“You’re being dramatic.” Did she really mean to retire? “It isn’t as though you are dying.”
Something flicked across her gaze, but was gone again in an instant. “Of course not. But the young inherit. That is how it has always been, and it is how it will always be. I need…” She broke off, then huffed out a breath of air. “I need you to go to your room. And every night you aren’t performing, I expect you to be back in this house before dark. Am I clear, or must I go over the terms of your continued presence in Trianon once again?”
“Perfectly clear.” Agreeing with her was easier than arguing. She was never at home at night anyway, so it would be easy to sneak out when and if I needed to. Twisting past her, I trotted toward the stairs.
“You’ll be accompanying Julian and me to the castle in the morning to meet with Lady Marie and the rest of the ladies who will be performing in the masque. I want you dressed in your finest and on your best behavior.”
“But…” I’d had every intention of going back to Pigalle in the morning to speak with La Voisin.
“No buts.” Her voice was sharp. “You will do as I say, or you will find yourself back on the farm.”
Gooseflesh prickled across my skin, and the idea of disobeying her abruptly felt like an especially bad idea. She did not make idle threats. “I’ll be ready.”
The chill didn’t abandon me until I was up in my room, ensconced in front of the fire and a thick blanket wrapped around my shoulders. I stared into the flames, trying to put my thoughts in order.
The moment felt surreal, which was strange, given that sitting on the floor of my bedroom wrapped up in my own thoughts was the most normal thing I’d done in recent days. I’d ridden out into the dark of night with a stranger. Made a bargain with the king of the trolls. Tracked down a witch in the most dangerous quarter of Trianon. Confronted the city guard. In all of those moments, I’d felt so present and alive, but now, sitting alone in front of the fire, I barely felt like myself.
Maybe because I wasn’t. Maybe because I’d changed.
Covering my eyes with my hands, I mumbled, “I don’t know who I am anymore.”
“You are Cécile de Troyes, star of the opera stage and Trianon’s new favorite ingénue.”
Every muscle in my body jerked at the sarcastic voice. It was one thing talking to myself, quite another to have myself answer back. Spreading my fingers ever so slightly, I peered through the narrow cracks between them. Eyes stared out at me from the flames.
Squeaking, I fell backwards, tangling in my blanket.
“Oh, stop that.”
The voice was familiar. Cautiously, I crawled on hands and knees back toward the fire, my body tense and ready to bound away again at the slightest hint of a threat. “La Voisin? Is that you?”
“Please call me Catherine.” Disembodied though it was, her voice seemed calm.
I was anything but. I’d seen so many incredible things, but this… If she could do this spell, that meant I could learn to as well. A thousand possibilities blossomed in my mind of the ways I could make use of it. Maybe it meant I could talk to some of my half-blood friends in Trollus. Maybe it meant I could see Tristan. “How is this possible?”
“Magic, obviously.” The eyes in the flames blinked at me. “You’ve very distinctive hair, and you lost a few strands in my shop today. You should be careful about leaving behind pieces of yourself – they can be used.”
The eyes disappeared and reappeared with an eerie blink.
“You did me a good turn today, getting me out of that spot of trouble with the guard,” she continued, not waiting for me to answer. “Come by the shop tomorrow, and I’ll help you as best I can.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but the flames flared up high, and as suddenly as they had arrived, the witch’s eyes were gone.
THIRTEEN
TRISTAN
I left the manacles on. Not because I was afraid of the punishment for removing them, though I was. And not because I was cocky enough to believe I could easily best him. The reason I left them on was that I refused to believe that even in these dark hours I had any need to defend myself from my cousin. Which perhaps made me