My lungs were screaming.

I hadn’t had time to draw breath before she’d pushed me under, hadn’t been able to brace myself against the sudden, piercing cold. Icy fingers raked my skin, stunning my senses. Stealing my senses. Whatever magic Lou had cast to warm the water had vanished. Debilitating numbness crept up my fingers. My toes. Panic swiftly followed.

And then—just as suddenly—my eyesight blinked out.

The world went black.

I thrashed against Lou’s hold, loosening the little breath I had left, but she clung to me, wrapping her limbs around my torso and squeezing, anchoring us to the bottom of the pool. Bubbles exploded around us as I fought. She held me with unnatural strength, rubbing her cheek against mine like she meant to—to calm me. To comfort me.

But she was drowning us both, and my chest was too tight, my throat closing. There was no calm. There was no comfort. My limbs grew heavier with each passing second. In a last, desperate attempt, I pushed upward from the ground with all my strength. At the jerk of Lou’s body, the silt solidified around my feet. Trapping me.

Then she punched me in the mouth.

I rocked backward—bewildered, my thoughts fading to black—and prepared for the water to rush in, to fill my lungs and end this agony. Perhaps it’d be peaceful, to drown. I’d never given it thought. When I’d imagined my own death, it’d been at the end of a sword. Perhaps twisted and broken by a witch’s hand. Violent, painful endings. Drowning would be better. Easier.

At the breaking point, my body inhaled involuntarily. I closed my sightless eyes. Wrapped my arms around Lou, buried my nose in her neck. At least Morgane wouldn’t have us. At least I wouldn’t know life without her. Small victories. Important ones.

But the water never came. Instead, impossibly crisp air flooded my mouth, and with it, the sweetest relief. Though I still couldn’t see—though the cold remained debilitating—I could breathe. I could think. Coherency returned in a disorienting wave. I took another deep breath. Then another, and another. This—this was impossible. I was breathing underwater. Like Jonah’s fish. Like the melusines. Like—

Like magic.

A sliver of disappointment pierced my chest. Inexplicable and swift. Despite the water around me, I felt . . . dirty, somehow. Sordid. I’d loathed magic my entire life, and now—now it was the only thing saving me from those I’d once called brothers. How had it come to this?

Voices broke around us, interrupting my thoughts. Clear ones. Each rang out as if we stood beside its owner on the shore, not moored beneath feet of water. More magic.

“God, I need a piss.”

“Not in the pool, you idiot! Go downstream!”

“Be quick about it.” A third voice, this one impatient. “Captain Toussaint expects us in the village soon. One last search, and we leave at first light.”

“Thank God he’s eager to return to his girl.” One of them rubbed his palms together against the cold. My brow furrowed. His girl? “Can’t say I’m sorry to leave this wretched place. Days of patrols with nothing to show for them except frostbite and—”

A fourth voice. “Are those . . . clothes?”

Lou’s fingernails drew blood now. I barely felt it. My heartbeat roared in my ears. If they examined the clothing, if they lifted my coat and shirt, they’d find my bandolier.

They’d find my Balisarda.

The voices grew louder as the men drew closer. “Two piles, it looks like.”

A pause.

“Well, they can’t be in there. The water is too cold.”

“They’d freeze to death.”

Behind sightless eyes, I imagined them inching closer to the water, searching its shallow blue depths for signs of life. But trees kept the pool shaded—even in the rising sun—and silt kept the water clouded. The snowfall would’ve covered our footsteps.

Finally, the first muttered, “No one can hold their breath this long.”

“A witch could.”

Another pause, this one longer than the last. More ominous. I held my breath, counted each rapid beat of my heart.

Tha-thump.

Tha-thump.

Tha-thump.

“But . . . these are men’s clothes. Look. Trousers.”

A haze of red cut through the unending blackness. If they found my Balisarda, I’d tear my feet from the silt by force. Even if it meant losing said feet.

Tha-thump.

Tha-thump.

I would not yield my Balisarda.

Tha-thump.

I’d incapacitate them all.

Tha-thump.

I would not lose it.

“Do you think they drowned?”

“Without their clothes?”

“You’re right. The more logical explanation is that they’re wandering around naked in the snow.”

Tha-thump.

“Perhaps a witch pulled them under.”

“By all means, go in and check.”

An indignant snort. “It’s freezing. And who knows what could be lurking in there? Anyway, if a witch did pull them under, they’ll have drowned by now. No sense in adding my corpse to the pile.”

“Some Chasseur you are.”

“I don’t see you volunteering.”

Tha-thump.

A distant part of my brain realized my heartbeat was slowing. It recognized the creeping cold down my arms, up my legs. It pealed a warning bell. Lou’s grip around my chest slowly loosened. I tightened my arms on her in response. Whatever she was doing to keep us breathing, to strengthen our hearing—it was draining her. Or perhaps it was the cold. Either way, I could feel her fading. I had to do something.

Instinctively, I sought the darkness I’d felt only once before. The chasm. The void. That place where I’d fallen as Lou lay dying, that place I’d carefully locked away and ignored. I fumbled to free it now, reaching blindly through my subconscious. But it wasn’t there. I couldn’t find it. Panic escalating, I tipped Lou’s head back and brought my mouth to hers. Forced my breath into her lungs. Still I searched, but there were no golden cords here. There were no patterns. There was only freezing water and sightless eyes and Lou—Lou’s head drooping against my arm, her grip slipping from my shoulders, her chest stilling against mine.

I shook her, my panic transforming to raw, debilitating fear, and wracked my brain for something—anything—I could do. Madame Labelle had mentioned balance. Perhaps—perhaps I could—

Pain knifed through my lungs before I could finish the thought, and I gasped. Water flooded my mouth. My vision returned abruptly, and the silt around my feet disbanded, which meant—

Lou had lost consciousness.

I didn’t pause to think, to watch the gold flickering in my periphery take shape. Clutching her limp body, I launched to the surface.

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

Pretty Porcelain

Lou

Heat radiated through my body. Slowly at first, then all at once. My limbs tingled almost painfully, nagging me back into consciousness. Cursing the pinpricks—and the snow, and the wind, and the coppery stench in the air—I groaned and opened my eyes. My throat felt raw, tight. Like someone had shoved a hot poker down it while I slept. “Reid?” The word came out a croak. I coughed—horrible, wet sounds that rattled my chest—and tried again. “Reid?”