He spat on the floor in disgust. “Marrying a blue pig. I didn’t think even you could stoop that low.”

Anger pricked in my chest, but this wasn’t the time or the place to pick a fight over my husband’s honor. “I did what I had to. I don’t expect you to understand.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. I do understand.”

“Oh?”

“We all do what we have to.” He eyed the pouch in my hand with a hungry expression. “I remember the copper dagger. I’d rather saw off my fingers than see it with a huntsman, but gold is gold. Stay here. I’ll go and fetch it.”

I shifted uneasily in the silence that followed, running my fingers over the money pouch.

Marrying a blue pig. I didn’t think even you could stoop that low.

I wanted to tell Abe he could piss off, but a part of me remembered what it felt like to hate the Chasseurs. To hate Reid. I remembered fleeing to the shadows when they passed, ducking every time I caught a glimpse of blue.

The fear was still there, but to my surprise . . . the hatred had gone.

I nearly jumped out of my skin at a small noise against the door. Probably a mouse. Mentally shaking myself, I straightened my shoulders. I didn’t hate the Chasseurs any longer, but they had made me complacent. And that was inexcusable.

Standing in my old haunt and jumping at nothing, I realized just how far my edge had slipped. And where the hell was Abe?

Inexplicably furious—at Abe, at Reid, at the Archbishop and every other godforsaken man who’d ever stood in my way—I whirled and stomped toward the side door Abe had disappeared through.

Fifteen minutes was long enough. Abe could take my couronnes and shove them up his ass for all I cared. I made to wrench the door open, determined to tell him just that, but stopped short when my hand touched the knob. My stomach sank.

The door was locked.

Shit.

I took a deep breath. Then another. Perhaps Abe hadn’t wanted me to follow him into his inner chambers. Perhaps he’d locked the door to prevent me from sneaking in and pocketing something valuable. I’d done it before. Perhaps he was just being cautious.

Still, a shiver swept down my spine as I turned to try the main door. Though I couldn’t see through the soot and grime of the window, I knew few revelers ventured this far down the street. I twisted the knob.

Locked.

Backing away, I tried to assess my options. The window. I could break it, climb out before—

The side door clicked open, and for a single, glorious second, I fooled myself into believing it was Abe’s hulking form in the door.

“Hello, Lou Lou.” Grue stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. “You’re a tricky little bitch to catch.”

Panic spiked through me as Andre appeared behind him, pulling a knife from his cloak. Abe’s dark eyes appeared over their shoulders. “You were right, Lou.” His lip curled. “We all do what we have to.” Then he turned and disappeared into the neighboring room, slamming the door behind him.

“Hello again, Grue. Andre, your eye healed nicely.” Forcing nonchalance despite my rising hysteria, I searched my peripheral vision for something I could use as a weapon: the barrel of water, the bag of sand, the rusted tongs by the forge. Or—or I could—

Gold flickered wildly in my periphery. My gaze flicked to the water, the bellows attached to the forge. We were in an enclosed space. No one would see me do it. No one would know I was here. I’d be gone long before Abe returned, and the chances of him alerting the constabulary or Chasseurs of my involvement were slim. He’d have to risk incriminating himself. He’d have to explain how two men were murdered in his smithy.

Because I would kill them if they touched me. One way or the other.

“You betrayed us,” Andre snarled. I inched toward the forge, turning my attention back to his knife. “We can’t hide anywhere. Those bastards know every one of our haunts. They almost killed us yesterday. Now we’re gonna kill you.”

A crazed gleam lit his eyes, and I knew better than to speak. Sweat coated my palms. One wrong move—one misstep, one mistake—and I’d be dead. The gold flared brighter, more urgent, snaking toward the hot coals in the forge.

Flame for flame. You know this pain. You know it fades. Burn him, the voice whispered.

I cringed away from it instinctively, remembering the agony of Estelle’s flames, and groped at another pattern. This one glittered innocently in the sand, hovered near Andre’s eyes—and my own. Blinding me.

An eye for an eye.

But I couldn’t surrender my vision for Andre’s. Not when there were two of them.

Think. Think, think, think.

I continued inching backward, patterns appearing and disappearing quicker than I could follow. Angelica’s Ring burned hot as I neared the forge. Of course. Cursing myself for not remembering it sooner, I slowly inched the band down my finger. Andre caught the movement, and his eyes narrowed when he saw the money pouch still clutched in my hand. Greedy bastard.

With a careful push of my thumb, I eased Angelica’s Ring over my knuckle—but it slid too quickly over the damp skin and clattered to the floor.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

I watched in horror as Grue’s foot came down on it. Eyes gleaming, he bent to retrieve it, a nasty smile splitting his face. My mouth went dry.

“So this is your magic ring. All this trouble for a speck of gold.” He pocketed the ring with a sneer, stalking closer. Andre shadowed his movements. “I never liked you, Lou. You’ve always thought you’re better than us, smarter than us, but you’re not. And you’ve crossed us too many times.”

He lunged, but I moved quicker. Seizing the tongs—ignoring the blistering heat on my palms—I smashed them across his face. The sickening smell of cooked flesh filled the room, and Grue staggered back. Andre charged forward, but I thrust the tongs at him next. He lurched to a halt just in time, rage contorting his features.

“Stay back!” I jabbed the tongs at him again for good measure. “Don’t come any closer!”

“I’m going to cut you into fucking pieces.” Grue dove at me again, but I dodged, swinging the tongs wildly. Andre’s knife slashed past my face. I jerked backward, but Grue was already there. His hand caught the end of the tongs, and he ripped them from my grasp with brutal force.

I flung my hand toward the sand bag, desperately guiding the pattern to his eyes—and away from mine.