It wasn’t true. Lou was still in there. We would free her.

“She can’t hear you, pet.” Nicholina pursed her lips in a sugar-sweet display of sympathy, and I realized I’d spoken the words aloud. “The dead don’t have ears. She won’t hear your cries, and she won’t see your tears.”

“That’s enough,” Coco said sharply. Though I could see her trying to tug the rope from me, I couldn’t feel the movement. My fist remained locked. Blood roared in my ears. “Shut the hell up, Nicholina.”

She fought, you know.

Nicholina giggled like a little girl. Shrugged. “All right.”

She screamed your name.

I took a deep breath. In through my nose. Out through my mouth. One after another. Again and again.

You should’ve heard her in those last moments. Absolutely terrified.

I should’ve been there.

It’s your fault it’s your fault it’s your fault

Beau and Célie arrived at that moment, and Coco succeeded in tugging the rope from me. Glowering at their empty hands, she snapped, “Nothing? Again?”

Célie shrugged helplessly while Beau lifted said hands in a lackadaisical gesture. “What would you like us to do, Cosette? Shit the pearls into existence? We aren’t oysters.”

Her nostrils flared. “Oysters don’t shit out pearls, you idiotic piece of—”

“Shit?” Nicholina supplied helpfully.

Coco closed her eyes then, forcing a deep breath, before looking up at the sky. Though smoke still obscured the sun, it must’ve been late afternoon. “The next village is about two hours up the road. It’s the last one before L’Eau Mélancolique.” Her expression hardened, and she met my gaze. Jaw still clenched, I nodded once. “Reid and I will search it too.”

“What?” Beau looked between the two of us incredulously. “Célie and I are perfectly capable—”

“I am sure that’s true,” she snapped, “but this isn’t the time for a pissing contest. We need to find those pearls. This is our last chance.”

“But”—Célie leaned forward, blinking rapidly—“but Nicholina . . .”

Coco lifted her fist. She’d wrapped the rope around it. The movement forced Nicholina closer, and Coco stared directly into her eyes. Every word promised violence. “Nicholina will behave herself. Nicholina doesn’t want to die, and she’s wearing the face of the most notorious witch in Belterra.” She tugged her closer. Nicholina had stopped grinning. “If she causes a scene—if she steps one toe out of line—they’ll lash her to a stake right there in Anchois. Nicholina understands that, doesn’t she?”

Nicholina sneered. “You won’t let us burn.”

“We might not be able to save you.”

Nicholina glowered now but said nothing. Though I reached for her rope once more, Coco shook her head and started forward. “She stays with me,” she said over her shoulder. “You can’t bring yourself to kick her ass, but I can. It’s what Lou would want.”

Anchois boasted three dirt-packed streets. One of these led to the dock, where dozens of fishing boats bobbed along black water. One housed the villagers’ ramshackle dwellings. Carts and fish stands littered the market of the third. Though the sun had fully set, firelight danced on merchants’ faces as they hawked wares. Shoppers slipped arm in arm between them, calling to friends. To family. Some clutched brown paper packages. Others wore seashell necklaces. Bits of agate sparkled in the hair of impish children. Gnarled fishermen gathered at the beach to sip ale in groups of twos and threes. Grousing about their wives. Their grandchildren. Their knees.

Coco peered down the market street, trying to see through the gaps in the crowd. She’d tied one of Nicholina’s hands to hers. The sleeves of their cloaks hid all blisters. All blood. “We should split up. We’ll cover more ground that way.”

I tugged Célie away from a cart of scrying stones. “Fine. You two go to the dock, ask if anyone has heard of black pearls in the area. We’ll search the market.”

A gleam of wonder entered Célie’s eyes as she watched a young man pull a roughly hewn flute from his pocket to serenade another. Some maidens nearby giggled. One even stepped apart from the rest, brave enough to dance. Célie nodded eagerly. “Yes. Let us do that.”

Coco eyed us, skeptical. “Is this what you’ve been doing, Célie?”

Beau scoffed and shook his head. Mutinous.

I gripped Célie’s elbow with pointed assurance. “If they’re here, we’ll find them.”

Though Coco still seemed doubtful, she relented with a nod, fidgeting with the locket at her throat. Readjusting her hood. “Fine. But you’d better search the market, not stroll down memory lane.” She jabbed a finger at my nose. “And be in plain sight when we get back. I want to see hands.” Jerking her chin toward Beau and Nicholina, she left Célie and me standing alone in humiliated silence.

Heat pricked my ears. Her cheeks burned tomato red.

“Thanks, Cosette,” I muttered bitterly. Forcing my jaw to unclench, I took a deep breath, adjusted my own cavalier, and guided Célie into the street. When the merchant rattled his scrying stones in our direction—he’d carved them from fish bones—I kept walking. “Don’t listen to her. She’s . . . going through a lot.”

Célie refused to meet my gaze. “I don’t think she likes me.”

“She doesn’t like anyone but Lou.”

“Ah.” For a split second, resentment flashed across her doll-like features. But then she smoothed her face into a polite smile, squaring her shoulders. Straightening her spine. Always the lady. “Perhaps you’re right.” Her smile turned genuine as she spotted a shabby confiserie. “Reid, look!” She pointed to the tins of almond candy in the window. Calisson. “It’s your favorite! We simply must purchase some.” With a pat to her leather satchel—I’d slung it over my shoulder, where it jostled against my own—she tried to steer me toward the confiserie’s pink door.

I didn’t move. “We’re here for black pearls. Not candy.”

Still she tugged on my wrists. “It’ll take two minutes—”