It was madness.

Elaina and Elinor—who had abandoned Ansel after realizing Elodie had traded up—pulled me in opposite directions, each determined to introduce me to every person they’d ever known. I didn’t bother remembering their names. A month ago, I would’ve wanted them all dead. Now, a hollow sort of pit opened up in my stomach as I greeted them. These women—with their pretty smiles and shining faces—wanted Lou dead. They were here to celebrate Lou’s death.

The revelry soon became intolerable. As did the undiluted stench of magic, stronger here than anywhere I’d ever encountered it.

I tugged away from Elaina with a strained smile. “I need the washroom.”

Though my eyes roamed for Madame Labelle, I had no idea what face she’d taken—or if she’d even gotten inside.

“You can’t!” Elaina clutched me tighter. The sun had sunk below the castle, lengthening the shadows in the courtyard. “The feast is about to start!”

Sure enough, the witches began moving toward the doors as if answering a silent call. Perhaps they were. If I concentrated hard enough, I could almost feel the faint whispering of it across my skin. I shuddered.

“Of course,” I ground out as she tugged me forward. “I can wait.”

Ansel and Beau stuck close to me. Coco had been dragged away as soon as we crossed the bridge, and I hadn’t seen her since. Her absence made me uneasy.

Beau elbowed a plump witch aside to keep up. “Will our Lady be attending the feast?”

“Excuse you.” She nearly leveled him in retaliation, and he skidded into me before righting himself.

“Good Lord.” He eyed the witch’s broad back as she shoved through a set of stone doors. Above them, an elaborate depiction of the waxing, full, and waning moons had been carved.

“I think you have the wrong deity,” I muttered.

“Are you coming or not?” Elinor yanked me past the carving, and I had little choice but to follow.

The hall was vast and ancient—larger than even the sanctuary in Saint-Cécile—with vaulted ceilings and giant beams covered in snow and foliage, as if the courtyard had somehow spilled inside. Vines crept in from the arched windows. Ice glittered on the walls. Long wooden tables ran the length of the floor, overflowing with moss and flickering candles. Thousands of them. They cast a soft glow on the witches who lingered nearby. No one had yet seated themselves. All watched the far side of the room with rapt attention. I followed their gazes. The very air around us seemed to still.

There, on a throne of saplings, sat Morgane le Blanc.

And beside her—eyes closed and limbs dangling—floated Lou.

My breath left in a painful whoosh as I stared at her. Only a fortnight had passed, yet she appeared skeletal and sickly. Her wild hair had been trimmed and neatly braided, and her freckles had disappeared. Her skin—once golden—now appeared white. Ashen.

Morgane had suspended her in midair on her back, with her body bowed nearly in two. Her toes and fingertips just brushed the dais floor. Her head lolled back, forcing her long, slender throat to extend for the entire room to see. Displaying her scar prominently.

Rage unlike anything I’d ever felt exploded through me.

They were making a mockery of her.

Of my wife.

Two sets of hands gripped the back of my coat, but they weren’t necessary. I stood with preternatural stillness, eyes locked on Lou’s inert form.

Elinor stood on tiptoes to get a better look. She giggled behind her hand. “She’s not as pretty as I remember.”

Elaina sighed. “But look how slender she is.”

I turned to look at them. Slowly. The hands at my back tightened.

“Easy,” Beau breathed at my shoulder. “Not yet.”

I forced a deep breath. Not yet, I repeated to myself.

Not yet not yet not yet.

“What’s the matter with you three?” Elaina’s voice rang unnaturally loud in the hush of the room. Shrill and unpleasant.

Before we could answer, Morgane rose from her seat. The murmured conversation in the room died instantly. She smiled down at us with the air of a mother beholding her favorite child.

“Sisters!” She lifted her hands in supplication. “Blessed be!”

“Blessed be!” the witches hailed back in unison. A rapturous joy lit their faces. Alarm tempered my rage. Where was Madame Labelle?

Morgane took a step down the dais. I watched helplessly as Lou floated along behind her. “Blessed be thy feet,” Morgane cried, “which have brought thee in these ways!”

“Blessed be!” The witches clapped their hands and stomped their feet in wild abandon. Dread snaked down my spine as I watched them.

Morgane took another step. “Blessed be thy knees, that shall kneel at the sacred altar!”

“Blessed be!” Tears ran down the plump witch’s face. Beau watched her in fascination, but she didn’t notice. No one did.

Another step. “Blessed be thy womb, without which we would not be!”

“Blessed be!”

Morgane had fully descended now. “Blessed be thy breasts, formed in beauty!”

“Blessed be!”

She stretched her arms wide and threw her head back, chest heaving. “And blessed be thy lips, that shalt utter the Sacred Names of the gods!”

The witches’ cries rose to a tumult. “Blessed be!”

Morgane lowered her arms, still breathing heavily, and the witches gradually quieted.

“Welcome, sisters, and merry Modraniht!” Her indulgent smile returned as she stepped to the head of the middle table. “Draw near to me, please, and eat and drink your fill! For tonight we celebrate!”

The witches cheered once more, and they scrambled for the chairs nearest her.

“Consorts can’t sit at the tables,” Elaina called hastily over her shoulder. She rushed after her sister. “Va-t’en! Go stand by the wall with the others!”

Relief surged through me. We quickly joined the other consorts at the back wall.

Beau directed us toward one of the windows. “Here. I’m getting a headache from all the incense.”

The position offered an unimpeded view of Morgane. With a lazy wave of her hand, she called forth the food. Soon sounds of clinking cutlery joined the laughter echoing through the hall. A consort beside us turned and said in awe, “She is almost too beautiful to look upon, La Dame des Sorcières.”