Page 38

“Regrettably, Brigitte’s axe occupied most of my attention. Your sister made sure to watch.”

I choke on a laugh, unsure how else to respond, to deflect—not if he saw Filippa. Not when hedidsee Frederic’s broken body and hear Death’s parting words. Michal has never been stupid. The three of them appeared within moments of each other in the same location; he’ll have pieced together some sort of connection, even if he doesn’t understand it—not that I understand it much more than he does at this point.There are simply too many pieces on the board to make sense of anything. Revenants. Frederic. Filippa and Death, even Dimitri—

Dimitri.

I stumble on the ornate carpet at the sound of his voice overhead. If I focus, I can just hear the whoosh of his body as he vaults over the bulwark and lands lightly upon the deck. “What ishedoing here?” I snarl, whirling to face Michal and clinging desperately to my spark of anger. Anger is good. Anger is actionable.

Above us, Dimitri’s footsteps falter.He can hear me. Excellent.

“He stopped Brigitte from sticking said axe in my back.”

“Well, isn’t that convenient?”

“You would’ve preferred the alternative?”

“Of course not, but where has hebeen, Michal?” Scoffing, I turn away again to storm down the corridor before answering my own question. “I’ll tell you where—cozying up to my murderer to get a peek at his grimoire. It would explain why he hasn’t sought us out until now.”

“Would it?” Michal’s eyes flash when I glance behind. “I didn’t see the grimoire among Frederic’s remains, Célie. Do you know where it is?”

Yes, I want to say, but something stills the word on my tongue. I dart up another corridor instead, praying he’ll lose patience and abandon this very unpleasant conversation. “The grimoire is... gone,” I say when he doesn’t miss a single step. “We’ll need to—to find some other way to manage the revenants—”

“Who was the man, Célie?”

But Odessa glances up as we pass the open ballroom doors. “There you are,” she says from her desk. “Is that my brother I hear upstairs?”

At that, Michal finally stops short, seizing the doorframe with one hand to lean back and stare into the candlelit room at his cousin. She sits stiffly, gazing down at an open scroll without truly seeing it, her fingers white upon the parchment. “Yes,” Michal says carefully. “He returned half an hour ago.”

“He helped you escape the Chasseurs.” It isn’t a question, and she still doesn’t lift her eyes from the scroll. She must’ve overheard our conversation in the hall, or perhaps she could hear the chase itself, which means—

Michal’s eyes narrow. “Thank you very much foryourhelp, by the way.”

“You had the situation in hand.”

“Did I?” Michal’s scowl deepens as I skirt around him and hurry toward Odessa, who appears in desperate need of an ally. Dimitri, I notice, hasn’t yet sought out their grand reunion. Probably a wise decision. Hedidsnap her neck last month. “It felt a bit tenuous for a moment—probably as a revenant sank its teeth into my spine, and the huntsmen swarmed like ants.”

Odessa’s dark eyes simmer with anger as she finally looks up. No. Withhurt. My chest twists at the sight of it. Odessa loathes emotion, and she strives to avoid it at all costs; of course her twin’s disappearance affected her more than she showed. I should’ve realized it sooner, should’ve tried to—help, somehow, if she would’ve allowed it.

“What about the harbormaster?” Hastily, I plunk the basket of kittens onto her desk as the ship pitches beneath us. Through the wide windows of the ballroom—she tied open the heavy drapes to let in the dim morning light—the horizon begins to move. “He knows which ship is ours. He could tell the Chasseurs—”

A kitten with silver fur escapes the basket at that second, however, plunging into Odessa’s lap. Her lip curls in distaste as it begins to meow and climb the bodice of her deep wine-colored gown. “He won’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I persuaded him otherwise.” Nose wrinkling, she detaches the silver kitten and shoos it away while I try not to envision her persuasion tactics. “Why are there kittens on my desk, Célie?”

“You said sailors use them to catch rats on ships.” I gesture around us, acutely aware of Michal’s heavy gaze upon my face. “This is a ship, is it not?”

“You aren’t a sailor,” Michal says tersely.

I frown at him. He has every reason to be upset, of course—what with revenants and huntsmen attacking him all morning—yet I amtryingto distract his cousin. “I don’t need to be a sailor for cats to eat rats,” I tell him coolly. “And I couldn’t just leave them to rot in that shop—”

“So you’ll leave them to rot on Requiem instead?”

A muscle flexes in his jaw, and while there is nothing inherently menacing in the gesture, I resist the urge to take a step back. I’ve never before seen him look so—well,combative. Not with me. The ever-present ice in his expression seems to have cracked since chasing after me, revealing something that looks suspiciously like agitation.

I am not, however, in the mood for an agitated Michal.

“They won’trot.”