Constantin. Constantin. I knew the name, of course. How could I ever forget? Madame Labelle had held me captive with it in the Bellerose all those months ago, weaving magic with her tale of star-crossed lovers. Of magic rings and seas of tears and witches and holy men. Of Angelica and Constantin. The saint who’d gifted the Church his blessed sword, the original Balisarda. I’d carried a part of him with me for years, unaware his sword hadn’t been blessed at all, but enchanted by his lover. She’d wanted to protect him. He’d wanted her magic. When he hadn’t been able to take it from her, he’d eventually taken his life instead.

This couldn’t be the same man. Of course it couldn’t. The story said he’d died, and even if he hadn’t, he would be thousands of years old now. Long dead. And Coco—she hadn’t spoken a word about knowing Constantin during Madame Labelle’s tale. She would have told us. Surely. Lou’s life had been tangentially tied with him and Angelica, whose ill-fated love had first sparked the war between the Church and Dames Blanches. She would’ve told us. She would’ve.

“Constantin.” Beau said the name slowly, tasting it. Remembering. “I know that name. Aren’t you supposed to be dead?”

Coco stiffened at his brash words, but Constantin merely chuckled. Ruffling her hair, he gently disentangled himself from her arms. “My reputation precedes me.”

“You’re Le Cœur Brisé?” I asked in disbelief. “The Broken Heart?”

His dark eyes glinted. “The irony is not lost on me, I assure you.”

“But you aren’t . . . you aren’t the Constantin. You’re not him.” When he simply stared at me, I exhaled a harsh breath and looked at Coco, unable to articulate the sudden, painful flare of emotion in my chest. She hadn’t told us. She’d . . . withheld information. She hadn’t lied—not exactly—but she hadn’t told the truth either. It felt like a betrayal.

“Right.” Shaking my head, I tried to refocus. “How?”

“Who cares?” Beau muttered, near indiscernible.

Constantin extended his arms. “I am cursed eternal, huntsman, because I yearned for more.”

Coco cast him a slanted look. “I think you went a bit further than that.”

“You’re right, of course, Cosette. I broke a woman’s heart in the process—my one true regret in life.”

Rolling her eyes, Coco said, “Constantin leapt from these cliffs. When Angelica wept her sea of tears, the waters . . . revived him.” She gestured to the mist around us. The very mist from which he’d formed. “Their magic gives him life. Now he serves as a warning.”

We all stared at her. “What does that mean?” Beau finally asked.

“It means Isla poked her nose in like a prying busybody,” Constantin said, surprisingly pleasant given the circumstances. He swept a hand down his arm, his bare chest. He wore nothing save the cloth around his waist, his lower half obscured by mist. Condensation collected on his skin, curled in his hair. “She watched everything between Angelica and me, and when the waters intervened, she swept in and cursed me to guard the women of these waters—and their magic—forever.”

Célie’s gaze darted. “The women of these waters?”

“The melusines.” Constantin’s face contorted with distaste. “Fish women. Fickle women.”

“Temptresses,” Coco added. “The ones who dwell here are also truth tellers. Some are seers. The waters have given them strange abilities.”

My arms began to burn, and I readjusted my grip on Nicholina. “Who is Isla?”

Constantin snorted in response. “The queen of the melusines.”

“Claud’s sister,” Coco said at the same time.

“Is she a goddess, then?” Célie asked.

Constantin bowed slightly, inclining his head. “Some would call her such. Others would not. Either way, she is very old and powerful. If you seek an audience, however, I must warn you: she cannot interfere in the affairs of humans. Not without repercussion.”

Coco touched his arm. “We aren’t here for her, Constantin. Not yet, at least.” She looked to Nicholina, to Lou in my arms, and her entire body seemed to wilt once more. Constantin followed her gaze, his sharp eyes tracking over Lou’s sallow skin, her gaunt cheeks. He hummed a low note of understanding.

“Louise is ill.”

“And possessed,” I added a touch desperately.

His eyebrows shot up. “You believe the waters will heal her.”

“They healed you,” Beau pointed out, “and you were dead.”

Constantin parted the mist with his hands, the tendrils curling between his fingers. It struck me as an idle gesture. An apathetic one. “It’s true. If anything can heal her, these waters can. Though they started as mere tears, they’ve become as sentient as the pulse within a Dame Rouge, as connected as a Dame Blanche to this land. Angelica was a seer, and her magic shaped them. The waters see things we cannot see, know things we cannot know. I am part of them now, yet even I do not grasp the future as they. I have lived a hundred human lives, yet even I cannot comprehend their knowledge.”

I struggled to extract the pearls from my pack while maintaining my hold on Nicholina. Beau extended his arms instead. Reluctantly, I handed her over before thrusting the pearls at Constantin. To my surprise, his hands felt solid. Warm. He truly was alive. “Our payment,” I said.

His fingers curled around the pearls. His eyes flicked to Coco. “Are you sure?”

She nodded resolutely. “She’s my best friend.”

He shrugged then, and the pearls dissolved into mist. “Very well. On her head be it.” To the rest of us, he asked, “Who accompanies the fair maidens?”

I stepped forward. “Me.”

“Of course.” His gaze swept from my head to my toes. He hmphed as if displeased. As if the mud on my boots, perhaps the bandolier on my chest, offended him. “I’ve heard of your exploits, Reid Diggory. I’ve heard of your glory in my legacy. I’ve heard all about the death and blood on yours and your brethren’s hands.” He paused for me to respond, but I didn’t give him the satisfaction. I didn’t give him any reaction at all. “To be honest, you remind me of a much younger version of myself.”