Page 51

Backstage

Later, I lie awake at Marie’s side, pillowed by the breadth of her outstretched wing, my body no longer fully mine.

Because how can it be, if my skin still sparks where she’d straddled my hips, where my hands had glided up her spine?

If my wrists still remember how she’d seized them both, pressed them over my head, and kissed me ever deeper?

If I can still taste her, every part of her, lingering on my tongue and lips and the back of my teeth?

I am made of echoes, of afterimages, and they all belong to her.

There is a heartbeat of silence, and I can almost feel the Théatre hovering protectively over us, slowing time so that we may finally breathe. And I do, deep and full for the first time since I can remember, one breath for every one of Marie’s soft inhalations. Thirty-four, thirty-five…

Marie stirs delicately, turning over to me. Her lashes are long and heavy—they rise like a curtain, revealing gleaming dewdrop irises. “Hello, sorciere,” she says, and pokes the tip of my nose.

An exhausted, ecstatic laugh escapes me. “How was that for affection?” I tease. The fabric of her chemise has slipped off her shoulder, and I reach over to pull it up, pushing back a silvery-gold curl as I do. We stare at each other, reluctant to leave this intoxicating, impossible dream.

Then someone bangs on the dressing room door.

“Odile? Mademoiselle d’Auvigny? We have a problem!”

Marie jolts upright at the urgency in Damien’s voice.

I growl in frustration and follow suit, bending down to pick up my discarded clothing, then stumble as my injured knees make themselves known.

Marie catches me before I fall, righting me.

Wordlessly I gesture for her to turn and help her do up the laces of her doublet around her wings.

“Marie? Odile?” When neither of us answers immediately, Damien adds, “Are you… all right in there?”

“We’re all right,” Marie replies politely at the same time as I shout, “If you come in, I will decapitate you!”

We both emerge from the dressing room half redone. Marie looks somewhat abashed, while I meet my brother’s eyes defiantly, daring him to make a single comment.

Damien merely runs a hand through his hair and says, “We’re running out of time.”

We gather under the cupola again. I press close to Marie, still feeling the lingering anger from my earlier outburst. I can’t look Damien in the face, and he seems to avoid my gaze just as stubbornly.

Once we are assembled, my brother holds up a folded letter. “An urchin from Verroux left this on the Théatre’s doorstep. It’s a tip from several of the guards who deserted the Regent.” He looks over at Aimé pointedly. “I told you, most of your men are still loyal.”

From the way Aimé looks at his feet, I can tell this is the continuation of a discussion they have had before.

“One of the guards stayed behind to relay information. He has learned that Regnault is doubling his efforts to find us, and that he is going to lead the soldiers on a hunt tonight. The first place they intend to raid is the Théatre, which means we cannot stay here. According to rumor on the streets, he’s making it seem like Aimé has run away because you don’t want to be sent to the seaside for recovery, and the Regent is deeply concerned about his nephew. ”

“My father’s a good liar,” I say quietly.

Damien doesn’t look at me. “He’s also blaming the disaster at the wedding on the presence of a raven-haired sorciere. Apparently you put the curse on Aimé, and now you are to be brought in to face justice.”

I grip my hands together, suddenly nauseous. Marie reaches over to twine her fingers with mine, and I give her a grateful look.

“You should hand me over,” Aimé says quietly. Buried in his blanket, he looks exhausted.

“Regnault wants to kill you,” I point out. “And if he does that, I shudder to imagine the power it will give him.”

“Then let him kill me,” Aimé says. “I’m a danger anyway—”

“Aimé,” Damien says, and I’ve never heard him sound so helpless.

“You know it’s true!” the Dauphin exclaims. “We don’t have access to the potions anymore, which means that every time I feel too afraid, or too angry, or too… anything, it might trigger a transformation.”

“Aimé…” My brother tries to cut in again.

Aimé ignores him. “I don’t want to do this anymore. I can’t, Damien! I don’t want to kill any more people!” His voice rises on the last word, and I see my brother’s eyes turn guarded, his posture becoming alert, anticipatory.

Aimé sees it too, and his shoulders slump. “See? Even you don’t trust me.”

“Aimé,” I say cautiously, bringing his attention over to me. “I mean, monseigneur, I suppose, since we don’t really know each other. That all sounds very noble, but I have a better idea then surrendering yourself to my psychopathic two-hundred-year-old adoptive father.”

“Hold on,” Damien interrupts. “Two hundred?”

I wave a hand at him. “I’ll explain in a moment. But I think… I think there is a way that we can break this curse that’s been laid upon the Augier lineage.”

I explain everything to them. The journal, the bluefang, Regnault’s true identity, the horrors and havoc he has wrought inside the Chateau.

His plan to kill the Dauphin and claim the power of all three Mothers.

His growing madness, my desperate escape plan, my confrontation with Morgane in my nightmare.

Then I break off, realizing something that makes my blood run cold.

“Aimé,” I say faintly, already dreading the reply, “how did you know that Damien would be able to find me?”

Aimé frowns in thought. “My uncle told me. It was all a blur—I didn’t think twice about it, but…”

“But the Regent knew,” Marie murmurs, and I know she’s already pieced this together.

I look down at my hands, calloused and scraped and nimble, a thief’s hands—hands that I used to be so proud of, knowing I’d developed them on Regnault’s missions.

I have to force every stinging word past my lips.

“He knew, because Regnault had told him. Regnault told him I was the sorcier he was looking for, and that I was Damien’s sister.

” I see everything with new, horrifying clarity.

“Regnault orchestrated the whole arrest.”

My throat feels horribly tight, my stomach churning. All this time, I had thought it was Aimé and Damien who had betrayed me, but really it was my own father—planting the seeds of doubt, watching them grow. Just as he’d taught me to do. I raise my eyes to the Dauphin’s horrified face.

“Just before you captured me, I had decided I would confess my true identity to you, tell you all about my plans. I was beginning to think that maybe, just maybe, I could do this all without lies, without violence. That we could, all of us, work together to bring magic back.”

Aimé swallows. “I would have helped you, Madem—Odile. I would have.”

“I know,” I say regretfully. “Regnault must have sensed that. He must have known I was planning to involve all of you, and that he was losing control of me. So he—” My voice breaks.

Marie shifts closer, and the comforting weight of one of her wings drapes along my shoulder.

“I believed him. I’ve always believed him, always done as he told me. I’m such a fool .”

“Dilou…” The hoarseness of my brother’s voice draws me up short. I glance up sharply, and I’m startled to see moisture pooling in the brown depths of his eyes. My chest lurches. I’ve never, in all my eighteen years, seen Damien cry.

“Hey,” I say in annoyance, feeling my own eyes begin to sting. “Stop that right now. Because if you cry, I might cry, and Aimé is already about to cry, and then we’ll be a whole pathetic circle of tears and Marie will have to try to save the world on her own.”

Behind me, Marie tries to muffle a sniff, and I groan.

“Never mind, we’re doomed.”

Damien presses his arm to his eyes and turns away, his throat bobbing. In my ear, Marie whispers, “Affection.”

“He’s my brother.” I pretend to gag. “That’s disgusting.” But I’m already getting to my feet, reluctantly trudging over to him. I open my arms, feeling ridiculous.

Damien pulls me against him.

And I realize I don’t remember the last time I hugged my brother. Not since we were very young, certainly. Not since I began going on Regnault’s missions. He’s sturdy and warm, and he smells dreadfully unwashed, but he’s my brother. He’s always been my brother. How could I have forgotten that?

“I know you tried to protect me,” I say into his shoulder as he rests one large, comforting hand on the back of my head.

“You were right. When you told me you wanted to leave, I was selfish—I was only thinking about what I wanted. I didn’t consider your happiness, and I should have.

Because let me tell you,” I add wickedly, “the noblesse are fantastic kissers.”

He shoves me away, groaning. “Agh— Odile! I didn’t need to know that!”

I look over at Marie, whose eyes are glittering fondly, and at Aimé, who seems to have livened up at last, a tentative smile on his face. And I realize that this is what Regnault took from me with his lies and his promises. And now I’m taking it back.

“Very well,” I say, turning to my friends. “My proposition is this: We get the Couronne du Roi back, and we free Morgane. Once she is free, we ask her to undo Aimé’s curse.”

“Can it be done?” Aimé asks shakily. He sounds like he’s afraid to hope.

“Possibly,” I say. “Morgane said this when I asked her how to destroy the Couronne: ‘That which gives the most strength can also be the greatest weakness.’?”