I brushed my lips across her palm. “That sounds like paradise to me.”

Epilogue

Ansel

Summer bloomed slow and languorous at Chateau le Blanc. Wild sage and lavender rippled across the mountain in dusky purple and blue; white and yellow marguerites grew rampant between rocks, along creek beds, joined by the blushing pink of thrift and clover. I’d never seen such colors in life. I’d never felt such warmth on my cheeks, like the kiss of a mother, the embrace of a friend. If the voices—no, the laughter—of my own friends hadn’t called to me, I could’ve stood within the peace of those wildflowers forever.

Lou wore a spray of each on her wedding day.

Sitting cross-legged atop her childhood bed—the golden thread of her quilt sparkling in the late afternoon sunlight—she waited impatiently for Coco to weave the blooms into a crown. “Stop squirming,” Coco chided, grinning and tugging a strand of Lou’s hair. “You’re shaking the whole bed.”

Lou only wriggled her hips more pointedly. “Oh, it’ll be shaking tonight.”

Célie’s cheeks warmed along with my own. When she swept a simple ivory gown from the armoire to cover her embarrassment, I smiled, settling on the chaise beside Madame Labelle. She couldn’t see me, of course, but from the way her eyes sparkled, from the way they danced, I thought she might feel me instead.

“You, my friend, are delectably depraved.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” With another wide grin, Lou twisted to face Coco. “Who was it who lost her virginity atop a—?”

Coughing delicately, Célie asked, “Might I suggest we postpone this conversation for more appropriate company?” Her eyes flicked to Violette and Gabrielle, who flitted about the room, examining anything and everything. The gold leaf across the ceiling. The moondust on the sill. The gilded harp in the corner and the tin soldiers beneath the chaise. Lou had etched mustaches on them as a child. A trunk at the foot of her bed still held toy swords and broken instruments, half-read books and a white rabbit. Stuffed, of course.

The very real cat at my feet hissed at it.

Melisandre, Lou had named her. The cat. Not the rabbit. With her broken tail and crooked teeth, the gray tabby wasn’t beautiful, but one wouldn’t know it from the way Lou looked at her. She’d found the cat yowling indignantly in a back alley after the battle of Cesarine, and she’d promptly adopted the pitiful creature, much to Reid’s chagrin.

Melisandre didn’t like Reid.

“Please do not worry yourself, Mademoiselle Célie.” With poppy blooms braided into her black hair, Violette giggled and bounced on the balls of her feet as Madame Labelle cackled beside me. “We know all about the birds and the bees. Don’t we, Gaby? It’s terribly romantic.”

“I think the euphemism is silly.” Gabrielle now sat beside me on her knees—wrinkling her olive dress—and attempted to coax Melisandre closer with a piece of string. The cat hissed again before glancing at me with a pained expression. Grinning, I knelt to scratch her ears, and the hiss transformed to a purr. “As if we need the imagery of a bird laying eggs to understand ovulation, or a bee depositing pollen to understand fertiliza—”

“Oh, dear.” Célie’s cheeks washed as pretty a petal pink as her dress, and she draped the ivory gown across the foot of the bed. “That is quite enough talk about that, I think. It’s almost time for the ceremony. Shall we help you don your gown, Lou?”

When Lou nodded and rose to her feet, Melisandre abandoned me instantly, darting to her mother’s side. Lou didn’t hesitate to scoop her up and cuddle her against her chest. “And how is my darling honeybee? So fetching.” She nodded appreciatively to Célie, who’d woven a miniature version of Lou’s flower crown for the cat. Melisandre purred under Lou’s praise, craning her neck, exorbitantly pleased with herself.

Snorting, Coco helped Célie unlace the wedding gown. “You know Reid is currently plotting her demise.”

Madame Labelle rose to join them with a chuckle. “It was his own fault. Vanity, thy name is cat, after all.”

Even Manon—who’d hovered silently in the corner, unsure of her place among these people—inched forward tentatively, clutching the handfasting ribbons. When Lou winked at her, she smiled. It was a small, unsure sort of smile, but a smile nonetheless. I recognized it well. I’d worn it many times. Pushing to my own feet, I strode to stand beside her.

She would find her new place here. They all would.

“He’d insulted her!” Lou pressed a kiss to Melisandre’s scarred nose, undeterred. “Besides, the piss washed right out of his pillow. No harm done.” To Melisandre, she crooned, “He won’t mock your singing again, will he, honeybee? No, he won’t.”

Melisandre yowled in answer, rubbing her head against Lou’s chin.

I looked away as they helped her into her gown.

Though heat still suffused my cheeks, it was no longer embarrassment but . . . pride. I nearly burst with it. For too long had Lou deserved this moment—all of these moments, the large ones and the small ones and the ones in between. She’d suffered more than most, more than any one person ever should. I could only hope that she’d delight in just as much from this day forward.

Hope.

It wasn’t the sickness.

God, she’d done so beautifully. They all had.

Reid would cherish her, I knew. He would do everything in his power to ensure her happiness, and she would return his efforts tenfold. Though I’d known little of life when I’d walked beside them, even then, I’d recognized theirs was a love that would change everything. A love that would break the world. A love that would make it new.

Their love had been the cure.

“What do you think?” Lou’s low murmur brought pressure to my eyes. “Will it do?”

I waited to hear Madame Labelle’s and Célie’s exclamations, Violette’s and Gabrielle’s laughter, Coco’s sniffle, even Manon’s soft inhalation before turning to look at my dearest friend.

Reid paced in the early evening sunlight of the old pear grove. It burnished his hair more golden than copper, caught the fine stitching of his jacket and made the threads shimmer. He’d forgone his bandolier for the occasion, instead buckling a single sword at his waist. He steadied it with one hand as he trod a well-worn path in the grass. His other he dragged through his hair.