The dust. The costumes. The blue velvet. I smelled the cedar wood and oil lamps. I heard her voice. I’m not hiding anything, Reid.

It had snowed that evening. Her hair had been damp beneath my fingertips. If you aren’t comfortable enough to tell me, it’s my fault, not yours.

Lou was keeping secrets again.

I forced myself to focus, to listen as Deveraux pulled the handle, and the board began to move. With each soft whisk, I counted its rotation, established its speed, visualized the location of Lou’s body in relation to each spin. I’d been nervous throwing this sword at my mother the first time, but I’d known trust was critical to success. I had to trust her, and she had to trust me.

We never missed.

Now—standing before Lou—I visualized the point above her head. Just a few scant inches of wood. Five, to be precise. There was no room for error. Taking a deep breath, I waited. I waited.

I let my sword fly.

The audience gasped, and the sound of sword striking board vibrated in my bones. I tore off my blindfold.

Chest heaving, mouth parted, Lou stared back at me with wide eyes. The sword had lodged not atop her head, but beside it—so close it’d drawn a thin line of blood on her cheek. One of her moth wings fluttered to the stage, severed, as she slowed to a stop. The audience cheered wildly. Their shouts, their praise, their laughter—it made little sense to me.

I’d missed.

And Lou was keeping secrets again.

..................................................................

She Loves Me Not

Lou

When the last villagers retreated to their homes, bleary-eyed and stumbling, Claud Deveraux broke out the Boisaîné to celebrate our reunion. “We should dance,” I murmured, dropping my head to Reid’s shoulder. He rested his cheek on my hair. Together, we sat on the amber wagon’s steps, huddled beneath a patchwork quilt, and watched as Coco and Ansel joined hands with Zenna and Toulouse. They staggered round and round in a frenzied circle to Deveraux’s mandolin. Each tried and failed to remember the lyrics to “Big Titty Liddy.” With every bottle of wine at their feet, their laughter grew louder, and their song grew stupider.

I wanted to join them.

When I yawned, however—my eyelids impossibly heavy from exhaustion and wine—Reid brushed a kiss to my temple. “You’re exhausted.”

“They’re butchering Liddy’s song.”

“You butcher Liddy’s song.”

“Excuse me?” I leaned forward, turning to glare at him. A smile still tugged at my lips. “Thank you very much, but my enthusiasm is everything.”

“Except a full vocal range.”

Delighted, I widened my eyes in mock outrage. “All right, then. Fine. Let’s hear your full vocal range.” When he said nothing—only smirked—I poked him in the ribs. “Go on. Show me how it’s done, O Melodious One. The plebeians await your instruction.”

Sighing, he rolled his eyes and scooted away from my finger. “Forget it, Lou. I’m not singing.”

“Oh no!” I followed like a plague, poking and prodding every inch of him I could reach. He dodged my attempts, however, and surged to his feet. I bounded to the top step in response, leaning forward until we were nearly nose to nose. The blanket fell to the ground, forgotten. “I’m prepared for shock and awe here, Chass. Your voice had better hypnotize snakes and charm the pants from virgins. It’d better be the love child of Jesus and—”

His kiss swallowed the rest of my words. When we broke apart, he murmured, “I have no interest in charming the pants from virgins.”

Smirking, I wound my arms around his neck. He hadn’t mentioned our spat onstage or the black fox that slept in our wagon. I hadn’t mentioned the cut on my cheek or that said fox’s name was Brigitte. “Not even Ansel?” I asked.