"They were close?"

He laughed. "Furthest thing from it. Genny hated her mother. The woman was a dominating old shrew. Was one of the reasons why Genny was so excited to move to the Hollow. She wanted to get as far away from that woman as she could."

I frowned. Something about what he was telling me didn't seem right. "She wanted to leave Trianon?"

"It was her idea. She was tired of performing night after night and being away from the children, but after each pregnancy, her mother always convinced her to come back. When my father died, we had to make the decision of whether to take up the reins of the farm or sell it, and she was adamant we go. Sent me ahead with the children while she finished the run of the show she was starring in. I still have the note she sent a couple days before she was meant to arrive, telling me how excited she was for a fresh start. But she never showed."

"I rode to Trianon straight away, certain that something had happened to her. I found her at the Opera she told me that her mother had gone missing, and that she could not in good conscience leave until she'd been found. I wanted to stay to help her look, but she insisted that I go back to be with the children. Told me that she'd come to join us." Louie rested his pipe against his knee. "She never came."

"Did she give you an explanation?"

Louie sighed. "I went to see her several times, hoping I'd convince her to come home with me, but she always had a reason why she couldn't leave. The law eventually declared her mother dead, but by then, I knew there was no hope. I confronted her directly, and she told me that she'd changed her mind. That her place was on the stage in Trianon, and if I truly loved her, I wouldn't interfere." He rested his head on his hands. "If only I'd gotten her away sooner, then maybe..."

Would it have mattered? It was no coincidence that Genevieve had changed so markedly following her mother's death a death that was perpetrated by a.n.u.shka. I had no doubt that the witch had done something to alter Genevieve's desire to leave Trianon what other explanation could there be? Another question rose in my mind; one that had been nagging at me since our encounter with Aiden and Fred at the opera. "During an argument your son had with Cecile, he said that Genevieve forced him to choose between you and her, and that when he would not, she took some sort of revenge on him. Do you know anything about that?"

Louie spat into a mud puddle, one hand balling into a fist. "No. I knew something had happened to turn him against her after he went to Trianon, but he refused to talk about it." He sighed heavily. "She was keen to have him arranged for a position in the city guard, a carriage to collect him from the farm, and a fancy room done up for him in her home. Didn't last he moved into the barracks in a matter of months." He turned his head to me. "Why do you ask? Cecile is the apple of her brother's eye, if that's what concerns you. Not much he wouldn't do to keep her safe."

I shook my head and made a noncommittal noise, uncertain why Fred's words wouldn't leave me alone. Something about the way each fact I learned about Genevieve painted a clearer, but darker picture of the woman. And it wasn't the portrait of a victim.

"Past time to turn in," Louie said, interrupting my thoughts. "You two still set on going back to Trianon in the morning?"

"Yes." Although what precisely we would do remained to be seen.

"I don't care a whit for Genny," Louie said, climbing to his feet. "But there's nothing more important to me than my children. You keep Cecile safe."

The floor creaked softly, and the door to the bedroom opened. Cecile padded softly on bare feet across the room and climbed under the covers next to me. "I thought you were supposed to be sleeping with your sister so as not to shock your father's sensibilities," I whispered, pulling her close against me. "I'm not convinced he believes our marriage is entirely legitimate."

"It's almost dawn, and Joss won't even notice I'm gone." She rested her head on my chest. "And I couldn't sleep anyway."

I traced her spine from the base of her neck down to the curve of her bottom, then up again.

She sighed, her breath warm against the bare skin of my chest. "I'm not going to let her kill my mother."

I felt her hold her breath, as though she expected me to argue with her. "I know," I said. "We won't let that happen." Even if Genevieve did deserve it.

She lifted herself up onto one elbow, her raised eyebrows mirroring the surprise I felt. "I thought you would argue about putting the life of one human ahead of the life of many."

"She's your mother," I said, watching the tiny ball of light float above us. "Haven't I caused enough hurt in your life without sacrificing your family members to a murderous witch?"

"Your father, and by extension, your mother and aunt, are in just as much danger as my mother."

"I don't care about my..." I broke off, the word father catching in my throat. It's not a lie! I screamed at myself. But no amount of effort could force the statement from my lips. Whether I liked it or not, I did care what happened to him. "My father will not be unaware of Angouleme's plots," I muttered, annoyed with myself. "And he is far from helpless. What's more, he made this bed it's his own d.a.m.n fault if he has to sleep in it."

"And what about everyone else in Trollus?" she asked. "Must they sleep in it too?"

"Don't ask me that." I turned my head sideways against the pillow so I didn't have to meet her gaze.

"Can you imagine what would happen if Angouleme succeeds? It would be a thousand times worse for the half-bloods under his rule than your father. And what's more, he knows who a.n.u.shka is. If he catches her and kills her, all the gains you've made will be lost."

I ground my teeth together. "Do you think I don't know all of this?"

"I'm well aware of the fact you know it, but what you seem unable to admit is that you want to see her dead. That your reaction yesterday night wasn't an act of desperation, but a reflection of what you really want."

"You..." I cut off, the sound of footsteps and a loud thud reaching my ears. "There's someone outside."

"The dogs would be barking like mad if anyone came near." She bit her lip, eyes wide. "Oh no."

Climbing off the bed, we both went to the tiny window, Cecile inching the curtains apart. "It's too dark," she whispered. "I can't see anything."

My eyes were better. "It's a large box or chest." Grabbing my shirt, I pulled it over my head. "Stay here."

Cecile didn't pay me any heed, following me out the door and down the stairs.

Louie was peering out the front door, a pistol that looked like it hadn't seen action in years held firmly in one hand. "Whoever it was, they're gone now."

One of the dogs trotted up to the front door, licking its chops. "Baited the d.a.m.n dogs off," he muttered. "Blasted things wouldn't know a threat if it bit them on the a.s.s."

"Keep her here." I pulled on my boots and went out onto the step, illuminating the yard with brilliant light as I went. There was an ironbound chest sitting in the middle of the yard, but there was something odd about it. It looked bowed out, the wood splintered in places, almost as though something of great strength had been locked inside and had tried very hard to get out.

My heart beat faster as I made my way down the steps toward it.

"Tristan!" I glanced over my shoulder and saw that Louie had Cecile firmly by the shoulders. She looked so young standing there in a childish nightgown, her hair loose and mussed, eyes wide. Whatever was in the chest, I was quite sure I didn't want her to see it.

I stopped a pace away. There was an iron lock holding the lid in place, and I wrenched it off with a squeal of metal. I did not want to look inside. Did not want to see. Because it was not a matter of what I would find. It was a matter of whom.

Drawing in a deep breath and ignoring the icy tightness in my gut, I reached forward, and with one hand, flipped back the lid.

Forty-Seven.

Cecile

The ground trembled and shook, the shutters rattling against the house. The fresh snow around Tristan melted into a muddy soup, spreading out in a circle away from him. The air was as warm as the height of summer, and water gushed off the house and barn in torrents.

"G.o.d in heaven," my father whispered, letting go of me with one hand to steady himself.

Tristan fell to his knees next to the chest, holding someone against him. A woman dressed in grey, her long dark hair spilling over his arm. She wore a dark cloak I recognized because she'd been wearing it the last time I saw her.

"Let me go." I choked the words out.

"Cecile, no." My father's fingers clamped tighter around my arm.

"Let me go!" The words ripped from my throat, loud and full of power. Not caring that I'd just compelled my own father, I sprinted down the steps toward Tristan. The mud oozed hot and slippery between my bare toes, splattering up onto the white of my nightgown. But what did any of that matter?

"elise..." Reaching out with one hand, I brushed back her hair, bile rising in my throat at the sight of her blank and unseeing eyes. "How?"

"Because she is dead." Tristan's voice was thick with a fury that rendered it almost unrecognizable. "And the curse cares naught for corpses."

I let my hand drop to my side, my eyes taking in the chest, the damage done to it telling me all I needed to know about what had been done to her. To my friend, who was so terrified of confined s.p.a.ces that she could not even bear the mines.

The ground stopped shaking, and a wind blew down from the mountains, wiping the heat of magic away. My skin p.r.i.c.kled and I shivered, but not because of the chill of winter. Tristan had turned, and his face was full of vicious fury. I took a step backwards. He looked nothing like my husband. Nothing at all like the boy I'd fallen in love with. And most certainly nothing human. This was a creature I'd unleashed on the world with the power to tear it asunder, and his wrath was a terrifying thing.

"I'm going to burn him alive for this," he said, and my eyes flicked past him to the inner lid of the chest. To the single name carved by the b.l.o.o.d.y nails of a terrified and dying girl.

Angouleme.

Our minds were connected. I knew what it was like when we were in perfect unison in love. Pa.s.sion. Sorrow. But in that moment, I let his fury wash over me like water, soaking into every corner of my soul until it was no longer his anger, but mine. And it wanted vengeance.

Forty-Eight.

Cecile

We rode hard back to Trianon, our plan developing as we shouted back and forth to each other over the sound of pounding hooves and gusting wind. Collecting my mother and hiding her away until the night was over and a.n.u.shka had lost the chance to perform her spell wasn't an option. For one, the King's compulsion beat in my head like a drum, marching me toward my goal; and two, it might be the only chance we had to catch a.n.u.shka. The masque was a trap for us, but that didn't mean it couldn't be turned on her. Her death was long past due.

Trotting our lathered horses through the frosty streets, we stopped in front of the townhouse, and I dismounted, handing my reins to Tristan.

"Stay with her" he said for hundredth time. "Don't let her out of your sight. a.n.u.shka won't make her move until the sun has set, and I'll be inside the castle by then." He hesitated before adding. "If something happens before, you know how to get my attention."

I nodded, standing on my tiptoes as he bent in the saddle, his lips brushing mine. "Be careful."

"I will."

I stood on the front steps watching him until he rode out of sight, and then I extracted my key and went inside.

"You're back," the maid said, sparing me a pa.s.sing glance as she polished the wood of the front table. "We all thought you'd decided to run off again."

I ignored the comment. "Where is my mother?"

"Not here."

My stomach dropped and I swallowed the burn threatening to rise in my throat. "Where is she?"

"At the castle, I expect. Lady Marie sent her very own carriage to retrieve her this morning, and your mother was fit to be tied about your absence when she left. Left a message that you're to join her as soon as possible, though I daresay she's probably given up hope."

They had her. My heart hammered and I struggled to keep the dismay from my face. It's too early for the spell, I reminded myself. But it was cold comfort, because our plans had been disrupted before we'd even begun. The witch had made her move.

And now it was time to make ours. "I'll leave as soon as I'm washed," I said. "If you could please heat me some water for a bath."

Bathing didn't seem a priority, but I had a part to play that did not include showing up sweaty and stinking of horse. Bolting up the stairs, I went to my room to retrieve the herbs I'd hidden in my desk in case I needed them.

My eyes went to the gown hanging freshly pressed from my dressing screen, clearly my mother's selection. My stomach clenched, knowing that when she'd had it hung there, her only concern had been my appearance. How I would be received. She had no idea how much danger she was in, and I couldn't even warn her. As disgusting as the idea was, she was our bait and I could do nothing to jeopardize that.

But I still needed to know where she was.

Hurrying down the hall to her room, I went to her vanity and s.n.a.t.c.hed up a hairbrush. It was as devoid of hair as if it were new. Frowning, I riffled through the rest of her combs and cosmetics looking for strands of hair. Nothing. The maid must have been through, and she apparently did a better job cleaning my mother's things than she did mine.

Turning up a lamp, I went to her closet and began going through her clothes, searching for the gleam of red-gold, but there was none. How was that even possible? The linens on her bed were freshly laundered, and my eyes roved around the room for something else I could use. An object would work, but it had to be something that mattered to her not some little knickknack she'd bought and not thought about since.

Tristan's plan had seemed so straightforward. I'd go to the castle with my mother, and then I'd track down Marie or something of hers, and steal a memory of a.n.u.shka's ident.i.ty. When I had it, I'd use his name to give him the information, and he'd hunt her down. That failing, I'd remain glued to my mother's arm, and wait for a.n.u.shka's approach. There was no place she could take me that I could not call him, no place where he could not find me. And we were banking on her not knowing that fact.

The door opened behind me, and I turned, thinking it was the maid with my bath water. But instead, I found myself facing two grim-faced soldiers dressed in formal uniforms, a sprig of dried crimson berries pinned at their lapel.

"Mademoiselle de Troyes," one of them said. "The Lady du Chastelier requests your presence."

"I'm not ready," I protested, taking a step back. "I haven't even bathed."

"You'll be provided with what you need at the castle. You need to come with us now."

I drew on the earth's magic. I only needed a few more minutes a chance to select something of my mother's so I could find her. To retrieve my supplies where they sat on the desk in my bedroom.

"Wait downstairs. I'll be with you shortly," I said, forcing every ounce of my power into the words, feeling the force ripple out.

And fall away.

The guard shook his head, coming forward to grab my arm. "Now."