“Death is natural.” Reid stared determinedly over the gunwale. As we hadn’t yet cleared L’Eau Mélancolique, the waters below didn’t ripple. He clutched his blanket tighter and swallowed hard. “Everyone dies eventually.”

“Yes,” I said slowly, recalling Ansel’s previous words. His had somehow felt comforting, like a benediction. Reid’s, however, did not. They felt more like a threat—no, like a promise. I frowned again, eyes narrowing on his heavy brow, his downcast expression. For the first time since he’d lost his memories—aside from our drunken encounter—he didn’t project malevolence. He didn’t keep one hand on his bandolier. “Death is natural, but murder is not.”

Shrugging, he said nothing.

I fought the urge to move closer. “Are you okay, Chass? Beau is right. We will reach your mother in time—”

He turned on his heel and stalked belowdecks before I could finish. The door slammed behind him.

Awkward silence descended in his wake, and heat crept up my cheeks.

Coco rummaged in her pack, turning her back to the frigid wind. “You shouldn’t need a lesson to know he wants you to go after him.” She withdrew a scrap of parchment, a pot of ink, and a quill before sinking to the boat’s floor. Without ceremony, she used her knee as a table and began to pen a message. To Claud, probably. To Blaise. “Unless you do need a lesson? I could teach you an excellent way to relieve stress—”

“I know plenty of ways to relieve stress, thank you.” When the wind made it impossible to keep the parchment steady, I waved a hand. It stilled for just a moment, stilling the boat as well. We’d just reached the broader expanse of sea, and waves finally broke against the helm. “He wouldn’t be interested in any of them.”

“Oh, I think he’s very interested.” Her smirk faded as she looked up, and she tapped her quill upon the paper pointedly. “What am I telling Claud?”

Resigned, I plopped down next to her, spreading my blanket over her as well. Across the small deck, Beau manned the helm while Célie perched atop the boat’s single bench. Jean Luc joined her. “My father might plan to trap us,” Beau conceded, “but we still have one thing in our favor.” He pointed to Célie and Jean Luc in turn. “We have these two this time. He doesn’t know about them.”

“He knows I abandoned my post,” Jean Luc muttered.

Coco shook her head. “But he doesn’t know why. If he’s learned of Célie’s absence—which I doubt, knowing Tremblay—he might suspect you followed her, but no one would ever believe she’d seek us out, let alone ally with us. Not after everything that’s happened.”

“We do have the element of surprise.” At the edge of my thoughts, the beginning of a plan began to take shape. I didn’t look at it too closely, instead worrying a loose thread in the blanket. Allowing it to form. It wouldn’t solve the Morgane problem—though in truth, problem seemed too mild a word for the picture Angelica had painted. A battle brews on the horizon more catastrophic than this world has ever seen.

We couldn’t focus on that now. The plan had changed. Madame Labelle would come first, and then—then came catastrophic battles. I tugged at the thread viciously, unraveling part of the blanket. “We won’t be able to slip into the city undetected. We couldn’t manage it before, even when no one knew we were coming. Now they’ll be expecting us.”

“Do I hear a but?” Beau asked.

I looked up at him then. Looked up at them all. “Maybe we don’t need to slip in undetected. Maybe we announce our arrival.” I grinned slightly, though I didn’t particularly feel like grinning. “Maybe we let them arrest us.”

“What?” Beau exclaimed.

“No, listen.” I leaned forward, pointing again at Célie and Jean Luc. “We have an aristocrat with a death wish and a huntsman madly in love with her. A captain. He’s deadly skilled and highly trained, and—more importantly—he has the respect of the Crown and Church. If Célie struck out on a quest for vengeance—against me, against Reid, against all witches—of course he would catch up with her. Of course he would incapacitate us, and of course he would bring us back to Cesarine to burn. He would even arrest the lawless crown prince in the process.”

“They’ll throw you all in prison.” The wind ruffled Coco’s wild curls as she considered. “The same prison where they hold Madame Labelle.”

“Exactly. Jean Luc can relieve the guard, and I’ll magic us all out.”

“They’ll inject you with hemlock,” Jean Luc said.

“Not if you’ve already done it.” I slumped as if incapacitated to demonstrate, my head lolling on Coco’s shoulder. “You forget I’m an accomplished liar, and your brethren trust you.”

“If you escape under my watch, they’ll know I’ve helped you. They’ll strip my captaincy.”

Coco, who’d been penning our plan—scratching out and writing anew as it formed—looked up with a dark expression. “They’ll do a lot worse than that.” Slipping a knife from her cloak, she cut a fine line on her forearm, positioning the cut over the paper. With each drop, the paper sizzled and vanished. To me, she said, “I asked Claud—and I assume Zenna and Seraphine—to find Blaise and meet us at Léviathan afterward. If they managed to heal Toulouse, Liana, and Terrance, they’ll be able to heal Madame Labelle.”

When Jean Luc said nothing, Célie scooted closer, threading her fingers through his. “It’s the right thing to do, Jean. Chasseurs are meant to protect the innocent. Madame Labelle has done nothing but love her son. If not for her sacrifice, the king would’ve tortured Reid instead.”

“Also,” Beau said, pursing his lips, “not to be that person, but your captaincy won’t matter after Morgane kills everyone.”

“He has a point,” Coco said.

Jean Luc closed his eyes, his face tight and strained. Overhead, gulls cried in the filtered sunlight, and to starboard, waves crashed upon the distant shore. Though I didn’t know Jean Luc, he still wore his emotions like he wore his coat—a coat he’d worked hard to receive. Harder than most. And all that hard work—all that pain, all that envy, all that spite—it’d be for nothing if he helped us now. In doing the right thing, he’d lose everything.