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If a small, distant part of my mind—the human part—realizes what I’m doing, it remains wholly silent in wake of the instinctive, all-consuming rush of power down my spine. As before with Brigitte, my vision sharpens. It bleeds red as blood pounds through my ears. Each stone on the bank, each frond of bracken, each teardrop and each fiber of moss and grass and earth—it all rises before me with crystalline clarity before my eyes lock on Michal.

I can hear his laughter. Swift as I am—my hair blowing, gown billowing, feet weightless upon the water—I can still see each tremor of his shoulders, each stride of his legs, as he pushes farther away from me, faster and faster still. A snarl tears from my throat. I forget the emerald ribbon. I forget everything but the sight of his retreating back. Because I will have it. I will havehim, and my own strides grow longer in response. I lean forward, and I lift my chest, practically flying across the water until Michal grows larger in my sight—until he glances back at me in surprise, indelight, and I brace without breaking speed, bending my knees and catapulting myself at him.

We collide in a crash of limbs, and he twists, wrapping his arms around my waist before we hit the ground. His back takes the brunt of the impact. Skidding through the rocks, he holds me tightly—laughing—as we finally slow to a halt. “I can’t believe you caught me,” he says, breathless, before dropping his head on the bank. “No one has ever caught me before.”

I stare up at him, my chest tightening to the point of pain. “Do you often flee unsuspecting women?”

“Only the ones I steal from.” He releases my waist, bringing one hand between our faces. My emerald ribbon winds through his long fingers, and when I touch it this time, he allows the silk to slip from his grasp. As it dangles down my wrist and tickles his cheek, he grins and blows it against my nose. “I knew you wouldn’t sink.”

Of course he did. All this man has ever done is believe me, help me,saveme. Perhaps I don’t need to hide things in order to protect my sister. Perhaps if I tell him, Michal will help her too, and together, we can extricate Filippa from Death’s clutches.

Slowly, he brushes a strand of hair away from my cheek, his thumb lingering on my jaw. And with that single, unguarded movement, the last of my hesitation falls away.

“The man you saw with me in Cesarine was Death,” I blurt out, wincing at the tactless delivery. Instant heat sears my cheeks as Michal blinks, startled, and the moment between us shatters. “I should’ve told you earlier, but my sister made some sort of deal with him, I think, because he promised her—well,something—”

“Death promised her something?” Michal’s hands seize my shoulders, and he wrenches me upward, the warmth in his eyes freezing to black ice. “As inDeath, the incarnation of a life-destroying power? Death, the entity that claimed you as its Bride?”

“Well, that isn’tpreciselyhow he introduced himself, but... yes,” I finish in a small voice, and with a savage curse, Michal hauls me to my feet.

“What happened?”

Quickly, I recount all that occurred after we separated in Cesarine: how Frederic and Filippa found me in the rose garden, how Frederic threatened to kill me, how Filippa watched as Death tore out his heart. When I tell him about Death taking Frederic’s blood and the grimoire, he turns away. When I tell him of the mysterious deal between Death and Filippa, he lets loose another stream of curses, and I hasten to reassure him. “But he honored their bargain! He left me alone.”

“For now, Célie. Death has left you alone fornow.”

I wrap my arms around myself, unease prickling my neck. “You sound like you’re acquainted with him.”

“We’ve met,” Michal says shortly.

He still faces away from me, so I can only see the hard line ofhis cheek, the corner of his jaw; it clenches as he glares down at the stream in an effort to master himself. “But how can that be?” I ask. “He just manifested a body on All Hallows’ Eve.”

“I met him before he acquired a body. He—did me a favor once, probably similar to the one he promised your sister.” Though I burn with curiosity, I keep my mouth shut, and he surprises me by adding, “I’ve regretted it every day since. He is not someone you want to know, Célie, and not someone Filippa should trust. It’ll only end badly for both of you.” At last, he turns, and my astonishment soars at the subtle silver glow emanating from his usually black eyes. He blinks at whatever he sees in mine, equally startled. “Your eyes are glowing,” he tells me.

I gasp and step closer, lifting a hand as if to touch the combined light of our eyes. “Youreyes are glowing.”

We stare at each other for a beat, mystified, before I force myself to lower my hand. To glance around for any sign of the spirit realm. No ghosts have joined us, however—none that I can see—so I take a deep breath and whisper, “I really am sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

He studies me with an inscrutable expression. “Why didn’t you?”

“Because I’m a coward.”

His jaw clenches at that, and I’d give anything to read his thoughts as he recaptures my hand, staring down at my knuckles without truly seeing them. At last, he brushes a kiss against my fingers, though shadows remain in his expression. “You’ve forgiven me for much worse.”

I stare up at him, willing those shadows to dissipate. “Michal—”

“Sorry to bother,” Mila says wryly, poking her head out betweentwo weeping trees, “but this seems as good a moment as any to interrupt what I am sure would’ve been a tender interlude.”

Michal and I break apart, whirling, yet his eyes continue to glow as he focuses on his sister. I shake my head in an effort to clear it. “Can yousee—?” But he nods before I finish the question, so I nod too, disoriented and confused. “Oh. Right. Of course you can. That’s perfectly—perfectly—”

“Expected.” Mila grins at us in a deprecating sort of way that reminds me of Dimitri. “Blood sharing is never something to be taken lightly—not that we have time to discuss such a delicate situation now. I just slipped away from your sister, who has holed up with literal Death in your old town house, Célie. Kind of you to mentionhim, by the way—”

“Agreed,” Michal murmurs.

“Oh, I heard.” Gesturing purposefully, Mila motions for us to continue toward the witch’s cottage, and I try not to look offended by her eavesdropping. “They’ve built quite the luxurious laboratory for themselves. Even Odessa would be envious.”

“A laboratory?” Michal asks in a sharp voice, and it’s almost as if his dimple never existed. I slide the emerald ribbon into my pocket. “What sort of experiments are they conducting?”

“The sort with Frederic’s blood. I couldn’t discern their exact purpose, but they’ve also been running—tests, I think, on Filippa. Strange tests too,” she adds with a grimace, “on everything from her blood to her brain to her womb. Death even collected a sample from the stitches on her cheek.”