Ignoring my stomach’s traitorous growl, I pulled out the bottle of wine I’d hidden amidst the contents of Reid’s rucksack. I hadn’t been able to pack for the journey myself, what with Morgane snatching me from the steps of Cathédral Saint-Cécile d’Cesarine. Fortunately, I’d just happened to wander a bit too far from camp yesterday, securing a handful of useful items from a peddler on the road. The wine had been essential. As had new clothes. Though Coco and Reid had cobbled together an ensemble for me to wear instead of my bloody ceremonial dress, their clothing hung from my slim frame—a frame made slimmer, no, waiflike from my time at the Chateau. So far, I’d managed to keep the fruits of my little excursion hidden—both within Reid’s rucksack and beneath Madame Labelle’s borrowed cloak—but the bandage had to come off eventually.
There was no time like the present.
Reid’s eyes sharpened on the bottle of wine, and his smile vanished. “What is that?”
“A gift, of course. Don’t you know what day it is?” Determined to save the evening, I pressed the bottle into Ansel’s unsuspecting hands. His fingers closed around its neck, and he smiled, blushing anew. My heart swelled. “Bon anniversaire, mon petit chou!”
“It isn’t my birthday until next month,” he said sheepishly, but he clutched the bottle to his chest anyway. The fire cast flickering light on his quiet joy. “No one’s ever—” He cleared his throat and swallowed hard. “I’ve never received a present before.”
The happiness in my chest punctured slightly.
As a child, my own birthdays had been revered as holy days. Witches from all over the kingdom had journeyed to Chateau le Blanc to celebrate, and together, we’d danced beneath the light of the moon until our feet had ached. Magic had coated the temple with its sharp scent, and my mother had showered me with extravagant gifts—a tiara of diamonds and pearls one year, a bouquet of eternal ghost orchids the next. She’d once parted the tides of L’Eau Mélancolique for me to walk the seafloor, and melusines had pressed their beautiful, eerie faces against the walls of water to watch us, tossing their luminous hair and flashing their silver tails.
Even then, I’d known my sisters celebrated less my life and more my death, but I’d later wondered—in my weaker moments—if the same had been true for my mother. “We are star-crossed, you and I,” she’d murmured on my fifth birthday, pressing a kiss to my forehead. Though I couldn’t remember the details clearly—only the shadows in my bedroom, the cold night air on my skin, the eucalyptus oil in my hair—I thought a tear had trickled down her cheek. In those weaker moments, I’d known Morgane hadn’t celebrated my birthdays at all.
She’d mourned them.
“I believe the proper response is thank you.” Coco sidled up to examine the bottle of wine, tossing her black curls over a shoulder. Ansel’s color deepened. With a smirk, she trailed a suggestive finger down the curve of the glass, pressing her own curves into his lanky frame. “What vintage is it?”
Beau rolled his eyes at her obvious performance, stooping to retrieve his onions. She watched him from the corner of her dark eyes. The two hadn’t spoken a civil word in days. It’d been entertaining at first, watching Coco chop at the prince’s bloated head quip by quip, but she’d recently brought Ansel into the carnage. I’d have to talk to her about it soon. My eyes flicked to Ansel, who still smiled from ear to ear as he gazed at the wine.
Tomorrow. I’d talk to her tomorrow.
Placing her fingers over Ansel’s, Coco lifted the bottle to study the crumbling label. The firelight illuminated the myriad scars on her brown skin. “Boisaîné,” she read slowly, struggling to discern the letters. She rubbed a bit of dirt away with the hem of her cloak. “Elderwood.” She glanced at me. “I’ve never heard of such a place. It looks ancient, though. Must’ve cost a fortune.”
“Much less than you’d think, actually.” Grinning again at Reid’s suspicious expression, I swiped the bottle from her with a wink. A towering summer oak adorned its label, and beside it, a monstrous man with antlers and hooves wore a crown of branches. Luminescent yellow paint colored his eyes, which had pupils like a cat’s.
“He looks scary,” Ansel commented, leaning over my shoulder to peer closer at the label.
“He’s the Woodwose.” Nostalgia hit me in an unexpected wave. “The wild man of the forest, the king of all flora and fauna. Morgane used to tell me stories about him when I was little.”
The effect of my mother’s name was instantaneous. Beau stopped scowling abruptly. Ansel stopped blushing, and Coco stopped smirking. Reid scanned the shadows around us and slid a hand to the Balisarda in his bandolier. Even the flames of the fire guttered, as if Morgane herself had blown a cold breath through the trees to extinguish them.
I fixed my smile in place.
We hadn’t heard a word from Morgane since Modraniht. Days had passed, but we hadn’t seen a single witch. To be fair, we hadn’t seen much of anything beyond this cage of roots. I couldn’t truly complain about the Hollow, however. Indeed—despite the lack of privacy and Madame Labelle’s autocratic rule—I’d been almost relieved when we hadn’t heard back from La Voisin. We’d been granted a reprieve. And we had everything we needed here, anyway. Madame Labelle’s magic kept the danger away—warming us, cloaking us from spying eyes—and Coco had found the mountain-fed stream nearby. Its current kept the water from freezing, and certainly Ansel would catch a fish one of these days.
In this moment, it felt as if we lived in a pocket of time and space separate from the rest of the world. Morgane and her Dames Blanches, Jean Luc and his Chasseurs, even King Auguste—they ceased to exist in this place. No one could touch us. It was . . . strangely peaceful.
Like the calm before a storm.
Madame Labelle echoed my unspoken fear. “You know we cannot hide forever,” she said, repeating the same tired argument. Coco and I shared an aggrieved look as she joined us, confiscating the wine. If I had to hear one more dire warning, I would upend the bottle and drown her in it. “Your mother will find you. We alone cannot keep you from her. However, if we were to gather allies, rally others to our cause, perhaps we could—”
“The blood witches’ silence couldn’t be louder.” I grabbed the bottle back from her, wrestling with the cork. “They won’t risk Morgane’s wrath by rallying to our cause. Whatever the hell our cause even is.”
“Don’t be obtuse. If Josephine refuses to help us, there are other powerful players we can—”
“I need more time,” I interrupted loudly, hardly listening, gesturing to my throat. Though Reid’s magic had closed the wound, saving my life, a thick crust remained. It still hurt like a bitch. But that wasn’t the reason I wanted to linger here. “You’re barely healed yourself, Helene. We’ll strategize tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow.” Her eyes narrowed at the empty promise. I’d said the same for days now. This time, however, even I could hear the words landed different—true. Madame Labelle would no longer accept otherwise. As if to affirm my thoughts, she said, “Tomorrow we will talk, whether or not La Voisin answers our call. Agreed?”