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Hisheart.

Though I sense it there, I cannot bring myself to look at it—to even acknowledge it—and I cannot touch it either. I cannot return it to his body. That fury crests higher with the admission, and I hate myself for having such weakness. Such fear. I am the worst sort of coward, and I have failed him in utterly every way. Michal, who has never failed me once. Michal, who climbed from the sea with a knife in his chest when I needed him. Michal, who raced toward me—towardme—when I confronted Death himself.

He deserved so much more than this. He deserved so much more thanme.

I remember his dismissive wave in Les Abysses when I accused him of planning to maim my loved ones.Every relationship has problems.

Focusing on the memory, I part his leather surcoat and allow bitter regret to flow through me; I focus on his empty chest, and I slip through the veil to search for him, just in case. No silvery form awaits, however. Wherever his soul has gone, it isn’t here, and snow falls gently upon the heather around his corpse. I frown at the sight of the small purple blooms. They grow straight from the black parquet floors, and Michal’s chest—my frown deepens. The hole has vanished, the skin there nearly glowing with vitality.Strange.

The tears freeze upon my cheeks as I glance at the cage, where more heather creeps over his heart.

“Michal?” Voice a whisper, I shake him slightly, but his eyes remain closed. “Can you hear me?”

I wait another long moment for him to answer. When he doesn’t, fresh tears trickle down my nose, and I return to the realm of the living, staring at the hole where his heart should be—dark and out of place against his broad alabaster chest. And I cannot fix it. I cannot fixanyof this, yet I know I cannot remain sprawled upon this floor forever. Sooner or later, the sun will rise, and with it, Odessa will return with her nefarious plans.

She can choke on them, for all I care.

Unless the lock on the door has been reinforced by magic, it cannot hold me.

If Lou can still cloak an entire room, she can cloak us too. I cancompel the necessary sailors at the harbor, and we can sail back to Cesarine—or to Chateau le Blanc. Odessa would not dare pursue us into the heart of witch territory. It would be the safe haven we need to plot our next steps, to regroup. We could research revenants in its great library. We could start our search for Death and my sister, could wait there for Mila’s report. We could take Michal with us.

We could scatter his ashes someplace peaceful.

I clench his lapels until my fingers ache, envisioning the grove of pear trees in winter—the stark beauty of snow upon their spectral boughs.He would like it there.Still I cannot bring myself to move. The instant I do is the instant this nightmare becomes real, and—andcanone burn a vampire to scatter their ashes? Each time I’ve seen a vampire meet true death, their body has turned to—to—

Realization crashes into me with the force of a battering ram. It makes me dizzy, light-headed, as I sit bolt upright and stare at the hole in Michal’s chest.

Hisperfectalabaster chest.

Not an inch of it has desiccated, and according to veritably everyone, Michal became a vampire very long ago. In death, shouldn’t his body have returned to its true age like Yannick’s and Juliet’s did? Shouldn’t it be a withered husk? I spread my hands upon his shoulders with fervent energy, sliding them down his arms andfeelingthe contradiction. Though perhaps cool to the touch, his body remains hard and powerfully built,alive—and shouldn’t the scent of Lou’s magic have faded by now? My fingers curl almost brutally into his biceps. Perhaps a witchdidenforce the lock on the door, or perhaps—perhaps death has changed since literal Death stepped through the veil. Perhaps Michalisdead, and this is just—this is what death looks like now. Perhaps flowers grow over all vampires in the spirit realm.

I brush a hand over his chest, and the scent of magic wafts with the movement.

It waftsfromthe wound.

Without making the conscious decision, I slide out from beneath him and dart toward his heart. Insidious laughter creeps up my throat, but I dare not release it.Not yet.Because if I’m wrong—

No.

I cannot think it, cannot even consider the possibility. Because Lou never would’ve controlled me with her magic otherwise. Pasha never would’ve left me alone under a simple lock and key, and Odessa—Odessa. I nearly choke on her name, remembering that blazing light in her eyes and her insistence—no, her desperation—that I remain in my room. She and Dimitri didn’t want me to see. For whatever reason, they didn’t want me to know she’d be plucking the heart from Michal’s chest like the strings of the violins outside.

I scoop it up from the shadows without hesitation now; whatever fear I might’ve felt has transformed into something else altogether, and I cradle it carefully between my palms as I dash back to his side. “Michal, youidiot,” I say breathlessly.

Before the entire theory can collapse, I plunge his heart back into his chest.

For a moment, nothing happens.

Nothing happens, and I can hear each of my own ragged breaths in the silence. The scent of magic remains thick and sharp in the air—sharper now than before—as I force his chest back together and close the wound.Please.To whom I pray, I do not know, for Godsurely does not sully his hands with dead vampires and witches’ magic, yet I still do. I pray. “Wake up,” I whisper fiercely. “Wake up, Michal, or I’ll follow you through that maelstrom and find you. I’ll drag your soul back into this foul room or—or worse, I’llstay. You’ll never know a moment of peace because I’ll be wherever you are too, pestering you andpesteringyou and never answering any of your questions. How many do I owe you now? Six?”

I suck in a breath, fingers shaking, as the edges of his skin try to knit themselves together.

“And those are just from a ten-minute conversation.” I press the edges tighter, holding them, but this wound seems too great for his body to heal on its own. “Imagine how many I’ll accumulate during an eternity of—”

“I don’t—need to imagine.”

Michal coughs, gasps, and I beam down at him through a haze of tears as his entire body shudders. I nearly lie on his chest now in an effort to close the wound, as if the strength of my will alone might make the difference, but he doesn’t seem to care. “Célie.” Chuckling low, he circles my wrists with his fingers, gently stilling my efforts. I cannot help it—fresh tears sting my nose as we stare at each other. His brow furrows. “What are you doing here?”

“You insufferableass.” I cuff his arm lightly as one of those tears spills down my cheek. “How could you do something like this? How could you be sostupid?”