I gaped at him. “Reid—”

A group of children raced past our alley at that moment, chasing a snarling cat. The slowest of them hesitated when he saw us. I jerked my brim lower on my forehead, and Reid hastily retied the bandage over his eye. “We need to get off the streets,” he said. “Our entrance into the city wasn’t exactly subtle—”

“Thanks for that—”

“And East End will be crawling with Chasseurs and constabulary soon.”

I waved to the child, who grinned and took off after his friends, before slipping my elbow through Reid’s. I poked my head into the street. It was less crowded here, the majority of funeral visitors congregating in the wealthier West district. The shops lining the streets were closed. “Léviathan is a few blocks past Soleil et Lune.”

Reid quickened his pace, adopting a limp once more. “Given our history, the theater will be the first place the Chasseurs look.”

Something in his voice made me pause. I frowned up at him. “That wasn’t intentional, by the way. My little stunt in the theater. I don’t think I ever told you.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not.” With nonchalance, I tipped my hat to a nearby woman. Her mouth parted at my velvet suit. Not exactly mourning attire, but at least it was a nice deep shade of aubergine. Knowing Claud, it could’ve been canary yellow. “Completely accidental, but what could I do? It’s not my fault you couldn’t keep your hands off my breasts.” When he sputtered indignantly, I pressed on, smirking. “I don’t blame you in the slightest.”

Careful to keep my brim low, I kept a sharp eye on passersby. A familiar air of trepidation hung heavy and thick overhead, as it always did when a crowd this size gathered in Cesarine. People from every walk of life had come to honor the late Archbishop: aristocrats, clergymen, and peasants held vigil together as we neared the cathedral, where the Archbishop’s body waited to receive burial rites. Dressed all in black, they leeched the color from an already dreary city. Even the sky was overcast today, as if it too mourned the fate of the wrong man.

The Archbishop didn’t deserve anyone’s grief.

The only color in the streets came from the fanfare. The usual Lyon flags had been replaced with brilliant red banners depicting the Archbishop’s coat of arms: a bear spouting a fountain of stars. Drops of blood in a sea of black and gray.

“Stop.” Reid’s eyes widened with horror at something in the distance. He pivoted in front of me, clutching my arms as if to shield me from it. “Turn around. Let’s go a different way—”

I shook him off, rising to my toes to see over the crowd.

There, at the base of the cathedral, stood three wooden stakes. And chained to those stakes—

“Oh my god,” I breathed.

Chained to those stakes were three charred bodies.

Limbs crumbling—hair gone—the corpses were near indistinguishable. Behind them, ash coated the cathedral steps, thicker than the snow on the street. Bile rose in my throat. There had been others before these women. Many others. And recently. The wind hadn’t yet carried away their ashes.

But true witches were careful and clever. Surely so many hadn’t been caught since Modraniht.

“These women”—I shook my head in disbelief—“they can’t all have been witches.”

“No.” Cradling the back of my head, Reid pulled me to his chest. I inhaled deeply, ignoring the sting of pain in my eyes. “No, they probably weren’t.”

“Then what—?”

“After the Archbishop, the king would’ve needed a show of power. He would’ve needed to reestablish control. Anyone suspicious would have burned.”

“Without proof?” I leaned back, searching his face for answers. His eyes were pained. “Without trial?”

He clenched his jaw, looking back at the blackened corpses. “He doesn’t need proof. He’s the king.”

I spotted her the moment Reid and I turned away—thin as a reed with ebony skin and onyx eyes, standing so still she could’ve been the statue of Saint-Cécile if not for her hair blowing in the breeze. Though I’d known her my entire life, I couldn’t read the emotion in her eyes as she stared at the women’s remains.

As she turned on her heel and fled into the crowd.

Manon.

“Léviathan is that way.” I craned my neck to keep her in my sights, jerking my chin westward. A golden-haired man had followed her, catching her hand and spinning her into his arms. Instead of protesting—of spitting in his face—she gave him a tight smile. That arcane emotion in her eyes melted to unmistakable warmth as she gazed at him. Just as unmistakable, however, was her sorrow. As if trying to banish the emotion, he peppered her cheeks with kisses. When the two started forward once more, I hurried after them. “I’ll meet you there in a quarter hour.”

“Hold on.” Reid seized my arm with an incredulous expression. “We aren’t separating.”

“I’ll be fine. If you keep to the side streets and maybe a hunch a bit, you will be too—”

“Not a chance, Lou.” His eyes followed mine, narrowing as they searched the crowd, and he slid his grip from my elbow to my hand. “What is it? What did you see?”

“You are the most obstinate—” I stopped short with an impatient huff. “Fine. Come with me. But stay low and stay quiet.” Without another word, fingers still entwined with his, I slipped through the crowd. No one spared us a second glance, their eyes rapt on the three burning women. Their fascination sickened me.

Manon appeared to be leading the golden-haired man to a less congested area. We followed as quickly and noiselessly as we could, but twice we were forced to duck out of sight to avoid Chasseurs. By the time we found them again, Manon had steered the man down a deserted alley. Smoke from a nearby trash pile nearly obscured its entrance. If not for the man’s panicked cry, we might’ve walked straight past.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said, voice cracking. Exchanging a wary glance, Reid and I crouched behind the trash and peered through the smoke. Manon had cornered him against a wall. Hands raised, she wept openly, her tears flowing so thick and so fast that she struggled to breathe. “We can find another way.”

“You don’t understand.” Though her entire body spasmed, she lifted her hands higher. “Three more burned this morning. She’ll be wild—crazed. And if she finds out about us—”

“How can she?”

“She has eyes everywhere, Gilles! If she even suspects I’m attached to you, she’ll—she’ll do horrible things. She tortured the others for no other reason than their parentage. She’ll do worse to you. She’ll enjoy it. And if—if I return to her again today empty-handed, she’ll know. She’ll come for you herself, and I would rather die than see you in her hands.” She pulled a blade from her cloak. “I promise you won’t suffer.”

He extended his hands, beseeching, reaching to hold her even as she threatened his life. “So we run away. We leave this place. I have some money saved from cobbling. We can sail to Lustere or—or anywhere. We can build a new life far, far away from here. Somewhere Morgane’s influence doesn’t reach.”