He moved closer cautiously and leaned against the empty doorframe. I ignored him, dumping more of the lavender soap in my palm. We were both silent as he watched me lather my hair.

“Where did you get those scars?” he asked.

I didn’t pause. Though mine were nothing compared to Coco’s and Babette’s, I still had quite a few. A hazard of a life on the streets. “Which ones?”

“All of them.”

I risked a glance at him then, and my heart plummeted when I realized he was staring at my throat. I directed him to my shoulder instead, pointing at the long, jagged line there. “Ran into the wrong end of a knife.” I held up my elbow to show him another speckling of scars. “Tangled with a barbed-wire fence.” Tapped beneath my collarbone. “Another knife. That one hurt like a bitch too.”

He ignored my language, eyes inscrutable as he stared at me. “Who did it?”

“Andre.” I dipped my hair back into the water, smiling when he averted his eyes. Hair clean, I wrapped my arms around my shins and rested my chin on my knees. “He got the jump on me when I first arrived in the city.”

He sighed heavily, as if he were suddenly weary. “I’m sorry we didn’t find them.”

“You will.”

“Oh?”

“They aren’t the brightest. They’ll probably show up here by morning, demanding to know why you’re searching for them.”

He chuckled and rubbed his neck, emphasizing the curve of his bicep. He’d rolled up his shirtsleeves since the interrogation, and I couldn’t help but trace the long line of his forearm to his hand. To his callused fingers. To the fine, copper hair dusting his skin.

He cleared his throat and dropped his arm hastily. “I should go. We’re interrogating Madame Labelle soon. Then the other one—the thief at Tremblay’s. Bastien St. Pierre.”

My heart stopped, and I pitched forward, sloshing bubbles and water in every direction. “Not Bas?” He nodded, eyes narrowing. “But—but he escaped!”

“We found him skulking outside a back entrance to Soleil et Lune.” Disapproval radiated from him. “It’s just as well. The constabulary would’ve arrested him sooner or later. He killed one of Tremblay’s guards.”

Holy hell. I sat back, chest tightening as panic clawed up my throat, and fought to control my breathing. “What will happen to him?”

His eyebrows drew together in surprise. “He’ll hang.”

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

Of course Bas had been arrested. Of course he’d murdered a guard instead of knocking him unconscious. Why had the idiot been at Soleil et Lune in the first place? He’d known they were looking for him. He’d known. Why hadn’t he fled? Why hadn’t he been halfway across the sea? Why hadn’t he been, well, Bas?

Despite the warm bathwater, gooseflesh rose on my skin. Could he . . . could he have come back for me? Hope and despair warred in my chest, equally hideous, but panic soon conquered them both.

“You have to let me see him.”

“That’s out of the question.”

“Please.” I loathed the word, but if he refused—if pleading didn’t work—I’d have only one option. Magic outside the infirmary was a huge risk, but it was one I’d have to take.

Because Bas knew about Coco, yes—but he also knew about me.

I wondered how much information on two witches was worth. His life? His prison sentence? A fair trade in the eyes of the Chasseurs, and one Bas was sure to make. Even if he had come back for me, he wouldn’t hesitate with his life in the balance.

I cursed myself for confiding in him. I’d known his character. I’d known who he was, yet still I’d allowed myself to relax, to spill my deepest secrets. Well—one of them, anyway. And now I would pay the price, as would Coco.

Stupid. So, so stupid.

“Please,” I repeated.

My husband blinked at the word, clearly stunned. But his shock soon gave way to suspicion. He scowled. “Why are you so concerned about him?”

“He’s a friend.” I didn’t care that my voice sounded desperate. “A dear friend.”

“Of course he is.” At my pained expression, he glared at the ceiling and added, almost reluctantly, “He’ll have a chance to save himself.”

“How so?”

Though I already knew the answer, I held my breath, dreading his next words.

“The witch is still our priority,” he confirmed. “If he gives us information that leads to its capture, his sentence will be reevaluated.”

I clutched the edge of the tub for support, forcing myself to remain calm. My other hand rose to stroke the scar at my throat—an instinctive, agitated gesture.

After a long moment, his voice drifted toward me on a whisper. “Are you well? You look . . . pale.”

When I didn’t answer, he strode across the room and crouched beside the tub. I didn’t care that the bubbles were thinning. Apparently, neither did he. He reached out and touched a strand of hair by my ear. Soap came away on his fingers. “You missed a spot.”

I said nothing as he pooled water in his palm and let it trickle down my hair, but my breath caught when his fingers hovered above my throat. “How did you get this one?” he murmured.

Swallowing hard, I searched for a lie and found none. “That’s a story for another day, Chass.”

He leaned back on his heels, blue eyes searching my face.

I covered the scar instinctively and stared at my reflection in the soapy water. After everything I’d been through—after everything I’d endured—I would not burn for Bas. I was no one’s sacrifice. Not then. Not now. Not ever.

There was only one thing to do.

I would have to save him.

My husband left me a few moments later to return to the council room. Vaulting from the tub, I hastened to find the candle I’d hidden within the linen cupboard. I’d nicked it from the sanctuary during Ansel’s tour yesterday. With quick, practiced movements, I lit the wax and set it on the desk. Herbal smoke immediately overpowered the room, and I sighed in relief. The smell wasn’t quite right, but it was close enough. By the time he returned, the magic would’ve faded. Hopefully.

After pacing the room frenetically for several long minutes, I forced myself to sit on the bed. Waited impatiently for Ansel to return.

He was young. Easily turned, perhaps. At least that’s what I told myself.

After an eternity and a day, he knocked on the door.

“Come in!”

He walked into the room warily, eyes darting to the washroom. Clearly checking to make sure I was properly clothed.

I stood and took a deep breath, steeling myself for what was to come. I could only hope Ansel wasn’t wearing his Balisarda.

Smiling coyly, I locked eyes with him as he stepped farther into the room. My skin tingled in anticipation. “I missed you.”

He blinked at my strange voice, brows furrowing. Sauntering closer, I placed a hand on his forearm. He made to jerk away but paused at the last second. He blinked again.

I drew up against his chest and drank in his scent—his essence. My skin shone against the pale blue of his coat. We gazed at the glow together, lips parting. “So strong,” I breathed. The words flowed deep and resonant from my lips. “So worthy. They have made a mistake in underestimating you.”