“Shit, man.” I charged toward him now, reaching behind to wrench the door shut. The others couldn’t overhear this. Not when we were moments away from journeying deep into the belly of the beast—a beast that’d be much less amenable to an alliance while we carried around the bones of its dead. “Whose bone was it? Fuck. What if it belonged to one of Blaise’s relatives? What if he remembers?”

“He will.”

“What?”

“He’ll remember.” Reid’s voice resumed that irritating steadiness, that deadly calm. “I slaughtered his son.”

I gaped at him. “You cannot be serious.”

“You think I’d joke about this?”

“I think it’d better be a joke. I think a piss poor joke would be a hell of a lot better than a piss poor plan.” I sank onto his cot, eyes still wide with disbelief. “I can’t believe you. This—this was your plan. You were the one who wanted to tear across the kingdom in a mad dash to gather allies. Do you really think Blaise will want to cozy up with the murderer of his child? Why didn’t you mention this earlier?”

“Would it have changed anything?”

“Of course it would have!” I pinched the bridge of my nose, squeezing my eyes shut tight. “All right. We’ll adapt. We can—we can ride into Cesarine with Claud. Auguste might still join us, and La Voisin has already agreed—”

“No.” Though he knelt between my knees, he took care not to touch me. Tension still radiated from his shoulders, his clenched jaw. He hadn’t yet forgiven me. “We need Blaise as an ally.”

“Now isn’t the time for one of your principled stands, Reid.”

“I’ll accept the consequences of my actions.”

I barely resisted the urge to stamp my foot. Just barely. “Well, I’m sure he’ll appreciate your gallantry. You know—when he’s tearing out your throat.”

“He won’t tear out my throat.” Now Reid did touch me, the slightest brush of his fingers across my knee. My skin there tingled. “The werewolves value strength. I’ll challenge Blaise to a duel to fulfill my blood debt. He won’t be able to resist the opportunity to avenge his son. If I win, we’ll have demonstrated we’re strong allies—perhaps stronger than even Morgane.”

A beat of silence.

“And if you lose?”

“I’ll die.”

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

Until One of Us is Dead

Reid

The forest swallowed us when we left the road. Trees grew thicker, the terrain rugged. In some places, the canopy above blocked all sunlight. Only our footsteps broke the silence. It was slightly warmer here. Muddier. From experience, I knew the farther south we traveled, the wetter the ground would become. With luck, it would be low tide when we reached the cold-water swamp of La Ventre.

“What an absolute armpit of a place.” Beau blew into his hands to warm them. “It’s been woefully misnamed.”

When no one answered him, he heaved a dramatic sigh.

Coco had taken shelter beside me. Ansel didn’t return her covert glances. With the threat of imminent death no longer upon them, their rift had reopened. He hadn’t spoken a word since our departure. Neither had Lou. Her silence weighed upon me heavily, but I couldn’t bring myself to assuage it. Shame and anger still smoldered deep in my gut.

“It’s a real pity,” Beau finally muttered, shaking his head and looking at each of us in turn. His eyes shone with disappointment. “I know you’re all too preoccupied with your pining to notice, but I just caught my reflection in that last puddle—and damn, I look good.”

Coco smacked him upside the head. “Do you ever think of anyone but yourself?”

He rubbed the spot ruefully. “Not really, no.”

Lou grinned.

“Enough.” I hung my bag on a low-lying limb. “We can stop here for midday meal.”

“And eat.” Lou pulled out a hunk of cheese with a moan. Deveraux had kindly supplied us with rations for the journey. Breaking off a piece, she offered it to Ansel. He didn’t accept.

“When you’re finished,” he murmured, sitting on the root beside her, “I thought maybe we could train. We skipped yesterday.” To me, he added, “It’ll only take a moment.”

Lou barked a laugh. “We don’t need his permission, Ansel.”

Beau helped himself to Lou’s cheese instead. “I hope this isn’t alluding to his not-so-valiant attempt at swordplay last night.”

“He was valiant,” Lou snapped.

“Don’t forget I was there when the men burst into our wagon, Beau,” Coco said sweetly. His eyes narrowed. “You almost pissed down your leg.”

“Stop it.” Voice low, Ansel stared determinedly at Coco’s feet. “I don’t need you to defend me.”

“That’s rich.” Beau pointed to Ansel’s arm. “You’re still bleeding. You tripped and cut yourself during the fight, didn’t you? You’re lucky the brigands disarmed you.”

“Shut your mouth, Beau, before I shut it for you.” Lou shoved to her feet, dragging Ansel up as well. She examined the cut on his arm before handing him her knife. “Of course we can train. Just ignore that bastard.”

“I don’t think I am the—”

I interrupted before he could finish. “We don’t have time for this. The Chasseurs were near last night. Ansel will be fine. He trained with us in the Tower.”

“Yes.” Lou knelt over me, tugging another blade from my bandolier. The sheath by my heart remained painfully empty. “That’s the problem.”

My lip curled of its own volition. “Excuse me?”

“It’s just that—how do I put this—” She tilted her head to consider me, puffing air from her cheeks with a crude sound. “Don’t be offended, but Chasseurs have a certain reputation for being, well . . . archaic. Gallant.”

“Gallant,” I repeated stiffly.

“Don’t get me wrong, those injections of yours were a vicious step in the right direction, but historically, your brotherhood seems to suffer from delusions of grandeur. Knight errantry and the like. Protectors of the meek and defenseless, operating under a strict code of moral conduct.”

“And that’s wrong?” Ansel asked.

“There’s no place for morality in a fight, Ansel. Not with bandits or bounty hunters. Not with witches.” Her gaze hardened. “And not with Chasseurs, either. You’re one of us now. That means you’re no longer meek or defenseless. Those men you called brothers won’t hesitate to burn you. It’s life or death—yours or theirs.”

I scoffed. “Ridiculous.”

Yes, Lou had cut down the bounty hunters with relative ease. She’d slaughtered the criminals in the smithy and defeated the witch in the Tower. But if she thought she knew better than generations of Chasseurs . . . if she thought she could teach Ansel more than the best fighters in the kingdom . . .

She knew nothing. Trickery might work against bounty hunters and common criminals, but against Chasseurs, skill and strategy were necessary. Fundamentals built upon through years of careful study and training. Patience. Strength. Discipline. For all her skill, Lou possessed none of these. And why would she? She was a witch, trained in darker arts than patience. Her time in the streets—clearly her only education in combat—had been short and furtive. She’d spent more time hiding in attics than fighting.