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“But what are you—?”

At that moment, however, a disturbance sounds from the ship, and all four of us turn as a member of Michal’s crew races forward. Eyes wide, he bows low and addresses Michal breathlessly. “My apologies, mon roi, but you must come see—”

“What is it?” Dimitri asks curiously.

“Stowaways!” The young man straightens hastily and points to the ship, his cheeks ruddy with excitement. “Two of them from Cesarine!”

To my surprise, Michal doesn’t move; he doesn’t even turn, instead sighing heavily as if—as ifresigned. “Where are they?”

“Here, of course,” Lou says with a grin.

She strolls into sight with the air of one promenading through their garden on a sunny afternoon, which is almost laughable considering the bedlam in her wake. Michal’s crew sprints after her with shouts of alarm, while the nearest vampires draw back with soft hisses of disbelief. Of fury. They must recognize her from All Hallows’ Eve, or perhaps they sense the power rolling off her in waves. Either way, they are not pleased, and nothing about Louise le Blanc’s presence in Requiem bodes well for Michal.

“You look much better, Célie,” she says to me. “Funny, that—who would’ve known food suits you?”

Her own skin remains pale, however—toopale—and thosepurplish bruises still linger beneath her eyes. Fingers trembling slightly, she looks almost feral in Reid’s nightshirt—which she hastily tucked into worn leather pants—while a three-eyed raven perches precariously on her shoulder.Talon.A treasured pet, while also a symbol of the le Blanc family and her personal spy. But how did they—?

My stomach plummets through the carriage floor at who steps out behind them.

Quite suddenly, my confusion over the row between Michal and Odessa vanishes, as does all concern for Lou. Indeed, every thought in my head departs at the sight of the austere woman marching toward me. With each sharp click of her heels, she seems tosnip, snip, snipall the strings tethering me to reality.

“Oh no,” I whisper, half rising.

Oh no oh no oh no—

Leaning over to peer out the carriage window, Odessa says, “A relation of yours, I presume?”

I cannot bring my lips to move again, however. They’ve gone quite numb.

Because Satine Tremblay is the last woman in the world who should be on Requiem. Chin held high—back straight and stiff as an iron poker—she follows Lou with a look of utmost contempt on her beautiful face. Not a hair of her intricate chignon out of place, not a crease in her iris-blue gown. Though she holds a parasol high overhead, even the sleet seems to fear her. Not a drop dares to land upon her person.

Hastily, I refasten Michal’s cloak over my nightgown and attempt to smooth my tangled mass of hair. A ridiculous impulse, of course, because—because—

Because this cannot be happening.The silver strands of hair at her temples wink in the torchlight, but my mind rejects them just as violently as the rest of her. It isn’t possible. I would’ve smelled herandLou if they hid on the ship, but beyond that, she just—she cannot be here.

For one wild, irrational second, I think to hide, toflee, as her emerald eyes lock with mine.

They pin me in place, narrowing infinitesimally as she inspects my new face. Only a lifetime of etiquette training prevents me from slumping in my seat.I never told her I became a vampire.I never told heranything, yet here she is now—surrounded by them. Does she know? Does she care?

The Chasseurs haven’t exactly been discreet since we returned. Rumors of vampires have swept the city—probably the entire kingdom by now.

Though Jean Luc kept my secret, she must know about Michal by now. She must know about Requiem. And if she does, surely she must also know aboutme. And I hope she does. Just as swiftly as the thought descends, I realize I don’t want to tell her anything.

Michal—the traitorous swine—steps neatly from the carriage as she bears down on us.

“Célie Fleur Tremblay,” she says in the sharp, cutting voice she reserves for prepared diatribes. “Where onearthhave you been? Why have you not written? What is this I hear about a scarlet dress and abrothel?”

I lift a weak hand, cringing. “Maman, it wasn’t like—”

“Of course it was. Do you think I’m a fool?” Turning swiftly before I can explain, she points a finger at Michal like a judge with her gavel. Two bright spots of color appear high on her cheeks, and her nostrils flare with righteous indignation. “Andyou—what doyou have to say for yourself? Did you care at all for my daughter’s reputation when you whisked her away to this island of corruption and filth? Did you care at all for her mother’s nerves?”

She does not wait for an answer. She never does. Someone should stop her now, however, before she finds her stride, otherwise we’ll never hear the end of this. I gaze pleadingly at Odessa, at Michal, at Lou, but no one is foolish enough to interrupt. Lou, at least, has the decency to look apologetic.Sorry, she mouths with a grimace.

Dimitri simply grins—a wide, enormously entertained grin that makes me want to throttle him.

“You did not,” my mother seethes. “Of course you did not. Even immortal, Michal Vasiliev”—I wince at the confirmation—“you still think like a man, but I will not tolerate such slapdash courtship fromanyone—not you or the Devil or the king of Belterra. Do you understand me? There are conventions for such things. There arerules. They exist to protect young ladies from harm, and you have willfully disregarded each one in this desperate and, frankly,unattractivebid to procure my daughter’s companionship. You’ve compromised not only her reputation, but also her engagement and her career—”

Even my mother must eventually inhale, however, and when she does, the sound carries across the entire harbor, which has fallen silent. As if it too has drawn a breath and held it, waiting for Michal to react. He is king here, after all, on this isle that values cruelty and calls it strength, and every eye fixes upon him in eager anticipation. My mother is not Odessa. My mother is an outsider, an interloper, and she just insulted him. He must react.