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Chapter Forty-Two

The Invisible Princess

Truthfully, I remember very little of the journey back to Requiem.

I remember even less of departing the ship, of stumbling down the gangplank after Michal and the others. He must’ve led us through the crowded market and toward the castle—one foot must’ve stepped in front of the other—but I’ll never know exactly how I found my room, how I stripped off my bloodstained gown and collapsed into this squashy armchair by the fire.

Michal didn’t follow.

Perhaps he sensed I needed to be alone, needed to think, and couldn’t do that if he hovered—that, and I saw him steering Dimitri toward his study for their very long discussion, which means I’m wasting precious time by staring idly into these flames. I should be scouring the corridors for Dimitri’s room, picking the lock, and searching for anything that connects him to my sister. Perhaps Michal can wring the whole truth from his cousin, but perhaps he also cannot, which means the time to act is now . Who knows when another opportunity might arise?

Unfortunately, my body refuses to move.

Odessa clicks her tongue irritably and rifles through the armoire behind the silk screen. Mist from outside still clings to her woolen cape and polished boots, and her damp parasol leans against the baluster. “You didn’t need to follow me,” I tell her.

“I did not follow you, darling. I accompanied you.”

“You didn’t need to accompany me, then.” Rubbing away the beads of moisture on Filippa’s cross, I trace its smooth edges with my thumb. When my nail catches on the secret latch, I sigh and replace the entire thing beneath my collar, feeling sick and confused and exhausted in general. I need to get up; I need to search Dimitri’s room. A shiver wracks my frame instead, and my stomach rumbles. “Michal promised no harm would come to me here, and even if he didn’t, I doubt anyone is keen to attack after what happened in the aviary.”

“You underestimate their agitation at the moment. All Hallows’ Eve is tomorrow, and Michal has effectively trapped us all here like rats in a cage—Priscille’s words, not mine,” she adds, thoroughly unconcerned, when I throw her a dubious look. She plucks a rose-colored satin gown from the rest. “You’re also acting strange.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re always a bit strange, of course—what with all the Bride and Necromancer nonsense—but your behavior has been stranger than usual since we left Amandine. You said less than a handful of words on our return to Cesarine, and you said even less on the ship back to Requiem—unless you count that rather horrid encounter with your fiancé in between, and I’d rather not acknowledge him at all. The man is a complete and utter ass, and I quite agree that you made the right decision in breaking the engagement.”

I stare at her in disbelief. In shock . Disregarding the fact that Odessa has the nerve to call anyone strange, I never expected her to be quite so... so perceptive. Perhaps because she talks so much about the human eyeball and early Church, or perhaps because she usually dons such a supreme look of boredom. “He isn’t an ass,” I mutter defensively.

She looks anything but bored now. Peering over at me with those clever, catlike eyes, she asks, “Is that why you’ve been so quiet? Your rotten fiancé?”

I look away quickly. “Ex-fiancé.”

“Yes. Him.” When I fail to answer, she strides toward me and snaps her sharp fingers, motioning for me to stand. I comply reluctantly. “Or... perhaps you regret the heinous accusation you made about my brother?” She purses her plum lips before wrenching the rose-colored gown over my head. “No, that isn’t it either. Perhaps you maintain that he murdered our cousin instead, and you’re still plotting the demise of the entire vampire race. Am I getting warmer?”

“Drat. You found me out.”

Scowling now, she cinches the stays of the gown extra tight. “I think you’re hiding something, Célie Tremblay.”

I cannot bring myself to argue, crawling back into my armchair and lifting my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around them. Staring fixedly at the fire. “Did you kill her?” I ask instead. “Priscille?”

“And what if I did? She certainly would’ve killed you .” Then—before I can press her for a true answer—she perches in the other armchair and asks, “Have you really spoken to Mila?” Though her tone remains casual, too casual, her eyes belie her interest as I nod, unable to muster the energy to lie or deflect either. She plucks a book from the table between us without checking its title. “And did she—did she say whether she would visit again? It isn’t that I miss her, per se, but if I happened to see her—”

“The last time I spoke with Mila, she made it clear that she couldn’t help us.”

Odessa rolls her eyes. “Charming as always, my cousin, yet I do not need her help. I simply want to—well, talk to her, I suppose.”

Thunder rumbles in the ensuing silence.

Ah. I rest my chin upon my knees. Though I’ve never given Mila’s death much thought beyond Michal, he wasn’t the only one who lost family that night. Of course Odessa would feel her absence too. Indeed, I haven’t seen her spend time with anyone except Dimitri—she boasts no doting mother or fussy aunts, no peers with whom to banter or friends disguised as ladies-in-waiting. The realization brings an unexpected throb to my chest. To have only one’s brother as a companion... it must be incredibly lonely. “Michal said she wouldn’t be able to stay away for long,” I say when the silence between us continues to stretch. An olive branch. “He said the temptation to meddle would be too great.”

A reluctant grin touches her lips. “That sounds very much like both of my cousins.”

“Would you like me to see if she’s here?”

She returns the book to the table as she pretends to consider, desperately trying to remain indifferent. “I suppose... if it isn’t too terribly difficult.”

Sighing at her stubbornness, I close my eyes and concentrate on the hollow ache in my chest. Longing , I realize. More than anything, I long to know the truth about my sister, just as Odessa longs to see her cousin again. While the former lingers just out of reach—mere fingertips away—I hold the latter in my hands. I can do this for Odessa. I can do this for Mila, and I can do this for me ; I’m not ready to search Dimitri’s room just yet, or to learn about Filippa. Perhaps I never will be.

As if in response, the cold deepens around me, and pressure builds to pain in my ears. When I open my eyes once more, Odessa gasps slightly at their newfound silver light, leaning closer to study them. “Michal told me about the glow, of course, but his description doesn’t quite do it justice. How deliciously creepy. Tell me—does it affect your sight? For example, does it cast a softer sheen over your field of vision?”

“Take off your glove.” With a rueful smile, I extend my bare palm in her direction. She eyes it curiously but tugs the glove from her fingers all the same; when her skin touches mine, she gasps again, eyes wide and startled at our similar temperatures.

“ Fascinating —” The word seems to stick in her throat, however, as she follows my gaze and catches sight of Mila, who hovers on the mezzanine, gazing down at us with a rather sheepish expression. Warmth blooms alongside the ache in my chest at the sight of her. Apparently, Odessa isn’t the only one who missed her cousin.

“ Mila? ” Odessa practically drags me to the spiral staircase. “Is it really you?”

A small grin spreads across Mila’s face, and she lifts an opaque hand in greeting. “Hello, Dess.” Eyes flicking to me, she clears her throat with an awkward little titter. “Célie.”

I cannot help my own grudging smile in return. Odessa still blinks rapidly, trying and failing to master her shock and delight. “For a moment there,” I say, “I thought you passed on without saying goodbye—all that nonsense in the aviary about refusing to haunt us and letting go—but you’ve been following us this entire time, haven’t you?”

Mila flips long hair over her shoulder and drifts to the lower floor to join us. “And it’s a good thing, too, as Guinevere never would’ve followed me otherwise, and she proved quite useful in Les Abysses.” A mischievous pause. “I hear the two of you are the very best of friends now. How incredibly special.”

“Guinevere?” Odessa whips her face between us, clearly trying to piece together our conversation. “As in Guinevere de Mimsy , that audacious little tart who shattered the windows to my laboratory?” Before anyone can answer—as if she just can’t help herself—she adds, “And ghosts cannot pass on , Célie. After the death of their material bodies, they must choose to either cross into the realm of the dead or remain near the realm of the living. Even you cannot reach those who choose the former, and the latter”—she glances apologetically to Mila—“remain trapped between both realms for all eternity, unable to truly exist in either.”

Mila rolls her eyes toward the chandelier. “Spoken like you swallowed the whole of How to Commune with the Dead .”

“I might’ve glanced at it,” Odessa sniffs, “after Michal told me he spoke with you.” At the mention of Michal, however, the humor in Mila’s eyes fades, and her face tightens nearly imperceptibly. Odessa still sees it. “Oh, come now. You cannot still be cross with him after all these years.”

“For your information, I am not cross with him. I simply don’t want to—”

Odessa interrupts with a scoff, shooting an exasperated look in my direction. “Michal turned Mila into a vampire when they were young, and she’s never forgiven him for it.” To Mila, she says sternly, “You were sick . What did you expect your poor brother to do? If I’d seen Dimitri wasting away like that, dying a slow and miserable death, I would’ve done a lot worse to save him.”

My brow furrows at this new information. For the first time in my life, I can’t think of a single thing to say. Because Michal never mentioned any of this to me—and why would he? I thought him a sadist until only last week, and I made no qualms about telling him so. Still... inexplicable warmth pricks at my collar, which I tug fruitlessly away from my throat. I shared so much about my sister in Amandine. He could’ve done the same. I wouldn’t have begrudged him the attention.

As if sensing my discomfort, Odessa squeezes my hand but otherwise doesn’t acknowledge it. “She didn’t speak to Michal for years— years —and all because she too gave her heart to an undeserving ass like your huntsman.”

Mila exhales sharply, affronted, and crosses her arms tightly against her chest. “This has nothing to do with Pyotr.”

“No? He didn’t try to cut off your head when you showed him your lovely new fangs?” When Mila scowls, refusing to answer, Odessa nods in black satisfaction, the epitome of an older sibling. That ache in my chest grows tenfold. “Michal hasn’t turned a single creature since that day,” she tells me. “In his entire existence, he has sired only his ungrateful little sister, who still punishes him for it every day.”

Comprehension swoops low in my stomach, and his insistence—no, his belligerence —that I never drink from him or any other vampire makes sudden sense. Still... I frown at Odessa in confusion. “Who sired you , then?”

She glares pointedly at Mila, who—for all her wisdom—does look rather younger in the presence of her cousin. Her arms still crossed. Her jaw set. Just the way she behaved in the aviary with Michal, who she seems to both defend and condemn in equal measure. “What?” she snaps at both of us. “You couldn’t have seriously expected me to live for eternity with only Michal as company. I love my brother—I do —but he has as much personality as that bit of rock.” She jerks her chin toward the cliff behind us. “Except that rock doesn’t try to control my every move.”

The warmth at my neck prickles sharper—no longer discomfort, but abrupt and startling irritation. My mouth opens before I can think better of it, before I can stop the scathing accusation from spilling forth. “It hardly seems fair to hold a grudge against Michal if you also turned your kin into vampires, Mila.”

An incredulous sound escapes Mila’s throat. “As if you’d know anything about it! Just because you’re now infatuated doesn’t mean everyone else is, and—and”—she lets out a groan of frustration, and her entire body seems to slump as mine stiffens—“and I’m sorry . That was a horrible thing to say, and of course I don’t mean it. It’s just—Michal is Michal, and he chose for me. He always chooses for me, and now I’m not even a vampire anymore. I’m dead . All of you have been galivanting across the world, having the most marvelous adventure, and I can’t go with you. Not really. No one can even see me except through you, Célie, and it just—it isn’t—”

Whatever it is, Mila can’t seem to articulate, but I understand all the same: fair . It isn’t fair. What did Michal say about his sister?

Everyone who gazed upon her loved her.

And now she’s invisible.

Expression softening, Odessa draws herself to Mila’s height by stepping on the bottom stair. “You know we all miss you, Mila. Even the villagers—no one begrudges you for Michal’s decisions. They resent the heightened security measures around the isle, yes, but they’ve never once resented you.”

Mila wipes furiously at her cheeks. “I know that. Of course I do. I’m just being silly.”

A quiet sort of resignation settles over me. Even in death, Mila hasn’t found peace with her brother—with herself—and if I don’t tread carefully, the same will be said of me. Whether or not I hide from the truth, the Necromancer will still try to kill me. Nothing I find of my sister will change that, so why—exactly—am I so afraid to look? The worst has already happened; my sister is dead, and I refuse to follow her to the afterlife.

Not yet.

“As for you ,” Odessa says, tugging my hand until I join her on the stair. “You need to talk to my brother. Loath as I am to admit it, the thought of you plotting death and destruction doesn’t quite suit—you just aren’t the type—and Dimitri deserves the chance to defend himself.”

“Perhaps you’re right.” Pulling Odessa from the stairs, I cross the room to where my deep green cloak hangs on its hook beside the armoire. “Where can I find him? His room?”

Odessa and Mila exchange a quick, furtive glance. “I’m not sure his room is the best place to meet,” Mila says after several seconds. “Perhaps in Michal’s study—”

“This is a conversation I’d rather have in private.”

Odessa forces a pained smile. “Of course it is, darling, but under the circumstances—”

I fish the silver knife from Michal’s traveling cloak, which Odessa must have hung beside mine. Her smile falters as I slide the weapon into my boot. “Under the circumstances, he has nothing to hide, correct? Why shouldn’t we meet in his room?”

The two say nothing for a long moment. Then—when I fear I’ve overplayed my hand—Mila speaks at last. “His is the third door from the left in the north tower, but—try not to judge him too harshly, Célie. He needs all of the help we can give him.”