I was too distracted to notice the silence around me.

“You’re reaching,” Beau finally said, shaking his head. “You’re drawing conclusions that aren’t there. You want to attend the funeral. I understand. But that doesn’t mean Morgane will be present too.”

“What I want is to stop whatever she’s planning.”

“We don’t know what she’s planning.”

I shook my head. “We do. She isn’t going to spell it out for us, but the threat is clear—”

“Reid, darling,” Madame Labelle interrupted gently, “I know you loved the Archbishop deeply, and perhaps you need closure, but now is not the time to charge heedlessly forth—”

“It wouldn’t be heedlessly.” My hands curled into fists of their own volition, and I struggled to control my breathing. My chest was tight. Too tight. Of course they didn’t understand. This wasn’t about me. This wasn’t about—about closure. It was about justice. And if—if I could start to atone for what I’d done, if I could say goodbye . . .

The shard of longing burrowed deeper. Painful now.

I could still protect Lou. I could keep her from harm.

“You’re the one who wanted to gather allies,” I continued, voice stronger. “Tell us how to do that. Tell us how to—to persuade werewolves and mermaids to fight alongside each other. To fight alongside Chasseurs. This could work. Together, we’ll be strong enough to confront her when she makes her move.”

They all exchanged glances. Reluctant glances. Meaningful glances. Except for Lou. She watched me with an inscrutable expression. I didn’t like it. I couldn’t read it, and I could always read Lou. This look—it reminded me of a time when she kept secrets. But there were no more secrets between us. She’d promised.

“Do we . . .” Ansel rubbed the back of his neck, staring at his feet. “Do we even know if there’ll be a funeral?”

“Or where it is?” said Beau.

“Or when it is?” said Coco.

“We’ll find out,” I insisted. “We’ll be ready for her.”

Beau sighed. “Reid, don’t be stupid. If you’re correct about this note—which I’m not convinced you are, by the way—we’d be playing right into her hands. This is what she wants—”

Absalon materialized at my feet just as I opened my mouth to argue—to explode—but Lou interrupted.

“It’s true. This is what she wants.” Her voice was quiet, contemplative, as she gestured between us. “It’s exactly the sort of game she likes to play. Manipulative, cruel, divisive. She expects a response. She craves a response. The wisest course of action is to stay away.”

The last she spoke directly to me.

“Thank the Maiden’s flower.” Madame Labelle heaved a sigh of relief, wiping a hand across her brow and gifting Lou a rare smile. “I knew you couldn’t have survived this long without some common sense. If there is indeed a funeral and if Morgane indeed plans to sabotage it, we wouldn’t have the necessary time to prepare. Travel along the road would be slow and dangerous with the entire kingdom searching for us. It would take nearly a fortnight to reach the Beast of Gévaudan’s packland, and the melusines’ home in L’Eau Mélancolique would be at least a week’s journey in the opposite direction.” She wiped her brow in agitation. “Beyond that, we’d need weeks at each place to foster the necessary relationships. I’m sorry, Reid. The logistics just don’t work.”

Lou watched me, waiting.

I didn’t disappoint.

“Please, Lou,” I whispered, stepping closer. “The wisest course of action isn’t always the right one. This was my job. I’ve dealt with Morgane and the Dames Blanches all my life. I know how they operate. You were right before—Morgane incites chaos. Think about it. The day we met, she made an attempt on the king’s life during his homecoming parade.” I jerked my chin toward Beau at the memory. “She attacked the cathedral during the last of Saint Nicolas Day celebrations. Always, it’s amidst a crowd. It’s how she protects herself. It’s how she slips away.” I took her hand, surprised to feel her fingers trembling. “The Archbishop’s funeral will have an assembly like the kingdom has never seen. People from all over the world will come to pay homage to him. The havoc she’ll wreak will be devastating. But we have a real chance to stop her.”

“And if no one joins us against her?”

“They will.” Guilt ripped at my resolve, but I pushed it away. For now, I needed her to agree. I’d reveal this last bit of information when lives weren’t at stake. “We don’t need the blood witches or mermaids. The werewolves’ land isn’t far from Cesarine—a day or two’s ride at most. We’ll concentrate our efforts, focus on King Auguste and the Beast of—Blaise. We’ll do whatever is necessary to persuade them. You said it yourself. Morgane isn’t a soldier. She won’t battle if we have equal footing.” My thoughts raced faster, chasing different strategies. “She won’t expect an alliance between the Chasseurs and werewolves. We’ll ambush her . . . no. We’ll create a diversion with the Chasseurs, drive her out of the city while the werewolves lie in wait. This could work,” I repeated, louder now than before.

“Reid. You know this is a trap.”

“I would never let anything happen to you.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about.” With her free hand, she reached up to touch my cheek. “Did you know my mother threatened to feed me your heart if I escaped again?”

“That won’t happen.”

“No. It won’t.”

She dropped her hand, and everyone stilled, waiting. No one even breathed. In that moment, something shifted in our camp. Inadvertently, we’d looked to Lou for the final decision. Not Madame Labelle. Lou. I stared at her in dawning realization. She was the daughter of La Dame des Sorcières. I knew that. Of course I did. But I hadn’t yet realized the implication. If all went according to plan . . . Lou would inherit the crown. The title. The power.

Lou would become a queen.

Lou would become the Maiden, the Mother, and the Crone.

She startled as if realizing this at the same moment I did. Her eyes widened, and her mouth twisted. It was an unpleasant realization, then. An unwelcome one. When she glanced at Coco, looking deeply uncomfortable, Coco dipped her chin in a small nod.

“Right.” Lou bent to crook a finger toward the cat at our feet. “Absalon, can you deliver a message to Josephine Monvoisin?” She shot an apologetic look at Coco. “This one should come from me.”

“What are you doing?” Confusion laced my voice as I caught her hand, tugging her upright. “We should focus on Auguste and Blaise—”

“Listen, Chass.” She patted my chest once before pulling away and crouching by Absalon once more. “If we’re going to do this, we need all the help we can get. The mermaids are too far away, but the blood witches—maybe your mother is right. Maybe Josephine will be amenable under the right circumstances.” To Coco, she added, “You said the blood camp is near?”