I knew she would sacrifice her warmth—her humanity—to protect me from loup garou.
“Melt the ice, Lou,” I said. “Do it now.”
Nodding, she sank to her knees. When she pressed her hands against the ground, I moved to defend her back. Punched a Chasseur who came too close. Prayed the pattern was reversible. That it wasn’t too late.
The world seemed to still as Lou closed her eyes, and warmth pulsed outward in a wave. The ground melted to mud beneath her fingers. The suspended Chasseurs drifted back to their feet, and the trapped werewolves licked their newly freed paws. I prayed. I prayed and prayed and prayed.
Bring her back. Please.
Seek us.
When she rose, shaking her head, I crushed her in my arms. “Lou.”
“What—” She leaned back, eyes widening at the carnage around us. The Chasseurs and werewolves watched her warily, unsure how to proceed without orders. No one appeared eager to approach her again. Not even those with Balisardas. Jean Luc’s hung limp at Lou’s side. “What happened?”
“You saved us,” Coco said firmly. Though she swayed on her feet—face ashen, shirt bloody—she still looked better than Jean Luc. He’d collapsed, panting, at her boots. When he struggled to rise, she kicked him in the face. “And you will never . . . ever do it again. Do you hear me? I don’t care if Reid is . . . bound and gagged . . . at the stake—” She broke off with a wince, applying pressure to her wound.
Lou sprang forward just in time, and Coco collapsed in her arms.
“I’m fine,” Coco said, voice faint. “It’ll heal. Don’t use your magic.”
“You stupid—bitches.” Clutching his nose, Jean Luc crawled toward them. Blood poured through his fingers. “I’m going to cut you both to pieces. Give it back to me. Give me back my Balisarda—”
“Enough.” Blaise’s deep, terrible voice preceded him into view, and the werewolves shifted anxiously. In his arms, he held Terrance. Sweat coated the boy’s brow, and his breathing came quick. Labored. He’d shifted back. In this form, it was clear his entire right side had collapsed. A brown wolf near Ansel yelped sharply. After the telltale crack of bones, Liana raced forward. Though I averted my eyes from her naked skin, I couldn’t ignore her cries.
“Terrance! No, no, no. Mother moon, please. Terrance.”
Blaise’s yellow eyes flashed from the Chasseurs to Lou. “Who did this?”
Jean Luc spat blood. “Magic.”
Every eye in the vicinity turned to Lou. She paled.
“I can heal him.” Coco lifted her head from Lou’s shoulders. Her eyes were glazed. Pained. “Bring him here.”
“No.” I stepped in front of them, and Blaise snarled. “Peace, Blaise. I—I can heal your son.” Reaching into my pocket, I withdrew the vial of blood and honey.
A ghost of a smile touched Coco’s lips. She nodded. “His injuries are internal. He needs to drink it.”
Blaise didn’t stop me when I approached. He didn’t halt my wrist when I lifted the vial to Terrance’s lips.
“Drink,” I urged, tipping the liquid down the boy’s throat. He struggled weakly against me, but Blaise held him firm. When he swallowed the last of it, we all waited. Even Jean Luc. He watched with an expression of fascination and disgust as Terrance’s breathing grew stronger. As the color returned to his cheeks. One by one, the bones of his ribs snapped back into their proper places. Though he gasped in pain, Blaise stroked his hair, whispering comforts.
Tears poured down the old man’s cheeks.
“Père?” Terrance’s eyes fluttered open, and Blaise wept harder.
“Yes, son. I am here.”
The boy groaned. “The witch, she—”
“Will not be harmed,” I finished. Blaise and I locked eyes. After a tense moment, he dipped his chin in a nod.
“You have saved my son’s life, Reid Diggory. I am indebted to you.”
“No. I am indebted to you.” My gaze dropped to Terrance, and my gut twisted once more. “I know it changes nothing, but I am sorry. Truly. I wish—” I swallowed hard and looked away. Lou clutched my hand. “I wish I could bring Adrien back.”
“Oh, good Lord.” Jean Luc rolled his eyes and motioned to the Chasseurs from his position on the ground. “I’ve heard enough. Round them all up—even the Beast. They can bond in the Tower dungeon before they burn.” He turned his glare on Lou. “Kill that one now.”
Blaise’s lip curled. He stepped beside me, and the wolves stepped beside him. Growls built deep in their throats. Their hackles rose. I drew my own knives, as did Ansel, and though her face was still pale, Lou lifted her free hand. The other supported Coco. “I think not,” Blaise said.
Beau sauntered in front of us. “Consider me on their side. And as my father isn’t here to throw his weight, I’ll speak for him too. Which means . . . I outrank you.” He grinned and nodded curtly to the Chasseurs. “Stand down, men. That’s an order.”
Jean Luc glared at him, trembling with rage. “They don’t answer to you.”
“Without your Balisarda, they don’t answer to you either.”
The Chasseurs hesitated.
“We have a proposition,” Lou said.
I tensed, wary once more. We’d just defused the greatest danger. A single word from Lou could exacerbate it again.
At the sound of her voice, Blaise’s lip curled over his teeth. One of the werewolves growled. Lou ignored them both, focusing only on Jean Luc. He laughed bitterly. “Does it end with you on the stake?”
“It ends with Morgane on one.”
Surprise stole the scowl from his face. “What?”
“We know where she is.”
His eyes narrowed. “Why should I believe you?”
“I hardly have reason to lie.” She gestured around us with his Balisarda. “It’s not like you’re in any position to arrest me now. You’re outnumbered. Vulnerable. But if you return to Cesarine with us, you’ll have a good chance of finishing what you started on Modraniht. Just think—she’s still injured. If she dies, King Auguste is safe, and you become the kingdom’s new hero.”
“Morgane is in Cesarine?” Jean Luc asked sharply.
“Yes.” She glanced at me. “We . . . think she’s planning an attack during the Archbishop’s funeral.”
Heavy silence descended. At last, Blaise asked coldly, “Why do you think this?”
“We received a note.” She bent to retrieve it from her boot. “It’s in my mother’s handwriting, and it mentions a pall, and tears.”
Blaise regarded her with suspicion. “If your mother delivered this note, why did she not take you then?”
“She’s playing with us. Baiting us. This is her idea of a game. It’s also why we believe she’ll strike amidst the Archbishop’s funeral—to make a statement. To rub salt in the wound of the kingdom’s grief. La Voisin and the Dames Rouges have already agreed to stand with us. With all of your help, we can finally defeat her.”
“We need your help, frère.” I hesitated before finally extending a hand to him. “You’re . . . you’re a captain of the Chasseurs now. Your support might sway King Auguste to our cause.”