Lavender-scented bubbles and warm water were lapping around my ribs when my husband returned later that afternoon. His voice echoed through the walls. “Is she in there?”
“Yes, but—”
The tête carrée didn’t pause to listen or to question why Ansel stood in the corridor instead of in the bedroom. I grinned in anticipation. Though he was going to ruin my bath, the look on his face would make up for it.
Sure enough, he burst into the bedroom a second later. I watched as his eyes swept the room, searching for me.
Ansel had removed the washroom door in an attempt to patch the hole my husband had punched through it earlier, but I hadn’t waited for him to finish. The frame now stood gloriously empty, a perfect showcase for my soapy, naked skin. And his humiliation. It didn’t take long for him to find me. That same, wonderful choking noise burst from his throat, and his eyes widened.
I gave a cheery wave. “Hello there.”
“I—what are you—Ansel!” He nearly collided with the doorframe in his effort to flee. “I asked you to fix the door!”
Ansel’s voice rose hysterically. “There wasn’t time—”
With a growl of impatience, my husband slammed the bedroom door shut.
I imagined a bubble as his face and flicked it. Then another. And another. “You’re very rude to him, you know.”
He didn’t speak. Probably trying to control the blood rushing to his face. I could still see it, though. It crept up his neck and blended into his coppery hair. Leaning forward, I folded my arms over the edge of the tub. “Where have you been?”
His back stiffened, but he didn’t turn. “We didn’t catch them.”
“Andre and Grue?”
He nodded.
“So what happens now?”
“We have Chasseurs monitoring East End. With any luck, we’ll apprehend them soon, and they’ll each spend several years in prison for assault.”
“After they give you information on my friend.”
“After they give me information on the witch.”
I rolled my eyes, flinging water at the back of his head. It soaked his copper hair and cascaded down the collar of his shirt. He whirled indignantly, fists clenched—then stopped short, slamming his eyes shut.
“Can you put something on?” He waved a hand in my direction, the other firmly pressed against his eyes. “I can’t talk to you when you’re sitting there—sitting there—”
“Naked?”
His teeth clamped together with an audible snap. “Yes.”
“Sorry, but no. I haven’t finished washing my hair yet.” I slid back beneath the bubbles with an irritated sigh. Water lapped against my collarbone. “But you can look now. All my fun bits are covered.”
He cracked an eye open. Upon seeing me safely beneath the foam, he relaxed—or relaxed as much as someone like him was capable. He had a permanent stick up his ass, this husband of mine.
He moved closer cautiously and leaned against the empty doorframe. I ignored him, dumping more of the lavender soap in my palm. We were both silent as he watched me lather my hair.
“Where did you get those scars?” he asked.
I didn’t pause. Though mine were nothing compared to Coco’s and Babette’s, I still had quite a few. A hazard of a life on the streets. “Which ones?”
“All of them.”
I risked a glance at him then, and my heart plummeted when I realized he was staring at my throat. I directed him to my shoulder instead, pointing at the long, jagged line there. “Ran into the wrong end of a knife.” I held up my elbow to show him another speckling of scars. “Tangled with a barbed-wire fence.” Tapped beneath my collarbone. “Another knife. That one hurt like a bitch too.”
He ignored my language, eyes inscrutable as he stared at me. “Who did it?”
“Andre.” I dipped my hair back into the water, smiling when he averted his eyes. Hair clean, I wrapped my arms around my shins and rested my chin on my knees. “He got the jump on me when I first arrived in the city.”
He sighed heavily, as if he were suddenly weary. “I’m sorry we didn’t find them.”
“You will.”
“Oh?”
“They aren’t the brightest. They’ll probably show up here by morning, demanding to know why you’re searching for them.”
He chuckled and rubbed his neck, emphasizing the curve of his bicep. He’d rolled up his shirtsleeves since the interrogation, and I couldn’t help but trace the long line of his forearm to his hand. To his callused fingers. To the fine, copper hair dusting his skin.
He cleared his throat and dropped his arm hastily. “I should go. We’re interrogating Madame Labelle soon. Then the other one—the thief at Tremblay’s. Bastien St. Pierre.”
My heart stopped, and I pitched forward, sloshing bubbles and water in every direction. “Not Bas?” He nodded, eyes narrowing. “But—but he escaped!”
“We found him skulking outside a back entrance to Soleil et Lune.” Disapproval radiated from him. “It’s just as well. The constabulary would’ve arrested him sooner or later. He killed one of Tremblay’s guards.”
Holy hell. I sat back, chest tightening as panic clawed up my throat, and fought to control my breathing. “What will happen to him?”
His eyebrows drew together in surprise. “He’ll hang.”
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
Of course Bas had been arrested. Of course he’d murdered a guard instead of knocking him unconscious. Why had the idiot been at Soleil et Lune in the first place? He’d known they were looking for him. He’d known. Why hadn’t he fled? Why hadn’t he been halfway across the sea? Why hadn’t he been, well, Bas?
Despite the warm bathwater, gooseflesh rose on my skin. Could he . . . could he have come back for me? Hope and despair warred in my chest, equally hideous, but panic soon conquered them both.
“You have to let me see him.”
“That’s out of the question.”
“Please.” I loathed the word, but if he refused—if pleading didn’t work—I’d have only one option. Magic outside the infirmary was a huge risk, but it was one I’d have to take.
Because Bas knew about Coco, yes—but he also knew about me.
I wondered how much information on two witches was worth. His life? His prison sentence? A fair trade in the eyes of the Chasseurs, and one Bas was sure to make. Even if he had come back for me, he wouldn’t hesitate with his life in the balance.
I cursed myself for confiding in him. I’d known his character. I’d known who he was, yet still I’d allowed myself to relax, to spill my deepest secrets. Well—one of them, anyway. And now I would pay the price, as would Coco.
Stupid. So, so stupid.
“Please,” I repeated.
My husband blinked at the word, clearly stunned. But his shock soon gave way to suspicion. He scowled. “Why are you so concerned about him?”
“He’s a friend.” I didn’t care that my voice sounded desperate. “A dear friend.”
“Of course he is.” At my pained expression, he glared at the ceiling and added, almost reluctantly, “He’ll have a chance to save himself.”
“How so?”
Though I already knew the answer, I held my breath, dreading his next words.
“The witch is still our priority,” he confirmed. “If he gives us information that leads to its capture, his sentence will be reevaluated.”
I clutched the edge of the tub for support, forcing myself to remain calm. My other hand rose to stroke the scar at my throat—an instinctive, agitated gesture.
After a long moment, his voice drifted toward me on a whisper. “Are you well? You look . . . pale.”
When I didn’t answer, he strode across the room and crouched beside the tub. I didn’t care that the bubbles were thinning. Apparently, neither did he. He reached out and touched a strand of hair by my ear. Soap came away on his fingers. “You missed a spot.”
I said nothing as he pooled water in his palm and let it trickle down my hair, but my breath caught when his fingers hovered above my throat. “How did you get this one?” he murmured.
Swallowing hard, I searched for a lie and found none. “That’s a story for another day, Chass.”
He leaned back on his heels, blue eyes searching my face.
I covered the scar instinctively and stared at my reflection in the soapy water. After everything I’d been through—after everything I’d endured—I would not burn for Bas. I was no one’s sacrifice. Not then. Not now. Not ever.
There was only one thing to do.
I would have to save him.
My husband left me a few moments later to return to the council room. Vaulting from the tub, I hastened to find the candle I’d hidden within the linen cupboard. I’d nicked it from the sanctuary during Ansel’s tour yesterday. With quick, practiced movements, I lit the wax and set it on the desk. Herbal smoke immediately overpowered the room, and I sighed in relief. The smell wasn’t quite right, but it was close enough. By the time he returned, the magic would’ve faded. Hopefully.
After pacing the room frenetically for several long minutes, I forced myself to sit on the bed. Waited impatiently for Ansel to return.
He was young. Easily turned, perhaps. At least that’s what I told myself.
After an eternity and a day, he knocked on the door.
“Come in!”
He walked into the room warily, eyes darting to the washroom. Clearly checking to make sure I was properly clothed.
I stood and took a deep breath, steeling myself for what was to come. I could only hope Ansel wasn’t wearing his Balisarda.
Smiling coyly, I locked eyes with him as he stepped farther into the room. My skin tingled in anticipation. “I missed you.”
He blinked at my strange voice, brows furrowing. Sauntering closer, I placed a hand on his forearm. He made to jerk away but paused at the last second. He blinked again.
I drew up against his chest and drank in his scent—his essence. My skin shone against the pale blue of his coat. We gazed at the glow together, lips parting. “So strong,” I breathed. The words flowed deep and resonant from my lips. “So worthy. They have made a mistake in underestimating you.”
A range of emotions flitted across his face at my words—at my touch.
Confusion. Panic. Desire.
I trailed a finger down his cheek. He didn’t lean away from the contact. “I see the greatness in you, Ansel. You will kill many witches.”
His eyelashes fluttered softly, and then—nothing. He was mine. I wrapped my arms around his narrow waist, glowing all the brighter. “Will you help me?” He nodded, eyes wide as he stared down at me. I kissed his palm and closed my eyes, breathing deeply. “Thank you, Ansel.”
The rest was easy.
I allowed him to lead me to the dungeon. Instead of proceeding down the narrow stairwell to the council room, however, we veered right, to the cells where they held Bas. The Chasseurs—my husband included—still questioned Madame Labelle, and only two guards stood outside the cells. They wore pale blue coats like Ansel.
They turned to us in bewilderment as we approached, their hands immediately reaching for weapons—but not Balisardas. I smiled as shimmering, golden patterns materialized between us. They thought they were safe inside their Tower. So foolish. So careless.
Catching at a web of patterns, I clenched my fists and sighed as my affectionate memories of Bas—the love I’d once felt, the warmth he’d once brought me—slipped into oblivion. The guards crumpled to the floor, and the cords disappeared in a burst of shimmering dust. Memory for memory, the voice in my head crooned. A worthy price. It is better this way.
Bas’s eyes shone triumphant as he beheld me. I drifted closer to the cell, tilting my head to the side as I examined him. They’d shaved his head and stubble in prison to prevent lice. It didn’t suit him.
“Lou!” He clenched the bars and pressed his face between them. Panic flared in his eyes. “Thank god you’re here. My cousin tried to bond me out, but they wouldn’t listen. They’re going to hang me, Lou, if I don’t tell them about Coco—” He broke off, true fear distorting his features at the distant, otherworldly look on my face. My skin glowed brighter. Ansel dropped to his knees behind me.
“What are you doing?” Bas ground his palms against his eyes in an attempt to fight off the charm emanating from me. “Don’t do this. I—I’m sorry I left you at Tremblay’s. You know I’m not as brave, or as—as clever as you and Coco. It was wrong of me. I should’ve stayed—I should’ve h-helped . . .”
A shudder wracked his body as I drew closer, and I smiled, small and cold. “Lou, please!” he begged. Another shudder—stronger this time. “I wouldn’t have told them anything about you. You know that! No—please, don’t!”
His shoulders drooped, and when his hands fell to his sides once more, his face was blissfully blank.
“So clever, Bas. So cunning. You always had such pretty words.” I cupped his face through the cell door. “I am going to give you something, Bas, and in return, you are going to give something to me. How does that sound?” He nodded and smiled. I leaned closer and kissed his lips. Tasted his breath. He sighed in contentment. “I am going to free you. All I ask for in return are your memories.”
I tightened my fingers on his cheek—on the gold swirling around his handsome face. He didn’t struggle as my fingernails bit into his skin, pricked the tiny silver scar on his jaw. I wondered briefly how he’d gotten it.
When I finished—when the golden mist had stolen every memory of my face and Coco’s from his mind—Bas fell to the floor. His face bled due to my nails, but otherwise, he would recover. I bent to retrieve the keys from the guard’s belt and dropped them beside him. Then I turned to Ansel.
“Your turn, precious.” I knelt next to him and wrapped my hands around his shoulders, brushing my lips against his cheek. “This might hurt a little.”
Concentrating on the scene before us, I stole the memory from Ansel’s mind. It took only a few seconds before he too fell to the floor.
I struggled to remain conscious, but black seeped into the edges of my vision as I repeated the process on the guards. I had to pay the price. I had taken, and now I must give. Nature demanded balance.
Swaying slightly, I toppled over Ansel and surrendered to the darkness.
I blinked awake a short time later. My head throbbed, but I ignored it, climbing hastily to my feet. The cell door was open, and Bas was gone. Ansel, however, showed no signs of stirring.
I bit my lip, deliberating. He’d be punished if found outside a prisoner’s empty cell, especially with two guards unconscious at his feet. Worse, he’d have no memory of how he’d gotten there and no way to defend himself.
Scowling, I massaged my temples and tried to formulate a plan. I needed to hurry—needed to somehow wash the smell of magic from my skin before the Chasseurs caught up to me—but I couldn’t just leave him. Seeing no other alternative, I hoisted him up beneath his armpits and dragged him away. We’d only made it a few paces when my knees began to buckle. He was heavier than he looked.
Angry voices reached me when I neared the staircase. Though Ansel was finally beginning to stir, I wasn’t strong enough to haul him up each step. The voices grew louder. Cursing silently, I pushed him through the first door I saw and edged it shut behind us.
My breath left me in a relieved whoosh when I straightened and looked around. A library. We were in a library. Small and unadorned—like everything else in this wretched place—but still a library.
Footsteps stormed up and down the corridor, and more voices added to the cacophony.
“He’s gone!”
“Search the Tower!”
But the library door remained—miraculously—closed. Praying it would remain that way, I heaved Ansel into one of the reading chairs. He blinked at me, his eyes struggling to focus, before slurring, “Where are we?”
“The library.” I threw myself into the chair next to him and pulled a book at random from the shelf. Twelve Treatises of Occult Extermination. Of course. My hands shook with the effort not to rip the hideous pages from their binding. “We were just in the infirmary with Father Orville and Co— er, Mademoiselle Perrot. You brought me down here to—to—” I tossed Twelve Treatises on the nearest table and reached for the leather-bound Bible beside it. “To educate me. That’s it.”
“W-What?”
I groaned as the door burst open, and my husband and Jean Luc pounded in.
“It was you, wasn’t it?” Jean Luc advanced toward me with murder in his eyes.
My husband stepped forward, but Ansel was already there. He swayed slightly on his feet, but his eyes sharpened at Jean Luc’s approach. “What are you talking about? What’s happened?”
“The prisoner escaped,” Jean Luc snarled. Beside him, my husband stilled, his nostrils flaring. Shit. The smell. It still clung to Ansel and me like a second skin, trailing from the empty cell straight to us. “His cell is empty. The guards were knocked unconscious.”
I was doomed. Good and truly doomed this time. Gripping the Bible tighter to keep my hands from trembling, I met each of their gazes with forced calm. At least the Chasseurs would burn me. Not a drop of my blood would be spilled. I savored that small victory.
My husband watched me through narrowed eyes. “What . . . is that smell?”
More footsteps thudded outside, and Coco skidded into the room before I could answer. A fresh wave of sickly-sweet air washed over us at her arrival, and my heart lodged firmly in my throat.
“I overhead the priests talking about the prisoner’s escape!” Her breath came out in short pants, and she clutched her side. When her eyes found mine, however, she nodded reassuringly and straightened, ensuring her white healer’s robes still covered every inch of her skin. “I came to see if I could help.”
Jean Luc’s nose wrinkled in distaste at the reek emanating from her. “Who are you?”
“Brie Perrot.” She swept into a curtsy, rapidly regaining her composure. “I’m the new healer in the infirmary.”
He frowned, unconvinced. “Then you know healers aren’t allowed free rein of the Tower. You shouldn’t be down here, especially with a prisoner roaming free.”
Coco skewered him with a pointed look before appealing to my husband instead. “Captain Diggory, your wife accompanied me earlier while I read the patients Proverbs. Ansel escorted her. Isn’t that right, Ansel?”
God, she was brilliant.
Ansel blinked at us, confusion clouding his eyes once more. “I—yes.” He frowned and shook his head, obviously trying to account for the gap in his memories. “You took a bath, but we—we did go to the infirmary.” His eyes narrowed in concentration. “I . . . I prayed with Father Orville.”
I breathed a sigh of relief, hoping Ansel’s memories stayed muddled.
“He can confirm?” my husband asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Charming. However, that doesn’t explain why the cell reeked of magic.” Clearly irritated by Coco’s dismissal, Jean Luc glowered between the three of us. “Or the unconscious guards.”
Coco fixed him with a razor-sharp smile. “Unfortunately, I was called away to attend a patient before I could instruct Madame Diggory in washing properly. She and Ansel left shortly after.”
My husband’s eyes nearly burned my face. “Naturally, you came here instead of returning to our room.”
I willed myself to look repentant, returning the Bible to the table. With any luck, we might just be able to survive this mess. “Ansel wanted to teach me some verses, and I . . . I went to see him in his cell. Bas.” Fidgeting with a lock of hair, I looked up at him through lowered lashes. “You said he might be hanged, and I wanted to speak with him . . . before. One last time. I’m sorry.”
He said nothing. Only glared at me.
“And the guards?” Jean Luc asked.
I rose and gestured to my small frame. “You really think I could knock two fully grown men unconscious?”
My husband’s reply came instantaneously. “Yes.”
Under different circumstances, I would’ve been flattered. Now, however, his unwavering faith in my abilities was damnably inconvenient.
“They were unconscious when I arrived,” I lied. “And Bas was already gone.”
“Why didn’t you inform us at once? Why flee?” Jean Luc’s pale eyes narrowed, and he stepped forward until I was forced to look up at him to maintain eye contact. I scowled.
Fine. If he wanted to intimidate, I could play along.
I broke our gaze and looked down at my hands, chin quivering. “I—I confess I’m sometimes inhibited by the weaknesses of my sex, monsieur. When I saw Bas had escaped, I panicked. I know it’s no excuse.”
“Good Lord.” Rolling his eyes at my tears, Jean Luc shot an exasperated look at my husband. “You can explain this one to His Eminence, Captain. I’m sure he’ll be delighted by another failure.” He stalked toward the door, dismissing us. “Return to the infirmary, Mademoiselle Perrot, and take care to remember your place in the future. Healers are granted access only to contained locations—the infirmary, its dormitories, and the back stairwell. If you wish to visit any other area of the Tower, you’re expected to wash and undergo inspection. As you’re new to the Tower, I’ll overlook your misstep this once, but I will be speaking to the priests. They’ll ensure we don’t repeat this little adventure.”
If Coco could’ve exsanguinated someone, I was sure she would’ve done it just then. I hastened to intervene. “This is my fault. Not hers.”
Jean Luc raised a dark brow, inclining his head. “How silly of me. You’re right, of course. If you hadn’t disobeyed Reid, all of this could’ve been avoided.”
Though I’d asked for the blame, I still bristled at the reproach. Clearly, my husband wasn’t the most pompous ass of all the asses; the title unequivocally belonged to Jean Luc. I’d just opened my mouth to tell him so when my inopportune husband interrupted.
“Come here, Ansel.”
Ansel swallowed hard and stepped forward, clasping his quaking hands behind his back. Unease flitted through me.
“Why did you allow her in the infirmary?”
“I told you, I invited—” Coco started, but she stopped abruptly at the look on my husband’s face.
Ansel’s cheeks tinged pink, and he glanced to me, eyes pleading. “I—I only took Madame Diggory up there because—because—”
“Because we have an obligation to those poor souls. The healers are swamped—overworked and understaffed. They hardly have time to tend to the patients’ basic needs, let alone nourish their spiritual welfare.” When he remained unconvinced, I added, “Also, I was singing a bawdy song and refused to stop until he took me.” I bared my teeth in an attempt at a smile. “Would you like to hear it? It’s about a lovely woman called Big Titty—”
“Enough.” Anger blazed in his eyes—true anger, this time. Not humiliation. Not irritation. Anger. He looked between the three of us slowly, deliberately. “If I find out any of you are lying, I’ll show you no mercy. You’ll all be punished to the full extent of the law.”
“Sir, I swear—”
“I told you the infirmary was forbidden.” His voice was hard and unforgiving as he looked at Ansel. “I expected my wife to disobey me. I didn’t expect it from you. You’re dismissed.”
Ansel dropped his head. “Yes, sir.”
Outrage washed over me as I watched him shuffle dejectedly to the door. I moved to follow him—yearning to hug him or otherwise console him somehow—but my pigheaded husband caught my arm. “Stay. I’d like a word with you.”
I wrenched my arm away and fired up at once. “And I’d like a word with you. How dare you blame Ansel? As if any of this is his fault!”
Jean Luc heaved a long-suffering sigh. “I’ll escort you to the infirmary, Mademoiselle Perrot.” He extended his arm to her, clearly bored with the direction the conversation had taken. Her answering glare was withering. Scowling, he turned to leave without her, but Ansel had paused on the threshold, blocking the way. Tears clung to his lashes as he looked back at me, eyes wide—shocked that someone had spoken up for him. Jean Luc prodded his back impatiently, muttering something I couldn’t hear. My blood boiled.
“He was charged with watching you.” My husband’s eyes blazed, oblivious to everyone but me. “He failed in his duty.”
“Oh, ta gueule!” I crossed my arms to keep from wrapping my hands around his throat. “I’m a grown-ass woman, and I’m perfectly capable of making my own choices. This is no one’s fault but mine. If you’re going to bully anyone, it should be me, not Ansel. The poor kid can’t catch a break with you—”
His face nearly purpled. “He isn’t a child! He’s training to become a Chasseur, and if that should happen, he must learn to take responsibility—”
“Ansel, move,” Jean Luc said flatly, interrupting our tirade. He finally managed to push Ansel through the door. “As entertaining as this is, some of us have work to do, prisoners to find, witches to burn . . . those sorts of things. Mademoiselle Perrot, you’re expected in the infirmary in ten minutes. I will be checking.” He gave us both one last irritated look before stomping from the room. Coco rolled her eyes and moved to follow, but she hesitated on the threshold. Her eyes held a silent question.
“It’s fine,” I muttered.
She nodded once, shooting my husband an irritated look of her own, before closing the door behind her.
The silence between us was blistering. I half expected the books to catch fire. It would’ve been fitting, given every book in this hellish place was evil. I eyed Twelve Treatises of Occult Extermination with newfound interest, picking it up as golden patterns shimmered into existence around me. If I hadn’t been so furious, I would’ve startled. It’d been a long time since unbidden patterns had appeared in my mind’s eye. Already, I could feel my magic awakening, desperate for freedom after years of repression.
It would just take a spark, it coaxed. Relinquish your anger. Set the page aflame.
But I didn’t want to relinquish my anger. I wanted to throttle my husband with it.
“You lied to us.” His voice cut sharply through the silence. Though I continued staring at the book, I could clearly picture the vein in his throat, the taut muscles of his jaw. “Madame Labelle told us the witch’s name is Cosette Monvoisin, not Alexandra.”
Yes, and she’s currently contemplating how to drain all the blood from your body. Perhaps I should help her. Instead, I chucked Twelve Treatises of Occult Extermination at his head. “You knew I was a snake when you picked me up.”
He caught it before it could break his nose, throwing it back at me. I dodged, and it crumpled to the floor where it belonged. “This isn’t a game!” he shouted. “We are charged with keeping this kingdom safe. You’ve seen the infirmary! Witches are dangerous—”
My hands curled into fists, and the patterns around me flickered wildly. “As if Chasseurs are any less so.”
“We’re trying to protect you!”
“Don’t ask me to apologize, because I won’t!” A ringing started in my ears as I stormed toward him—as I placed both hands on his chest and pushed. When he didn’t budge, a snarl tore from my throat. “I will always protect those who are dear to me. Do you understand? Always.”
I pushed him again, harder this time, but his hands caught my own and trapped them against his chest. He leaned down, raising a copper brow. “Is that so?” His voice was soft again. Dangerous. “Is that why you helped your lover escape?”
Lover? Baffled, I lifted my chin to glare at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“So you deny it, then? That he’s your lover?”
“I said,” I repeated, staring pointedly at his hands around mine, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Bas isn’t my lover, and he never has been. Now let me go.”
To my surprise, he released me—hastily, as if startled he’d been touching me in the first place—and stepped back. “I can’t protect you if you lie to me.”
I charged to the door without looking at him. “Va au diable.”
Go to hell.
