“A dragon?” Lou whispered. “Who . . . ?”

“Zenna.”

She’d saved the others, after all. She’d flown back to Cesarine.

Coco could’ve been carved from stone. “What have you done, tante?”

La Voisin met her niece’s hard stare, impassive. Her expression revealed nothing. With the dip of her chin, however, three blood witches marched forward. Between them floated two gagged and bound figures. Eyes wide, both thrashed against the magic holding them to no avail.

Beau and Célie.

Lou cursed softly.

“What I must,” La Voisin said simply.

A beat of silence passed as they stared at each other.

“No.” Coco’s eyes burned at the word, her hands curling into fists. She took a small step forward, and the waters—they rippled beneath her foot. La Voisin’s eyes tracked the movement, narrowing infinitesimally. “That isn’t an answer, and neither is Morgane le Blanc. How many times did we ask for her aid? How many of our kin have perished from cold and disease? How many of them have starved while she stood idly by?”

La Voisin arched a brow. “As you have stood idly by?”

Coco didn’t so much as flinch. “I’m not standing idly by now.”

“No. You are actively standing in my way.”

“You betrayed us.”

“I am losing patience,” Morgane said with quiet malevolence. Her fingers twitched.

“Foolish child.” La Voisin spoke as if she hadn’t heard her. “You would have us continue to sicken and starve. Why?” Her black gaze found Lou and me. “For them?” Lip curling, she shook her head in a slow, winding movement, like a cobra preparing to strike. “You are the Princesse Rouge. Once, I would have encouraged your voice. I would have respected your opinion. But now your empathy rings hollow. You do not care for our people. You do not claim them as kin. You may protest my betrayal, Cosette, but you betrayed us long before this. Morgane has promised our coven safety in Chateau le Blanc”—her eyes seemed to harden at the name—“in exchange for Louise. I would do far worse than betray you to procure it. The time has come to choose your side.”

She stepped beside Morgane at the last, tall and unyielding. Together, the two formed a striking image. Both regal, both beautiful. Both queens in their own right. Whereas Morgane possessed a dark sort of glamour, however—ever the showman—Josephine boasted no decoration. She was stark. A study in harsh reality and bleak truth. The malice in the former’s eyes looked comically bright next to the flat, cold cunning of the other. The honesty. She didn’t try to hide it.

La Voisin loathed Morgane.

“The ends justify the means,” she finally murmured. “If we don’t stand together, we will fall.”

Coco stared at her aunt as if seeing her for the first time. “You’re right.” The Dames Rouges on the beach stilled at Coco’s unexpected response. I recognized a few of them from our time together in Léviathan. “I was a child,” she continued, her voice growing stronger with each word. Impassioned. “I was a child scared of my own birthright—of leading everyone, of failing anyone. Of disappointing you. I feared the responsibilities such a life would entail. Yes, I ran, and I am sorry for that.”

She looked to her kin then, bowing her head, accepting her culpability in their hardship. They regarded her with a mixture of suspicion and admiration. “I am no longer that child. You are my kin, and I want to protect you as much as my aunt does. But her life”—she pointed a finger in Lou’s direction—“is worth just as much as yours.” She turned back to her aunt. “Morgane has been hunting the king’s children. We found Etienne—the king’s son—butchered in our own camp, and Gabrielle disappeared shortly after. Morgane was responsible, tante. But you already know that, don’t you? Did you offer them up yourself? Your own people?” When Josephine said nothing, confirming her suspicions, Coco exhaled harshly, moving to stand between us and her aunt with deliberate care. “I’ve chosen my side.”

Lou went still at her words. The blood witches, however, stirred. Murmurs rose from a few of them. Whether in support or dissent, I couldn’t tell.

La Voisin’s expression didn’t change at her niece’s declaration. Instead, she jerked her head to the witches nearest her. “Take her.” When they hesitated, shooting anxious glances at Coco, La Voisin slowly turned to face them. Though I couldn’t see her expression, they hastened to obey this time.

Coco skittered backward as they approached, and the waters rippled again. Kept rippling.

The witches halted at the shore, reluctant to follow, until the bravest took a tentative step forward.

When her toe touched the waters, her entire body jolted, and—as if a spectral hand had reached forth to snatch her foot—she slipped, vanishing into their depths. They swallowed her scream without even a ripple. Sinister and still in the moonlight.

The witch might’ve never existed.

Morgane tsked as the other witches balked. Her voice rang out hard. Ruthless. “I suppose rules are rules, aren’t they? Dreadful things. As if any one of us had time to speak our truth. Never fear, though, tata,” she said to Josephine, whose jaw clenched at the diminutive epithet. “The poor dears will have to come out eventually, and we have all the time in the world.” She snapped her bloody fingers, and Beau and Célie dropped to their feet. “These two, however, don’t have much time at all. What say you, darling?” she called to Lou. “How shall I play with them?”

“You’re sick,” Beau snarled, the veins in his throat bulging as he fought to move.

She only smiled. It held no warmth. From her cloak, she extracted Célie’s injection, hurling the syringe into the water. “Though perhaps I tire of play altogether. Come here, Louise, or I shall kill them. Our game is done.”

Lou started forward instantly, but my fingers caught her chemise. I didn’t let her go. Couldn’t let her go.

“Reid, don’t—”

Baring her teeth, Morgane snapped her fingers again. Swords appeared in Beau’s and Célie’s hands. Another snap, and Beau lunged forward, his blade slicing through Célie’s side. Blood welled in its wake. With the flick of Morgane’s finger, Célie retaliated with a sob, her sword lodging deep in Beau’s shoulder. Toy soldiers. “I’m sorry,” she gasped, arms trembling as she attempted to combat Morgane’s magic. “I’m so sorry—”