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Unable to conceal his smirk any longer, he brushes past me into the corridor. “As you wish.”

“Why did you want me to wear green?” I ask him suspiciously.

His only answer is a dark chuckle.

As when we arrived in Requiem, a single ship floats in the harbor. Michal doesn’t pause to see if I follow as he strides up the gangplank to the sailors who stack simple wooden boxes along the bow. Clutching a stitch in my side, cursing Michal and his preternatural speed, I hasten to follow. My teeth ache from the bitter wind. “Michal! Could youpleaseslow—?”

The question dies on my tongue, however, as the wooden boxes take shape in the lamplight. I skid to a halt atop the main deck, staring at them. “Caskets,” I breathe.

They’re stacking caskets.

Michal’s traveling cloak billows behind him as he turns. “Yes. Requiem, Ltd., is the majority supplier of caskets to Belterra.” When he smiles, his fangs glint coldly in the bolt of lightning overhead. Already, freezing mist coats our clothes, our hair. The storm tonight promises to be a nasty one. “We have quite the monopoly on the market. No one can compete with our prices. Come along.” His gaze flicks irritably toward the sky. “The storm is almost upon us.”

A deafening clap of thunder sounds in response, and I jolt forward, catching his sleeve as he speaks a command to one of the sailors. They work in that same rhythmic fashion as before—clearly under compulsion—stacking and stacking andstackingthecaskets until I can hardly see beyond the deck. “M-Michal.” My teeth chatter now, and my entire body trembles. It isn’t from the cold. “Why do you need to export c-caskets?”

“We don’t,” he says shortly, frowning and leading me belowdecks to the ballroom. Though someone has lit another lantern here, the light does nothing to assuage the knot in my chest. It only illuminates more caskets—these grander than the ones upstairs, carved from ebony and sandalwood with gilt trim, silk and satin linings. “We export them to smuggle vampires into Cesarine. Inspectors rarely lookinsidethe caskets.” A distant part of my mind registers that he saysrarelyinstead ofnever, but I can’t worry about those inspectors who do look inside. Not right now. “It’s much simpler this way. Cleaner. After the ship passes inspection, we slip into the city without notice. We won’t need to climb inside for another couple of hours, however. Not until we near the city.” He slips leather gloves from his pocket and hands them to me. “Here. Take these.”

But gloves are useless against the cold that grips me.

“Michal, I can’t—” The words die as my gaze lands on the coffin nearest him. It looks just like Filippa’s: rosewood, with two life-sized swans carved atop the lid, each wearing a laurel crown.Did Requiem, Ltd., produce her coffin too?Hot sick rushes up my throat at the thought, and I clamp my mouth shut to stop from vomiting all over Michal’s pristine boots. “I—I can’t just climb into a casket. I can’t.”

“I remember.” At this, he withdraws something else from his pocket—a strange glowing jewel. Perfectly round, it looks almost opaline, shot through with veins of luminous white and iridescent hues of blue, green, and purple. “Here. The last of the witchlights.A show of good faith from La Dame des Sorcières of old.” He presses the jewel into my hand, and another boom of thunder drowns out the sailors’ shouts as the ship lurches out to sea. When I tumble sideways, Michal steadies my arm, casting a dark look at the ceiling. “Along with the weather.”

I thrust the jewel back at him with trembling hands. Because light won’t help inside acasket. Nothing will keep away the scent of death, the feel of Pippa’s brittle hair in my mouth. Already, I choke on it, stumbling back a frantic step and knocking into the casket behind me. With a strangled noise, I leap sideways—awayfrom it—but I trip on my cloak and nearly crash to my knees instead.

Michal catches my elbows before I can fall.

His brows draw together as I sink to the floor anyway. He descends with me, kneeling now, his eyes tracking the rapid rise and fall of my chest. I know my pupils have dilated. His nostrils flare, and I know he scents my fear. I can do nothing to stop it, however, nothing to battle my body’s response when all I can see arecoffins. When all I can smell is summer honey androt. “What is it?” he asks in confusion. “What’s wrong?”

No one is coming to save us.

“I c-can’t get into a casket, Michal. Please, there must be another way.”

His frown deepens. “Your fiancé has ships all over these waters looking for you. The king has ordered inspections of every vessel. Squadrons of soldiers patrol the kingdom as we speak, and both huntsmen and witches alike scour the streets of Cesarine on orders from the Archbishop and La Dame des Sorcières. You’re the most sought-after person in the whole of Belterra—and that doesn’t even include the vicomte, who has offered a reward of ahundred thousand couronnes for your safe return. I believe you’re familiar with him.”

A shuddering laugh wracks my frame.

Yes, I’m familiar with him.

Lord Pierre Tremblay, humble servant of the Church and Crown, devoted husband and father, and a man I haven’t spoken to in almost a year. Under different circumstances, his reward of a hundred thousand couronnes for his daughter’s return might be touching. As it is, the vicomte doesn’t have two couronnes to rub together, and I still remember his last words to me, low and furious:No daughter of mine will disgrace herself with the Chasseurs. I won’t allow it. Do you hear me? You willnotbe joining—

“I can compel ordinary men to forget your face,” Michal says, replacing my father’s baleful green eyes with his black ones, “but if a Chasseur or Dame Blanche sees you, I’ll have to kill them.”

“No.” Gasping, I struggle to my feet, and Michal releases me instantly. “No killing.”

In any case, the risk is too great; we have no idea who’ll inspect this ship, and if anyone recognizes me, they’ll drag me back home to West End. I’ll never uncover the truth about the killer. I’ll never make sense of my strange new ability or the looming darkness, never have another chance to prove myself to my parents and Jean Luc and Frederic. I’ll be thrust once more into a glass box—no,locked—and this time, my parents will throw away the key.

No. That cannot happen.

My eyes dart wildly for another solution and land upon Odessa’s desk in the center of the ballroom. Her mountain of scrolls still lie atop it, but beside them, glinting dully in the lantern’s light—

Another bottle of absinthe.

Thank God.My heart leaps, and I lunge for the foul green liquid as if my life depends on it. When my hand closes around the bottle, however, Michal’s hand closes around my wrist. He shakes his head with a sardonic twist of his lips. “I don’t think so.”

“Let mego.” Though I jerk and twist to weaken his hold, it remains unbreakable. Surprisingly light, yes, but unbreakable all the same. I lift my chin. “I changed my mind. Icando this. I can climb into a casket.”

He snorts derisively. “With absinthe?”