“Spectacles?” Beau leaned over her, incredulous, withdrawing a pair of wire frames. She pushed him away. “Mustaches? Wigs? This is his assistance? Costumery?”

“Without magic, there’s little other way to trick the huntsmen, is there?” Toulouse’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “I mistook you for intelligent along Les Dents, Beauregard. It seems I’m wrong twice in one day. It’s absolutely thrilling.”

I ignored them both as Thierry’s voice resounded in my head. I am sorry. Claud wishes he could’ve come himself, but he won’t leave Zenna and Seraphine alone.

My thoughts sharpened. Has something happened to them?

It’s dangerous inside the city, Reid. Worse even than usual. Jean Luc warned the king of Morgane’s threat, and the Chasseurs have arrested three women this morning alone. The rest guard him and his daughters inside the castle. Toulouse has requested we not assist you further.

I startled. What?

The card, Reid. Prove him wrong a third time.

What does the card have to do with anything?

Everything. He sighed as Lou pushed Beau out of her personal space again, shaking his head. I like you, huntsman, so I will help you one last time: Morgane can’t touch the king in his castle, but he will join the funeral procession this afternoon. It’s his duty as sovereign to honor the Holy Father. If Morgane is to strike, it will be then. Though Jean Luc resides with him, he no longer holds his Balisarda. His black eyes dipped to the sapphire in my bandolier. A dozen others are new. Inexperienced. They took their vows only this morning.

The tournament. I closed my eyes in resignation. Amidst the horrors of Les Dents, I’d forgotten about the Chasseurs’ tournament. If there’d been any doubt Morgane would attack at the funeral, it vanished with the realization. The brotherhood had never been weaker. The crowd had never been larger. And the stakes—they’d never been higher. It was the perfect stage for Morgane, grander even than that on Saint Nicolas Day. We needed to get into the city. Now. Is there nothing else Claud can do?

You do not need Claud. You need only trust yourself.

My gaze cut to Lou. She still bickered with Beau. Toulouse looked on with amusement. If you’re suggesting I use magic, I won’t.

It is not your enemy, Reid.

It’s not a friend, either.

Your fear is irrational. You are not Louise. You are reason, where she is impulse. You are earth. She is fire.

Anger sparked. More riddles. More convolution. What are you talking about?

Your choices are not her choices, friend. Do not condemn yourself to her fate. My brother and I have used magic for years, and we remain in control of ourselves. So too does Cosette. With temperance, magic is a powerful ally.

But I heard only some of his words. Her fate?

As if in answer, Beau muttered, “I never thought I’d die dressed as a hag. I suppose there are less interesting ways to go.” He made to throw the spectacles back into the bag, raising his voice at my uncertain glance. “What? You know how this ends. We’re arming ourselves with scraps of lace against blades of steel. We’re—we’re playing dress-up, for Christ’s sake. The Chasseurs will kill us out of spite for the insult.”

“You forget I sprinkle spite into my tea every morning.” Lou snatched the spectacles from his hand and shoved them on her nose. “Besides, playing dress-up hasn’t failed me yet. What could possibly go wrong?”

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

Trial by Fire

Reid

Everything went wrong.

“That wagon there.” Crouched in the boughs of a pine, Lou pointed to a wagon apart from the crowd. Its horse was bony. Old. A middle-aged man held the reins. His leathery skin and gnarled hands marked him a farmer, and his gaunt face marked him poor. Hungry.

“No.” I shook my head abruptly, voice brusque. “I won’t prey on the weak.”

“You will if you want to live.” At my silence, she sighed impatiently. “Look, those are the only two covered transports within a mile. I’ll be preying on that one”—she pointed to the gilded carriage in front of the farmer’s wagon—“so I’ll be close, in case you need help. Just give me a shout, but remember—it’s Lucida, not Lou.”

“This is madness.” My chest constricted at the thought of what I was about to do. “It’ll never work.”

“Not with that attitude!” Gripping my shoulders, she turned me to face her. Nausea rolled through my stomach. Disguised in Deveraux’s velvet suit and hat, she looked at me from behind gold spectacles. An aristocrat’s scholarly son on his return home from Amandine. “Remember your story. You were set upon by bandits, and they broke your nose.” She adjusted the bloody bandage on my face for good measure. “And your leg.” She tapped the makeshift crutch we’d fashioned out of the stilt. “Just knock on the door. The wife will take pity on you after one look.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

“Knock her out. Drag her inside. Enchant her.” She didn’t flinch at the prospect of bludgeoning an innocent woman. “Do whatever is necessary to get inside that wagon.”

“I thought you said no magic.”

She snorted impatiently. “This isn’t the time for a principled stand, Reid. We can’t risk magic out in the open, but within the confines of her wagon, do whatever is necessary. If even one person recognizes us, we’re dead.”

“And when the Chasseur arrives to search the wagon?”

“You’re in a wig. Your face is covered. You might be worrying for nothing. But if he recognizes you—if he suspects—you’ll have to disarm him while keeping him conscious. Otherwise he can’t wave you through the blockade.”

“Even if I threaten to slit his throat, a Chasseur will never wave me through that blockade.”

“He will if he’s enchanted.” I opened my mouth to refuse—or to vomit—but she continued, undeterred. “Whatever you do, don’t cause a scene. Be quick and quiet. That’s the only way we survive this.”

Saliva coated my mouth, and I struggled to breathe, clutching my bandolier for support. I didn’t fear meeting my brethren. I didn’t fear exchanging blows or obtaining injury. I didn’t even fear capture, but if that happened—if the Chasseurs arrested me here—Lou would intervene. They’d call in reinforcements. They would hunt her, and this time, she wouldn’t escape.

That could not happen.

Even if—even if that meant using magic.

It is not your enemy, Reid.

With temperance, magic is a powerful ally.

“I won’t. I can’t.” I nearly choked on the words. “Someone will smell it. They’ll know we’re here.”

She tugged my coat closed over my bandolier. “Maybe. But this road is teeming with people. It’ll take them time to distinguish who’s casting it. You can force the enchanted Chasseur to wave you through before they figure it out.”

“Lou.” The word was desperate, pleading, but I didn’t care. “There are too many things that could go wrong—”