“I have no reason to live without her.”
I spat on the floor. “Nothing to live for? What of your family? Your friends? Your cause? Does none of that matter to you anymore?” I stormed forward until we were eye to eye, inches apart. “Before Anaïs. Before the twins. Before the half-bloods, there existed an idea between you and me about how we could change our world for the better. This has always been as much your cause as mine.”
He looked away first. “Don’t stand there and pretend you’d be any better if Cécile died. I watched you throw away everything to save her.”
“Because she could be saved! I’ll not claim that what I did was right, but at least it had purpose. Your death has none. It won’t bring Pénélope back. And if Cécile were to die and I survived long enough to listen, I’d hope you’d say the same thing to me.”
I balled my fists until my wrists screamed and forced me to relax them. “There is more to my life than just her. There are other people I care for. Causes that matter.” I drew in a deep breath. “She walks as close to the line of death as Pénélope ever did, and there are times I question why we do this to ourselves. Why we tie our fate so closely to one person that everything we are, everything we do, hangs upon them. It seems a cruel thing that we lose not only the one we love most, but also the opportunity to endure. To finish the things we’ve started.”
My anger fled, and I suddenly felt bone-weary. “I do not know what her death would do to me, whether I’d have the will to carry on.” I concentrated on the pain in my wrists, trying to focus my thoughts. “I cannot imagine life without her, but at the same time, I hate the thought that what we’ve started in Trollus might go unfinished. It seems such a wretched waste.”
Neither of us said anything for a long time, the activity of the mines the only sound to break the silence.
“I’m sorry for the pain my choices caused you,” I said. “But I cannot seem to regret them.” Pushing past him, I started toward the lift.
“That’s it?” he shouted after me. “You’re just going to wash your hands of what you’ve done and leave my mind to turn as twisted and broken as the rest of me?”
I stopped, but I didn’t turn around. I was afraid that if I looked at him, I’d lose my nerve, the fragile confidence I had in the truth my own fears had revealed to me.
“It’s not up to me anymore, Marc,” I said. “If you find reason inside yourself to live, your will and your word might cease to be at odds and your mind once again be whole. Or you can pine away for death and let the madness grow until my father orders you put down. The choice is yours.”
My feet didn’t want to move, but I made them. Step after step until the stone slab of the lift lay beneath them. And as it started to rise, I prayed to fate and the stars that I hadn’t made another choice that I’d have cause to regret.
14
Cécile
The carriage jerked and bounced over the ruts in the road, bruising my bottom and making my teeth clack together. Winter was approaching, the ground hard with frost and the air laced with the scent of coming snow. I pulled my cloak tighter around my body as I watched the faces of those we passed, wishing my eyes would light upon the one I sought, even as I knew that I would never be so lucky.
But then my eyes did catch sight of a familiar face: Esmeralda. She stood with a group of sailors, gesturing angrily, and although there was little chance of her glancing up to see me, I leaned back so that my face was obscured by the curtain. And felt cowardly as I did. I was supposed to have helped Zoé and Élise—all the half-bloods—but there were times when I thought all I’d done was make things worse for them. I’d distracted Tristan and altered his focus, and I knew he’d sacrificed them to save me when I’d been hurt.
No humans were allowed into Trollus anymore, so Esmeralda had lost her only contact with her nieces. All because of me. There was no apology capable of making up for that—the only thing that could would be breaking the curse and winning the girls’ freedom.
I sighed, pushing my regrets to the back of my mind. I’d barely been able to sleep last night, my mind so full of the possibilities that one short conversation with La Voisin—Catherine—had opened up for me. The least of which was the chance I might be able to communicate with those in Trollus.
Tristan had been up to something last night, and his wakefulness had contributed to my own insomnia. It would help so much to be able to talk to him just once. To explain what had happened and what I’d discovered. I bit my lip, thinking about how that conversation would go. Perhaps not as well as I’d like. I knew that he did not support my actions, and given the chance, he’d probably tell me to stop. To give up.
But I couldn’t.
I shivered, and then slid the window shut so my mother and Julian would think the chill was finally getting to me. We were on the way to the Regent’s castle for our first rehearsal with the ladies who would be part of the performance; and as she had commissioned the performance, the Regent’s wife, Marie du Chastelier, was certain to be there. Twelve of the most important women in Trianon, and who knew how many others there to keep them entertained.
It was an incredible and unique opportunity, but my enjoyment was tempered by another thought that had occurred to me last night: this was not a social circle I’d met in the foyer of the opera. These women were a level above me, and it might be possible that Anushka was among them.
“Have you given any consideration to the list of operas I provided you?” Julian asked. “Given it will be Cécile’s debut as lead soprano, it’s important we make the correct choice. A fresh new act for a fresh new face.”
He’s still under the effects of the potion. The thought nudged me, sending a trickle of discontent through my veins. I hadn’t spoken to Sabine since I’d confronted her, but I was finding it hard to stay angry with her. What she’d tried to do was wrong, but her actions had a good intention.
“I’ll keep your suggestions in mind.” There was a trace of sarcasm in my mother’s voice, but Julian didn’t seem to notice.
“It needs to be something avant-garde, maybe a little scandalous…”
“And its selection is not our priority,” my mother interrupted. “The masque is.”
“But we need to stay ahead of our competition!”
“Drop it, Julian,” I muttered, then tuned them out and stared down at my hands. My chapped fingertips peeked out from blue lace half-gloves, nails bitten down to the quick. When had I started doing that?
Over the rattle of the carriage, I heard the sound of rushing water. A glance out the window confirmed we were on the bridge leading to the walled castle gates. The Regent’s castle was built on an island in the middle of the Indre River, the thick stone walls rising up from the swift rapids. The only access to the island was the bridges, one to the north bank and one to the south, both with heavily fortified gates. I’d never been inside the walls before, and despite myself, I was eager to see what the castle would be like.
The carriage stopped, and moments later, a guard looked in the window at us. My mother lifted a hand in greeting, and he waved us forward. I caught a quick flash of the walls as we passed through the gates. They were dull grey with a faint hint of green lichen in the mortar cracks, but the impression they gave me was of strength and practicality. The castle had been built with defense, not beauty, in mind, although to the best of my knowledge, it had never been attacked.