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My heart stops at the sound.

“Oh my God.” Whatever fury I felt vanishes instantly, and Idrop to my knees, shoving his Balisarda at him while also attempting to haul him to his feet, to brush the muck from his coat. “Are you all right? I’m so sorry, Jean, I didn’t mean—” He pushes my hands away, however, his face colder and angrier than I’ve ever seen it. Seizing his Balisarda, he climbs stiffly to his feet, and I clamber after him, feeling sicker with each second. “Please, believe me, I never wanted to—”

“Go.”

He speaks the word simply, irrevocably, and my outstretched hands freeze between us. Without looking at me, he takes the hen from Reid, who has gone pale and still, and returns her to the others in their cage. Over his shoulder, he says, “And don’t come back.”

Part IV

Quand on parle du loup, on en voit la queue.

When we talk about the wolf, we see its tail.

Chapter Forty-Two

The Invisible Princess

Truthfully, I remember very little of the journey back to Requiem.

I remember even less of departing the ship, of stumbling down the gangplank after Michal and the others. He must’ve led us through the crowded market and toward the castle—one foot must’ve stepped in front of the other—but I’ll never know exactly how I found my room, how I stripped off my bloodstained gown and collapsed into this squashy armchair by the fire.

Michal didn’t follow.

Perhaps he sensed I needed to be alone, needed to think, and couldn’t do that if he hovered—that, and I saw him steering Dimitri toward his study for their very long discussion, which means I’m wasting precious time by staring idly into these flames. I should be scouring the corridors for Dimitri’s room, picking the lock, and searching for anything that connects him to my sister. Perhaps Michal can wring the whole truth from his cousin, but perhaps he also cannot, which means the time to act isnow. Who knows when another opportunity might arise?

Unfortunately, my body refuses to move.

Odessa clicks her tongue irritably and rifles through the armoire behind the silk screen. Mist from outside still clings to her woolen cape and polished boots, and her damp parasol leans against the baluster. “You didn’t need to follow me,” I tell her.

“I did notfollowyou, darling. Iaccompaniedyou.”

“You didn’t need toaccompanyme, then.” Rubbing away the beads of moisture on Filippa’s cross, I trace its smooth edges with my thumb. When my nail catches on the secret latch, I sigh and replace the entire thing beneath my collar, feeling sick and confused and exhausted in general. I need to get up; I need to search Dimitri’s room. A shiver wracks my frame instead, and my stomach rumbles. “Michal promised no harm would come to me here, and even if he didn’t, I doubt anyone is keen to attack after what happened in the aviary.”

“You underestimate their agitation at the moment. All Hallows’ Eve is tomorrow, and Michal has effectively trapped us all here like rats in a cage—Priscille’s words, not mine,” she adds, thoroughly unconcerned, when I throw her a dubious look. She plucks a rose-colored satin gown from the rest. “You’re also acting strange.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re always abitstrange, of course—what with all the Bride and Necromancer nonsense—but your behavior has been stranger than usual since we left Amandine. You said less than a handful of words on our return to Cesarine, and you said even less on the ship back to Requiem—unless you count that rather horrid encounter with your fiancé in between, and I’d rather not acknowledge him at all. The man is a complete and utter ass, and I quite agree that you made the right decision in breaking the engagement.”

I stare at her in disbelief. Inshock. Disregarding the fact thatOdessahas the nerve to call anyone strange, I never expected her to be quite so... so perceptive. Perhaps because she talks so muchabout the human eyeball and early Church, or perhaps because she usually dons such a supreme look of boredom. “He isn’t an ass,” I mutter defensively.

She looks anything but bored now. Peering over at me with those clever, catlike eyes, she asks, “Is that why you’ve been so quiet? Your rotten fiancé?”

I look away quickly. “Ex-fiancé.”

“Yes. Him.” When I fail to answer, she strides toward me and snaps her sharp fingers, motioning for me to stand. I comply reluctantly. “Or... perhaps you regret the heinous accusation you made about my brother?” She purses her plum lips before wrenching the rose-colored gown over my head. “No, that isn’t it either.Perhapsyou maintain that he murdered our cousin instead, and you’re still plotting the demise of the entire vampire race. Am I getting warmer?”

“Drat. You found me out.”

Scowling now, she cinches the stays of the gown extra tight. “I think you’re hiding something, Célie Tremblay.”

I cannot bring myself to argue, crawling back into my armchair and lifting my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around them. Staring fixedly at the fire. “Did you kill her?” I ask instead. “Priscille?”

“And what if I did? She certainly would’ve killedyou.” Then—before I can press her for a true answer—she perches in the other armchair and asks, “Have you really spoken to Mila?” Though her tone remains casual,toocasual, her eyes belie her interest as I nod, unable to muster the energy to lie or deflect either. She plucks a book from the table between us without checking its title. “And did she—did she say whether she would visit again? It isn’t that Imissher, per se, but if Ihappenedto see her—”

“The last time I spoke with Mila, she made it clear that she couldn’t help us.”

Odessa rolls her eyes. “Charming as always, my cousin, yet I do notneedher help. I simply want to—well, talk to her, I suppose.”