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“How did Lou slit her mother’s throat? Morgane le Blanc was one of the most formidable creatures to ever walk the earth. How did Lou do it?”

I exhale a bit helplessly, my eyes darting between his. “She— Michal, she’s La Dame des Sorcières. Her magic—it—”

“How, Célie?”

“I stabbed her!” The words burst from me loudly and unexpectedly, but I can’t take them back. Fresh anger flares in response—because the words are true, because I shouldn’twantto take them back, because it shouldn’t matter what Jean Luc thinks, yet it does. It did. “I stabbed her with an injection of hemlock,and it incapacitated her long enough for Lou to finish the job. I would’ve done that too,” I say bitterly, wiping away furious tears, “if Lou would’ve faltered. I would’ve slid that knife across her mother’s throat, and I wouldn’t have regretted it for a single second.”

Though my tears fall thick and fast upon Michal’s hand, he doesn’t move to wipe them away. Instead, he leans forward until our faces are nearly touching. “Good,” he snarls. Then he thrusts the coffin lid open and propels us both into the ballroom, igniting the lamp and seizing my cloak from the floor before I can blink. “Here. Take it. We’ve docked in Cesarine, and we have approximately seven hours until sunrise. It’ll take at least four for us to reach Amandine.”

The sudden movement, however, sends my vision spiraling. Saliva coats my mouth, and my stomach lurches violently as I seize Michal’s arm to steady myself. Dizzy and disoriented.

Suddenly, it doesn’t matter that Amandine lies across the entire kingdom, that we can’t possibly reach it before sunrise. It doesn’t matter that my cheeks still glisten with tears; indeed, it doesn’t even matter that I just shared entirely too much with my mortal enemy—that hepattedmyhair.

No. I clap a hand to my mouth. The situation has grown too dire.

If you’re listening, God, I pray fervently, screwing my eyes shut in fierce concentration,please don’t let me vomit in front of Michal. I’ll never drink another drop of alcohol again, just please, please, don’t let me vomit in front of—

“Célie?” Alarmed, Michal tugs on his arm from my grip. “Are you going to—?”

But Godisn’tlistening, and I am anidiot, and—and—a moan escapes from between my fingers in answer. I never should’ve closed my eyes. I force them open now, but it’s too late: the room tilts, my throat tightens, and my entire body heaves. Before I can stop myself—before I can turn away, or perhaps throw myself in the sea—I spew acid-green vomit all over Michal’s shoes.

Just like he said I would.

Chapter Thirty-One

Eden

Michal doesn’t lie about reaching Amandine in four hours. It should be impossible, but I’m beginning to understand there is no such thing asimpossibleanymore—not when Les Éternels rule the night. After cleaning the mess from his shoes in long-suffering silence, Michal gestures for me to climb atop his back—which I vehemently refuse—before sighing, sweeping me into his arms, and whisking me into Cesarine.

“Wait—!” The wind takes my cry, however, and Michal only pushes faster, the city passing in a blur of browns and blacks and grays. At least it isn’t raining here; at the speed with which we now move, the drops would’ve bruised my face. As it is, Michal lurches to a halt twice, twisting me around just before I empty my stomach onto the street.

“Finished?” he asks dryly.

I’ve barely wiped my mouth the second time when he sets off again.

I suppress another low, pitiful moan, and Michal’s mouth twitches again like he wants to laugh. This entire evening has been humiliating,debasing, and I swear on everything holy that I’ll never drink anotherdropof alcohol again.

My stomach gradually settles as we cross into La Fôret des Yeux and its whispering pines. I hardly notice the way they’vesickened, their bows turning black and curling inward. What possessed me to drinkabsintheas my first crusade in the land of vice? Why did I ever agree to climb into a coffin with Michal? And why—why—did he treat me with such kindness inside it? Why did hecomfortme? My stomach twists anew at the gentleness with which he touched my hair. At the fierceness in his gaze when he forced me to admit the truth—that Lou couldn’t have killed Morgane without me. That we’d needed to do it together, or not at all.

It would’ve been so much easier if he’d been cruel.

A different kind of sickness spreads through me at the direction of my thoughts, and I shake myself mentally. Because it doesn’t matter if he showed me kindness tonight. He still plans to kill Coco, to lure my friends to their deaths—he stillkidnappedme—and one kind deed doesn’t outweigh a lifetime of horrid ones. Michal is still Michal, and to forget that would be the last mistake I ever make. He is not my friend—he will neverbemy friend—and the sooner we find the true killer, the sooner we can part ways forever.

I take a deep breath and nod.

It’s for the best.

Michal doesn’t take any road through the forest. He doesn’t need one. Though my hair grows wilder and wilder in the wind—which wrests tears from my eyes and the breath from my chest—Michal never slows, and he never tires. His footsteps never falter as the trees drift farther apart, and the hills around us rise into mountains.

Somewhere after Saint-Loire, I succumb to exhaustion and fall asleep.

He wakes me at the edge of the city with a murmured, “We’re here.”

Blearily, I blink at the streetlamp nearest us. It marks the beginning of Amandine, a glorious, sprawling city in the mountains. Warmth blooms through me at the sight of it, at the familiar smell: lichen and moss and damp earth, the sharp sting of cypress. Cesarine might be the political and industrial capital of Belterra, but I’ve always preferred Amandine’s libraries and museums and theaters. Before my father sold our estate here, my mother would host parties filled to the brim with artists—actual, genuine artists who painted and wrote and acted—and Filippa and I would fall asleep on the staircase, listening to their stories. They always seemed so magical. Sofantastical.

Michal sets me on my feet now.

Tonight, I suspect he’s going to show me an entirely different side of the city. Babette was a courtesan in Cesarine. It makes sense that she would’ve continued her work in Amandine. My heartbeat accelerates a bit at the possibilities, and by the wry slant of Michal’s lips, he hears it. “Three hours until sunrise,” he says before striding into the darkened street.