Witches lined the steps, watching as Célie and I descended. More than I’d expected. More than I recognized. Manon stood near the bottom, but she refused to look at me. Indifference smoothed her pointed features, turned her ebony face into a hard mask. But—she swallowed hard as I passed, mask cracking as her eyes flicked to one of the corpses.

It was the handsome, golden-haired man from earlier. Gilles.

Beside him, two girls with equally fair complexions drifted, their glassy eyes just as blue. An older brunette hovered on his other side, and a toddler—he couldn’t have been older than three—completed the circle. Five bodies in all. Five perfect corpses.

“Do not let their expressions deceive you,” Morgane murmured. This close, I could see the angry red scar on her chest from Jean Luc’s blade. “Their deaths were not peaceful. They were not pretty or pleasant. But you know that already, don’t you? You saw our sweet Etienne.” Another smile twisted her lips. “You should’ve heard him scream, Louise. It was beautiful. Transcendent. And all because of you.”

With the curl of her fingers, the bodies lowered, still circling, until they surrounded me at eye level. Their toes brushed the earth, and their heads—I swallowed a gag.

Their heads were clearly kept intact by magic.

Numb, I rose to my toes, closing first the toddler’s eyes—his head wavered at the contact—then the brunette’s, the twins’, and finally, the handsome stranger’s. Manon shifted in my peripheral vision. “You’re sick, Maman,” I said. “You’ve been sick for a long time.”

“You would know, darling. You can’t imagine my delight watching you these past weeks. I’ve never been so proud. Finally, my daughter realizes what must be done. She’s on the wrong side, of course, but her sacrifices are still commendable. She has become the weapon I conceived her to be.”

Bile rose in my throat at her emphasis, and I prayed—prayed—she hadn’t been spying on us earlier, hadn’t overheard Reid’s words in our room at Léviathan. Our bedroom. Her presence would poison those moments between us.

Please, not those.

Her finger—cold and sharp—lifted my chin. But her eyes were colder. Her eyes were sharper. “Did you think you could save them?” When I said nothing, only stared, she pinched my chin harder. “You humiliated me on Modraniht. In front of all our sisters. In front of the Goddess herself. After you fled, I realized how blind I’d been. How fixated. I sent your sisters into the kingdom in search of Auguste’s spawn.” She backhanded Gilles’s face, rupturing his skin. Stagnant blood oozed out of him. It dripped onto Gaby’s hair. She moaned again. “And I found them—not all of them, no, not yet. But soon. You see, I do not need your wretched throat to exact my vengeance, Louise. My will shall be done, with or without you.

“Make no mistake,” she added, seizing my chin once more, “you will die. But should you escape again, I will not chase you. Never again will I chase you. Instead, I will cherish dismembering your huntsman’s brothers and sisters, and I will send you each piece. I will bottle their screams and poison your dreams. Each time you close your eyes, you will witness the end of their miserable lives. And—after the last child is slain—I will come for your huntsman, and I will cut the secrets from his mind, butchering him in front of you. Only then will I kill you, daughter. Only when you beg for death.”

I stared at her. My mother. She was mad, wholly and completely crazed. She’d always been passionate, volatile, but this . . . this was different. In her quest for vengeance, she’d given away too much. All those pieces you’re giving up—I want them, Reid had said. I want you. Whole and unharmed. I searched her face for any sign of the woman who’d raised me—who’d danced with me on the beach and taught me to value my worth—but there was nothing left. She was gone.

Do you think you’ll be able to kill your own mother?

She hasn’t given me a choice.

It hadn’t been an answer then. It was now.

“Well?” She released my chin, her eyes blazing with fury. “Have you nothing to say?”

My hands were heavy, leaden, but I forced them upward anyway. “I think . . . if you plan to dismember all of his children, one by one . . . I have quite a bit of time to stop you.” She bared her teeth, and I grinned at her, faking bravado. That stretch of my mouth cost everything. It also provided a distraction for the half step I took in Gabrielle’s direction. “And I will stop you, Maman—especially if you blather about your plans every time we meet. You really love the sound of your voice, don’t you? I never took you for narcissistic. Deranged and fanatical, yes, at times even vain, but never narciss—”

Morgane hauled Gaby to her feet before I could finish, and I cursed mentally. When she twisted a hand, a ball of fire bloomed atop her palm. “I had thought to offer you an ultimatum, darling, between Célie and Gabrielle—just a bit of fun—but it seems you’ve quite tested my patience. Now I will kill them both. Though I know you prefer ice, I’m partial to fire. It’s rather poetic, don’t you think?”

Célie whimpered behind me.

Shit.

At the stroke of Morgane’s finger, Gaby’s eyes snapped open—then widened, darting around us. “Lou.” Her voice cracked on my name, and she thrashed in Morgane’s arms. “Lou, she’s a maniac. She and—”

She stopped talking on a scream when Morgane swept the fire against her face—when Morgane swept and kept sweeping, drawing the flames down her throat, her chest, her arms. Though she screamed and screamed, thrashing anew, Morgane didn’t release her. Panicked, I cast about for a pattern, for the pattern, but before I could commit, a blade sliced through the air, through Morgane’s hand.

Howling in outrage, she dropped Gaby and jerked toward—

My breath caught in my throat.

Ansel. She jerked toward Ansel.

He’d followed me again.

Eyes narrowing, she looked at him—really looked at him—for the first time. Her blood dripped onto the hem of her robes. One drop. Two drops. Three. “I remember you.” When she smiled, her face twisted into something ugly and dark. She didn’t stop Gaby as she scrambled backward, away from us, and disappeared into the tunnel below the aisles. “You were at Modraniht. Such a pretty little bird. You’ve finally found your wings.”

He gripped his knives tighter, jaw set, and widened his stance, planting his feet and preparing to use both his upper- and lower-body strength. Pride and terror warred inside my heart. He’d saved Gaby. He’d drawn Morgane’s blood.

He’d been marked.

The patterns came without hesitation as I stepped to his side. When I raised my hands, determined, he nudged the knife in my boot instead. I drew it swiftly. “First lesson,” he breathed. “Find your opponent’s weaknesses and exploit them.”

“What are you whispering?” she hissed, drawing another fireball into her hand.

She’d chosen fire to make a statement, but fire could be stoked. It meant passion. Emotions. In combat, she’d react swiftly, without forethought, and that impulsivity could be her undoing. We’d have to be careful, quick. “I knew you’d choose fire.” I smirked, tossing the blade in my hand with casual nonchalance. “You’re growing predictable in your old age, Maman. And wrinkled.” When she launched the first fireball, Ansel ducked swiftly. “It’s a good thing your hair is naturally white. It hides the gray, yes?”