He staggered back and away from me, colliding with the guards. “You and yours are a scourge on this earth,” he hissed. “If Cécile falls like so many before her, it will not be because of anything I have done. Her death will be on your hands.”
Shoving the guards aside, I leaned close so that we were eye to eye. “I think that if you let her die because of what you have not done, you will find that guilt is not such an easy thing to escape.” Hands were snatching at me, pulling me back and away. And I could feel my father coming in our direction; this man of enough importance to him that he’d interfere himself. I had only a second. Jerking out of their grip, I whispered, “There is a loophole in the promise she made. Tell her to think on it.”
The human’s eyes widened, but there was no time to say more. I could only pray that I’d delivered Cécile an ally, not an enemy.
27
Cécile
I spent the entire night sitting in front of the fire, hoping Catherine would contact me through the flames and tell me that she’d help; but all I’d got for my efforts were bloodshot eyes, smoky hair, and the realization that the other witch might be too afraid to provide me with assistance. If I hadn’t heard from her by tonight, my plan was to try the map spell again to see if the mark at the castle moved. It was a sure way to prove that it was Anushka, but I’d been avoiding using it again mostly because I so badly wanted to. The need to feel that flood of power lurked inside me, and I was afraid of how much worse the feeling would be if I gave in to the temptation.
Although I might not have a choice.
We were rehearsing in the foyer de la danse, because the stage in the room was much closer in size to the one we’d perform on at the castle than the massive one in the main theatre. A dozen young girls from the dance school played the roles belonging to the ladies of the court, their tarlatan skirts jutting out from their hips to reveal legs muscled from hours of training. The steps were no challenge to them, but their eyes gleamed with the excitement of holding the attention, however briefly, of the most influential members of the company.
I watched dubiously while crewmembers rigged a swing that would suspend me above the rest of the cast through the second half of the masque.
“And you will swing gently back and forth,” Monsieur Johnson explained to me. “The Queen of Virtue, smiling down upon her beautiful subjects.”
“I can’t smile while I sing,” I said, giving the swing a hard jerk with one hand to ensure it was secure.
“Smile with your eyes,” he exclaimed. “With your posture. With your very soul!”
From behind him, my mother rolled her eyes, and I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. I was back in her good graces after my venture out with Julian, who had dutifully returned me home before midnight, and, to the best of my knowledge, not breathed a word about where we had gone. “My soul will be beaming, monsieur,” I said. “I will not disappoint.”
He clapped his hands together, then ran off to herd the rest of the cast into the wings.
“What a silly little man,” my mother murmured, yanking on the ropes. Seeming unsatisfied, she took hold of the swing with both hands and lifted her feet so that she was suspended off the ground. “If it holds my weight, it will hold yours,” she said. “Although maybe we should attach a wire to you just in case.”
“It will be fine,” I said, sitting down on the plank.
“Please hold on tightly.” She pulled my hair out from where it was tucked behind my ears. “If you were to fall and injure yourself, it would be a disaster.”
“I won’t fall,” I assured her.
She did not look convinced.
“How do you feel about tomorrow?” I asked. Tomorrow was closing night for this particular production run, and Genevieve’s final public performance.
“It matters less than you might think,” she said, bending down to kiss me on the forehead. “I’ll be living through you every time you step onstage.”
Pulleys creaked, and I lifted up into the air until I was at the same level as the massive crystal chandelier hanging in the center of the room. Kicking my feet, I began to swing back and forth.
“Too much vigor,” Monsieur Johnson shouted. “You look like a child at play, not a queen.”
I slowed my momentum.
“Uncross your ankles!”
I did so.
“I didn’t say spread your legs,” he shouted. “You’re Virtue, not some Pigalle harlot!”
My mother snarled something I couldn’t hear and the man blanched. “Please keep your knees together, Mademoiselle de Troyes,” he said, tone contrite. “Otherwise the audience will see up your skirts.”
He nodded to the musicians, and they began to play. Taking a few swift breaths, I inhaled deeply, and then I sang.
For the first verse, I was alone on the stage, but then the dancers made their way out from the wings. They did not make it far before Monsieur Johnson called a halt. “Softer, mademoiselle,” he said to me. “This is not the theatre.”
We started and stopped another dozen times, while the man shouted instructions and criticism, keen to have perfection from the professionals before he brought in the untutored ladies of the court. The rough plank of the swing was hard, and my bottom grew numb even as my back began to ache.
Would the mark on the castle move if the spell were performed again, I wondered. And what would I do if it did?
“Again!”
The map spell had given me clues to how Anushka was achieving immortality, but I was at a loss of what to make of them. I was certain the mark at the castle had been the living, breathing witch, but that didn’t bring me much closer to discovering her identity. I was sure Marie knew who she was, but I was just as sure she wouldn’t volunteer the information, especially to me. If I could get a strand of her hair, it was possible I could take the knowledge from her mind with magic, but getting the hair would be no mean feat, given I hadn’t so much as seen her since our first meeting.
“You call yourselves the best? This is a disaster! Again!”
We finally made it all the way through the first piece without interruption and were rewarded with grudging praise. Turning to my mother, Monsieur Johnson began to speak in earnest, and I gave off swinging. My back ached fiercely, and I swallowed away the malaise swimming in my stomach.
What linked the dead women? Why had Anushka chosen them among all the other souls living on the Isle? It was possible they were entirely random, but my gut told me otherwise. If there was a pattern, it was possible I could predict who was next, and that had to be worth something.
Leaning backwards, I cracked my aching back, my eyes drifting over the paintings of women hanging to the left of the stage. Their hairstyles and clothing were old-fashioned and strange to me, but what caught my eye was something all too familiar. My heart lurched, and I jerked upright, twisting on the swing to stare at the painting of a young woman.
Letting go with one hand, I touched the necklace at my throat, twin to the one the artist had rendered. But that paled in comparison to the fire of exhilaration that seared through my veins as I took in the writing on the plaque beneath it.
I’d seen that name before.