“He won’t.” To prove my point, I gestured to the men clustered directly below us. They’d pressed their heads together to whisper. Necks tense. Voices strained. Lou and Coco exchanged a glance before leaning toward them to listen.

“. . . not doing himself any favors,” the balding one hissed. “Not with his history.”

“What history?” his younger, equally bald companion asked.

The third—also bald, but with a long beard—shook his head. “I suppose you wouldn’t know, would you, Emile? It happened before you were born.”

“This isn’t his first campaign.” The balding one sneered down at Achille with unaccountable hostility. “Achille lobbied alongside Florin for support during the last conclave, but he rescinded his candidacy at the last moment.”

“Never gave an explanation,” the bearded one added. “Just relegated himself to that dismal little parish up north.”

“Old Florin took the title, and no one heard from Achille for nearly thirty years—until now.”

A knock sounded on the vaulted doors, and the men paused, watching as Philippe slipped into the hall, closing them behind. The balding man snorted and resumed his malicious gossip. “I heard his brother fell in with a witch. I can’t remember his name.”

“Audric,” the bearded one supplied, his expression thoughtful. Unlike his peer, he seemed less inclined to loathe Achille. He peered down at the man in question almost curiously. “My father said Achille helped the whole family slip past the border.”

The younger’s lip curled. “I didn’t know he sympathized with witches.”

“How could you not?” The balding man pointed to where Achille still shielded my mother. “He stands no chance of procuring the vote. Not with the way he carries on—all this talk of peace and civility with the creatures of this kingdom. The conclave will never appoint him. Clearly, his seclusion has altered his senses.”

Lou scoffed with unexpected vehemence. “Do you think he’d feel it if I cut out his tongue?”

Unable to remain still, I stalked down the steps toward my mother. “You will not touch them.”

“Why?” She hurried to trail after me. “He’s clearly a bastard—”

The vaulted doors burst open before she could finish.

Clad in a cape made of lion’s fur—the mane draped across his shoulders—my father strode inside the courtroom. Philippe and three huntsmen I didn’t recognize accompanied him. As one, the entire congregation rose and bowed at his arrival. Every man. Even Achille. My stomach turned as I lurched to a halt by the podium.

He’d threatened torture the last time I saw him. Threatened rats. Immediately, my gaze dropped to my mother, who lay very still. Though her dress had once been emerald green, I couldn’t now place its color—an unpleasant shade of brown, perhaps. I knelt to examine her stomach. When her eyes fluttered at the movement, I froze.

“Yes, yes, bonjour.” Auguste waved an agitated hand. He offered no smiles today. No empty platitudes. I surveyed him with mounting hatred. His hair remained immaculate, of course, but shadows deepened his eyes. His fingers trembled inexplicably. He hid them in his cape. “I cannot stay long. Though this damned fire has abated slightly”—several around the room stared at the expletive, but Auguste didn’t apologize—“the healers at last believe they’ve discovered the solution: a rare plant in La Fôret des Yeux.” Sweeping forward, he motioned for Achille to move away from my mother. “Let us be done with this.”

Coco snorted and muttered, “There is no solution, fruit or otherwise.”

I frowned. “How do you know?”

“Because the fire stemmed from my grief.” Expression solemn, she met my eyes directly. “And there is no solution for grief. Only time. The fire might abate, yes, but it will never truly die.”

Lou nodded in agreement, staring at my mother, and my mother—I swore she stared back. Crouching beside her, Lou laid a hand on her arm as Auguste continued his tirade.

“We all know the crimes of the creature.” Pointing, he sneered at her soiled form. “From its own lips, it admitted its guilt. It is a witch. A powerful one. It promised to douse this lake of black fire in exchange for its life, but God has found our cure. The healers have already begun testing. By the end of the week, they promise an extinguishant to the Hellfire, and at such time, this witch shall burn for her sins.”

This witch. The words shouldn’t have chafed. She was a witch. But she was also my mother and his former lover. He’d laid with her. He’d even loved her once, if she were to be believed. She’d certainly loved him. Now her stomach bled from rat bites, and she lifted a ruined hand to Lou’s cheek. Lou tried and failed to hold it, her own hand passing through without purchase.

Only then did I grasp the rest of his words: by the end of the week. My heart sank like a stone. She would burn by the end of the week. Too soon for us to reach her. Much too soon.

Several in the audience applauded the king’s outburst—including the balding man—but only Achille made a noise of protest. “Your Majesty, there are protocols in place. Without an Archbishop elect, the conclave must cast an official vote—”

“Ah.” Auguste’s nose crinkled as he turned. “You again, Father . . . ?”

“Achille, Your Majesty. Achille Altier.”

“Achille Altier, you do realize the support of the Crown is necessary to obtain bishopric?”

“Preferable. Not necessary.”

Auguste arched a brow, scrutinizing him with new eyes. “Is that so?”

“Please, Achille,” Gaspard interrupted smoothly. “His Majesty’s word is divine. If he proclaims the witch shall burn, the witch shall burn.”

“If his word is divine,” Achille grumbled, “he should have no qualms putting the matter to vote. The outcome will comply.”

“Something ought to.” Auguste glared at him before lifting his arms to address the room at large, his voice curt and impatient. Out of bounds. “You heard the man. Your Father Achille would like a vote, and a vote he shall have. All those in favor of burning the witch, raise your hand.”

“Wait!” Achille lifted his own arms, eyes widening in panic. “The witch could still prove valuable! The healers have not yet perfected their extinguishant—if it fails, if we burn this woman, what hope have we of dousing the fire?” He spoke to Auguste alone now. “Her knowledge has proved valuable to the healers. I can bring in another to testify.”