“You’ve said a lot of things.”

I’d told her the truth. I wanted to kill her. To kill all of them. I couldn’t concede to this heresy—this grand romance she’d dreamed up between us. As if it were possible. As if a witch and witch hunter could be more than enemies. I remembered none of it. I wanted to remember even less. In that second, however, the wind swept past with terrifying glee, and I glanced down. A mistake. Black edged my vision. My hand slipped a millimeter within hers. “Fine,” I said quickly, loathing myself. Loathing her more. “You’re . . . you are very pretty, Lou.”

“The prettiest you’ve ever seen?”

I nearly wept in frustration. “Prettier, even. I can’t think when I look at you.”

She beamed, and the tension melted from her face as quickly as it’d come. Her arms stopped shaking. Too late, I realized her game: her magic couldn’t work on me because of the Balisarda, but she’d used it to strengthen her own body instead. She’d been pretending to struggle this entire time. Stoking my fear. She probably could’ve lifted me with a single finger. Fresh anger burned white-hot in my chest. “Now,” she said, immensely pleased with herself, “tell me that I’m an excellent singer.”

“You—you—”

“I’m waiting,” she trilled.

“You’re an excellent singer. You sing like a bird. An angel. And if you don’t lift me up this second, I’m going to snap your pretty neck.”

She waited another second just to spite me. Then another. And another. “Well, now that we’ve sorted that.” With a mighty heave, she pulled me over the eave once more. I collapsed beside her in a pool of shaking limbs, nearly retching at her feet.

“Don’t you ever lie to me again.”

She poked my cheek. “I wouldn’t have dropped you.”

“Lies!”

“Well”—she lifted an easy shoulder—“maybe I would’ve, but I wouldn’t have let you splatter.” Her smile turned almost self-deprecating. “Come on, Chass. I would’ve moved the entire castle before I let you die.”

“Why?” The word burst from me, sudden and unbidden. This wasn’t the time for such a question. This wasn’t the place, either—not with witches crawling within and without. They probably gathered below even now, waiting to devour us. Manon would’ve told them. She would’ve pressed their advantage. No shouts sounded from the ground, however, and no magic ensnared us. “Why did you save me? Why did you let the witch go? You—you comforted her. You wiped her tears. We both want to kill you.”

The realization shocked me into silence. Manon had wanted to kill her. I didn’t know how I knew, but I did. Manon and La Voisin and even Morgane, her own mother, wanted her dead. But—my thoughts congealed like mud—that wasn’t quite right either. I do not have a daughter, Morgane had claimed. Could she too have forgotten her daughter, as I had forgotten my wife? Or had Lou lied about both? I regarded her suspiciously as she rose. “Why?” I repeated firmly.

Patting my cheek, she slipped over the eave without me. Her voice drifted upward with the wind. “Ask me no questions, mon amour, and I shall tell you no lies.”

I frowned at the simple words. Then winced. These felt different than others, biting and snapping like insects. I shook my head to dislodge them, but they remained. They burrowed deeper. Familiar and painful and jarring. Ask me no questions. Though I remained on the rooftop, my vision pitched abruptly, and instead of shingles and smoke, I saw trees, gnarled roots, a bottle of wine. Blue-green eyes. Sickening déjà vu. And I’ll tell you no lies.

No. I shook my head, wrenching free of the imagery, and stabbed my knife into stone. This was here. Another stab. This was real. I swung myself lower. This was now. Stab, stab. I didn’t remember her. Stab. It hadn’t happened. Stab, stab, stab.

I repeated the mantra the entire way down. I repeated it until those blue-green eyes faded with the trees and the wind and the Hollow. Fresh pain cleaved my head at the last. I ignored it, focusing on the world below me. The others waited for me in silence. No witches hid in the shadows. Manon, it seemed, had not betrayed us. I didn’t understand it. Without looking at anyone, I jumped, landing heavy on my feet.

“Are you all right?” Lou steadied me instinctively. When I cringed away without answering, she sighed and motioned us toward the rocks behind the tower, slipping through the shadows like she’d been born there. I watched her go with a pang in my chest.

Ask me no questions, mon amour, and I’ll tell you no lies. Another half-formed memory. Useless. Broken.

Like a witch hunter who couldn’t kill a witch.

Truth or Dare

Lou

Halfway through our return to L’Eau Mélancolique, Célie fell asleep on her horse. Jean Luc—who’d succumbed to a stupor hours ago—hadn’t been able to catch her in time, and she’d plummeted face-first into the mud, bloodying her nose in the process. We’d quickly agreed a rest stop was necessary. Jean Luc had procured two rooms at the next inn, sneaking us in a back door under cover of darkness.

“I’ll be back with food,” he’d promised. Though smoke still obscured the night sky, it must’ve been between midnight and dawn. We’d made excellent time, all things considered—in and out of Chateau le Blanc in just over an hour. Still, few inns served supper at three in the morning. I suspected the sight of Jean Luc’s blue coat, however, might’ve helped the innkeeper forget the aberrant hour.

Coco, Célie, and I claimed one of the rooms for ourselves while we waited, and Reid and Beau disappeared into the one next door. Almost immediately, Célie collapsed facedown on the hay-filled mattress, her breath deepening and her mouth falling open. The trickle of drool on her pillow painted her the quintessential gentlewoman. Coco and I each tugged a boot from her foot.

“I don’t think I can make it to supper,” Coco said, hiding a yawn behind her hand.

My stomach growled audibly. “I can.”

“Save me some food, will you?”

I grinned as she flopped onto the bed beside Célie. It was a tight fit. Neither of them seemed to notice. “Will do.”

Jean Luc edged the door open a few moments later, carrying a tray of dried figs, brioche, and comté. From the silver tureen at its center, the heavenly scent of beef stew drifted outward, curling around my nose. I immediately began to salivate, but he stopped short when he saw Coco and Célie. Lifting a finger to my lips, I plucked the fruit, bread, and cheese from the tray and left it on the table beside the bed. I motioned him back into the hallway, hesitating for only a second before breaking off a piece of cheese.