"You haven't told her anything?" He jerked his head up toward the second level where my mother was presumably still abed, keeping an eye on the cook while he did it.

"Are you mad?" I hissed. "Of course I haven't. Telling her anything would be as good as telling the whole Isle. All she knows is that I got cold feet and spent the summer in the south. Nothing more." And she never pried into the details. I wasn't sure if it was because she didn't care, or if her own secret-keeping tendencies caused her to respect mine. Either way, it worked in my favor.

"That's good. She's a way of using information to her advantage." His eyes were distant. "Though it might be better if the whole d.a.m.ned Isle did know."

Tension sang down my spine. "Fred, you promised to keep it between us."

"I know." He tracked the cook as she moved behind me. "But I don't like it. I think we should do something. Go on the offensive when they aren't expecting it."

I winced. "You wouldn't have a chance against them. How many times must I explain this to you?" I glanced over my shoulder. "They've got magic," I mouthed.

He snorted, his lips pinching together. "Something else then. Cut them off. Starve them." He leaned closer to me. "I've met the Regent's son, Lord Aiden. He's young, not more than a few years older than me, and he's a man of action. He often walks with the men. He'd grant my request to speak privately, and I could tell him..."

"No!" I heard the cook stop moving, so I lowered my voice. "No, Fred. You can't. Most of them are good, decent folk. They don't deserve that. And there's..."

"Tristan?"

It was strange hearing his name on my brother's lips. I looked away. "Yes."

Fred's hands clenched where they rested on the table. "Him I'd like to have a word or two with. Stealing my little sister and performing G.o.dless magic so that I don't dare strike at him for fear of hurting you. b.a.s.t.a.r.d!"

The cook made a comment under her breath about soldiers and foul language, making Fred's scowl deepen.

"Well, then, there you have it," I whispered. "Fine if you have no care for starving innocent people, but at least have a care for your own sister's life."

He gnawed on his bottom lip, eyes narrowed to slits. "You're an idiot and a fool when it comes to judging character, Cecile. Always have been. Refusing to see the black side of folk even when it's right in front of your eyes."

Was this about the trolls or our mother?

I pressed my palms against the table, and met his gaze. "You don't know them, Fred. You don't know him."

"I don't have to!" He stood up, knocking the table hard. "I can't listen to this. I need to go."

Fred started to go to the door, but then came back and enveloped me in a fierce bear hug. "I love you, Im-be-Cecile," he mumbled into my hair. "But you're blind when it comes to those you love. You need to open your eyes."

I listened to the heavy tread of his boots, hoping that he'd reconsider and come back. But he was gone.

The clock in the great room struck the hour, pulling me from my thoughts. Bong, bong, bong, it sang softly, and I counted the beats up to twelve. "Do you know when my mother plans to rise?" I asked the cook.

"She rose at a decent hour, mademoiselle," the cook said with a little sniff. "She departed several hours ago, but she left you a note. It's on the front table."

Frowning, I went out to the front entry and found a folded bit of paper with my name on the front.

Darling, I hope you are feeling much improved this morning. Please meet me at the opera house at noon today I have wonderfully exciting news to share with you.

I glanced at the water clock, then back at the note. "Stones and sky!" I swore, then bolted to the stairs.

Nine.

Cecile

I was late, but my mother was later.

We had grouped in the foyer de la danse, a grand room reserved for the premiere ballerinas and the gentlemen subscribers who admired them. It was a golden place, pilasters rising up to the graceful arches of the frescoed ceiling and mirrors reflecting the light of the ma.s.sive chandelier hanging in the center.

Portraits of famous dancers and sopranos ringed the room, their intricate frames clutched by gilded cherubs. It was, in a way, a history of the Trianon opera, for while this building was relatively new, the portraits dated back to when the company was in its infancy some two hundred years prior. It reminded me of the gallery of the Kings in the Trollus library, and made me wish I'd taken the time to see the gallery of the Queens. History told through faces and clothing, the skill of the artist whispering a story with oil and brush.

I stared at the portrait of my mother hung in a place of privilege on one wall and wondered what secret truths, if any, it told about her. Moving almost of their own accord, my fingers brushed against the golden locket hanging at my throat, even as my eyes fixed on the one painted around hers.

"Cecile?"

I blinked. Sabine was staring at me with a frown on her face. "Sorry," I said. "What was that you were saying about Julian?" She'd been telling me about my co-star's antics the night prior, but I'd barely been listening.

She frowned. "Has something happened?"

I nodded. "Chris and I had a little adventure. I'll tell you about it after."

"Bad?"

I gave her a grim nod. We were practiced in speaking in code when we weren't alone, but this conversation needed to wait.

I shifted on the velvet banquette, pulling off my shoes and tucking my feet underneath me. I needed to change the subject before anyone took note of our conversation. "Does anyone know what this is about?"

"I do," Julian said from where he sat perched on his own cushion. He looked as fresh as someone who has had a night of uninterrupted sleep, although from what Sabine had been saying, he hadn't gotten any more than I had.

"Do you intend to share what you know with us?" I asked.

He shook his head and grinned. "It's Genny's news to tell."

I winced inwardly at his familiarity, remembering all too clearly how she had rejected my father's use of the very same nickname. They were very close, Julian and my mother. Uncomfortably so, at times.

She had "discovered" him years ago, an orphan singing on the street corner for coin, and had taken him under her wing. Then she'd made him a star. Unbeknownst to me, or to any of my family other than Fred, he had been living with her for the past four years. He'd been ousted the day I arrived in Trianon because it would have been improper for us to live under the same roof, and anyone with two wits to rub together knew that he resented me for it.

I glanced around the room to see who'd been invited. It was all the princ.i.p.al members of the company, plus a few from costuming and set design. A select group, which indicated we'd be performing outside of the theatre. "A private performance for some n.o.bleman?" I asked, hoping to take the wind out of Julian's sails if I guessed correctly.

His grin widened, white teeth gleaming. "Better."

I slouched down. Whatever. It didn't matter what or for whom. Adding another performance meant more rehearsals, and I didn't have time for that. I needed to be out looking for a.n.u.shka. The need to be out on the streets doing something was like an itch that couldn't be scratched.

But my mother had set conditions when I'd come to Trianon, and the primary one was that I perform often and that I perform well. Failure would see me evicted from her house before I could blink, and I had no other skills for supporting myself in Trianon. Even if I did, none of them would give me the sort of access to all the levels of society that singing did, which meant that I had no choice but to indulge my mother's wishes.

I closed my eyes, feeling the pressure of the promise I'd made to the King. It wasn't anything like a promise made to another human. I had barely gone a moment without thinking about how badly I needed to find her. My hunt had monopolized my thoughts since I'd left Trollus, but now it was much worse. Obsessive. I needed to find her, but the question was how? I had already done everything I could think of to find her short of walking through the streets, screaming her name, and hoping she might deign to show herself.

And I hadn't the slightest idea how to use magic to improve my chances. None of the spells in the grimoire mentioned anything about how to find someone, and it was my only resource. I needed a teacher, and not just anyone would do. I needed someone who understood the dark arts.

The room went quiet, and I opened my eyes to see my mother swaying across the floor. She settled down on a banquette in the middle of the circle, always the star of the show.

"Thank you all for coming," my mother said, pausing to blow steam off the cup Julian had handed her. "I have very exciting news that I'm finally able to share." She paused again for effect. "I am so pleased to announce that the Regent's wife, Lady Marie du Chastelier, has commissioned our company to stage and perform a masque for her annual winter solstice party."

Most of the company exchanged confused glances, but history of the arts had been one of the things I'd studied in Trollus. I cleared my throat. "Haven't masques been out of fashion for, I don't know, two hundred years?"

My mother raised one tawny eyebrow. "What is old is new again, dearest."

There was nothing she hated more than having her ideas contested. She always had to have her way.

"What's a masque?" Sabine asked.

"It's a performance," Julian interjected, "in which all the important ladies of the court will be a part. Lady Marie intends to spare no expense." Rising to his feet, he retrieved sheets of paper and distributed them to the group. "I will be playing the devil," he said, handing me a page. "Genny will play Vice and Cecile will play Virtue."

I scanned the pages, my interest in the idea briefly pushing away Thibault's compulsion. But only for a moment. The lively murmurs of the group buzzed like a hive of bees, but I didn't join in. All I could think about was how I didn't have time for this. I rubbed my temples with my fingers, but nothing seemed to reduce the tension in my skull.

"Attention, attention!" my mother trilled. "I also have one more announcement to make."

Conversation ceased and heads swiveled back around, everyone curious about what else Genevieve might have up her sleeve. Even once she had our attention, she took her time, slowly smoothing the lace overlay of her dress while she fed off our antic.i.p.ation. "This is bittersweet," she finally whispered.

The whole company leaned forward.

"I..." She hesitated, the corners of her mouth tipping slightly downwards. "I've decided that the Regent's court masque will be my final performance."

I felt my mouth drop open. No one in the room spoke a word, such was our collective astonishment. Genevieve, retire?

"Years ago," she continued, reveling in our shock, "I made the decision to put my career ahead of my family. I know you all, as artists, can understand why I made the decision, and it has been a rare moment I've had cause to regret it."

Her words stung, undoing all the goodwill from the night prior I'd barely realized had built up. I remembered all too clearly the number of times I'd sat waiting for her on the lane leading toward our farm on the day of a promised visit. A visit that only rarely materialized.

Before I'd moved to Trianon, I'd always made excuses for her, imagining her reluctantly prioritizing her performances when in her heart, she really wanted to be visiting me. I knew better, but even so, her ability to manipulate my emotions never seemed to diminish. Fred was right: I was an idiot. My cup hit the saucer with a sharp click, and she glanced my direction.

"But," she said, her eyes not moving from me, "I feel that I have reached the peak of my career. I have sung all the great roles and performed for all the most powerful and influential people on the Isle. There is nothing more I can achieve onstage, and I would rather retire now than witness my own decline."

"You can't!"

Everyone in the room jumped and turned to look at Julian, who was on his feet, face drained of color. "You can't leave!"

My mother's brow creased. "I won't be leaving, darling. I will merely be stepping off the stage so that I can focus on Cecile's career. It is time for her portrait to be hung on these walls."

Julian rounded on me, his expression filled with venom. "This is your fault. Your coming to Trianon ruined everything. I wish you had died in Courville."

I flinched, half expecting him to attack me, but instead he stormed out of the room.

"Julian, darling! Wait." My mother scampered to her feet and ran after him.

Everyone turned to look at me. "I didn't know," I said, holding up my hands. "I am as shocked as the rest of you."

Half a dozen conversations ensued, everyone interrupting each other as they speculated about whether Julian would forgive my mother, why she'd really decided to retire, and what the Regent's masque would be like. I said nothing, only stared down at the papers in my hand. My head began to steadily pound as though I were being punished for my momentary distraction, the pain making the words on the page blur. The ache beat in a rhythm that seemed to repeat the words "find her" over and over again. Climbing to my feet, I hurried out into the corridor, then around the corner until I stood in the stage wings.

From the pocket of my dress, I withdrew the grimoire, the feel of its repulsive cover somehow soothing my head. Opening the clasp, I flipped through the spells. Despite its current unhelpfulness, it felt good to have it back in my possession once more. Glancing around to make sure I was alone, I focused my attention on Tristan. He seemed so far away, the knot of emotion I a.s.sociated with him small compared to how it had felt when I was in Trollus, but I could still sense his pain and anger.

Anger at you.

"You all right?"

I turned to see Sabine.

"Your dream is coming true. Lead soprano for the most famous opera house on the Isle." Her smile was half-hearted. "Or at least, what used to be your dream."

It still was, and that was what made it so hard, because I had to willfully push it aside. It was a dream that needed to remain that way. "It's a demanding position. I don't have time for it, and the last thing I need is my mother turning her full attention on me." But declining wasn't an option. She had a plan in her mind, and if I disrupted it, she'd send me back to the Hollow in an instant. She'd rather see her plans destroyed than ever consider a compromise.