Ansel had been right about one thing, however. I couldn’t hold Reid fully accountable for what had happened to Estelle. He truly believed witches were evil. It was a part of him as much as his copper hair or towering height.

No, Estelle’s death wasn’t on Reid’s hands.

It was on mine.

Before Reid returned that evening, I crawled out of bed and dragged myself to his desk. My skin itched and burned as I healed—a constant reminder of the flames—but my limbs were a different story. My muscles and bones felt stiffer, heavier, as if they would pull me through the floor if they could. Each step to the desk was a struggle. Sweat beaded along my forehead, matted the hair on my neck.

Coco had said my fever would linger. I hoped it’d break soon.

Collapsing into the chair, I pulled the desk drawer open with the last of my energy. Reid’s faded old Bible still lay inside. With trembling fingers, I opened it and began to read—or tried to read, at least. His cramped handwriting filled every inch of the narrow margins. Though I brought the silk-thin pages clear to my nose, I couldn’t focus on the scripture without my vision swimming.

I tossed it back in the drawer with a disgruntled sigh.

Proving witches weren’t inherently evil might be harder than I anticipated.

Still, I’d formed a plan after Coco and Ansel had left this afternoon. If Ansel could be convinced we weren’t evil, perhaps Reid could too. In order to do that, I needed to understand his ideology. I needed to understand him. Cursing quietly, I rose to my feet once more, steeling myself for the descent into hell.

I’d have to visit the library.

Nearly a half hour later, I pushed open the dungeon door. A welcome draft of cold air swept across my sticky skin, and I sighed in relief. The corridor was quiet. Most of the Chasseurs had retired for the evening, and the rest were busy doing . . . whatever it was they did. Guarding the royal family. Protecting the guilty. Burning the innocent.

When I reached the library, however, the council room door swung open, and the Archbishop strolled out, licking what appeared to be icing from his fingers. In his other hand, he held a half-eaten sticky bun.

Shit. Before I could shove Angelica’s Ring in my mouth to disappear, he turned and spotted me. We both froze with our hands halfway to our mouth—equally absurd—but he recovered first, hiding the sticky bun hastily behind his back. A bit of icing remained on the tip of his nose.

“Louise! What—what are you doing down here?” He shook his head at my bewildered expression, clearing his throat, before rising to his full, inconsiderable height. “This is a restricted area. I must ask you to leave at once.”

“Sorry, I—” With a shake of my own head, I averted my gaze, looking anywhere but his nose. “I wanted to borrow a Bible.”

He stared at me as if I’d sprouted horns—ironic, given my request. “A what?”

“Is that a . . . bun?” I inhaled the cinnamon and vanilla deeply, brushing a strand of sweaty hair from my forehead. Despite the fever, saliva pooled in my mouth. I’d know that smell anywhere. That was my smell. What the hell was he doing with it? It didn’t belong in this dark, dismal place.

“Enough impertinent questions.” He scowled and wiped his fingers on the back of his robes surreptitiously. “If you truly seek to procure a Bible—which I doubt—I shall of course provide you with one, so long as you return to your room directly.” Reluctantly, his eyes assessed my face: the pale skin, the sweaty brow, the shadowed eyes. His expression softened. “You should be in bed, Louise. Your body needs time to—” He shook his head once more, catching himself, as if not quite sure what had gotten into him. I empathized. “Do not move from this spot.”

He pushed past me into the library, returning a moment later. “Here.” He thrust an ancient, dusty tome into my hands. Icing smeared the spine and cover. “Ensure you take care of it properly. This is the word of God.”

I ran my hand over the leather binding, tracing lines through the dust and icing. “Thank you. I’ll return it when I’m finished.”

“No need.” He cleared his throat again, frowning and clasping his hands behind his back. He looked as uncomfortable as I felt. “It is yours. A gift, if you will.”

A gift. The words sent a bolt of displeasure through me, and I was struck by the oddity of this situation. The Archbishop, hiding the icing on his fingers. Me, clutching a Bible to my chest. “Right. Well, I’m going to go—”

“Of course. I, too, must retire—”

We parted ways with equally awkward nods.

Reid opened the bedroom door quietly that night. I shoved the Bible beneath his bed and greeted him with a guilty “Hello!”

“Lou!” He nearly leapt out of his skin. I might’ve even heard him curse. Eyes wide, he tossed his coat on the desk and approached warily. “It’s late. What are you doing awake?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” My teeth chattered, and I burrowed deeper into the blanket in which I’d cocooned myself.

He touched a hand to my forehead. “You’re burning up. Have you visited the infirmary?”

“Brie said the fever would last a few days.”

When he moved to sit beside me on the bed, I clambered to my feet, abandoning my blanket. My muscles protested the sudden movement, and I winced, shivering. He sighed and stood as well. “I’m sorry. Please, sit. You need to rest.”

“No, I need to get this hair off my neck. It’s driving me mad.” Inexplicably furious, I yanked the offending strands away from my sensitive skin. “But my arms, they’re so . . . heavy . . .” A yawn eclipsed the rest of my words, and my arms drooped. I sank back onto the bed. “I can’t seem to hold them up.”

He chuckled. “Is there something I can do to help?”

“You can braid it.”

The chuckle died abruptly. “You want me to—to what?”

“Braid it. Please.” He stared at me. I stared back. “I can teach you. It’s easy.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“Please. I can’t sleep with it touching my skin.”

It was true. Between the scripture, the fever, and the lack of sleep, my mind whirled deliriously. Every brush of hair against my skin was agony—somewhere between cold and pain, tingle and ache.

He swallowed hard and stepped around me. A welcome shiver swept down my back at his presence, his proximity. His heat. He expelled a resigned breath. “Tell me what to do.”