when she spoke again, her voice was much softer. “I would take your place if I could, ma s?ur—any of us would. But we can’t. It has to be you.”
The tears spilled down her cheeks now. “I know it’s too much to ask. I know I have no right—but please, Lou. Please don’t flee again. You’re the only one who can end this. You’re the only one who can save us. Promise me you won’t try to escape.”
I watched her tears as if from another’s body. A heaviness settled through me that had nothing to do with injections. It pressed against my chest, my nose, my mouth—suffocating me, pulling me under, tempting me with oblivion. With surrender. With rest.
God, I was tired.
The words left my lips of their own volition. “I promise.”
“You—you do?”
“I do.” Despite the gentle pressure, the coaxing darkness, I forced myself to meet her eyes. They shone with a hope so clear and sharp it might’ve cut me. “I’m sorry, Manon. I never meant for anyone to die. When it—after it happens—I—I promise to look for Fleur in the afterlife—wherever it is. And if I find her, I’ll tell her how much you miss her. How much you love her.”
Her tears fell faster now, and she clasped my hands between her own, squeezing tight. “Thank you, Lou. Thank you. I’ll never forget what you’ve done for me. For us. All of this pain will be over soon.”
All of this pain will be over soon.
I longed to sleep.
I had little to do over the next two days but drift into darkness.
I’d been buffed and polished to perfection, every mark and memory of the past two years erased from my body. A perfect corpse. My nursemaids arrived each morning at dawn to help Manon bathe and dress me, but with each sunrise, they spoke less.
“She’s dying right before our eyes,” one had finally muttered, unable to ignore the increasing hollowness of my eyes, the sickly pallor of my skin. Manon had shooed her from the room.
I supposed it was true. I felt more connected with Estelle and Fleur than I did with Manon and my nursemaids. Already, I had one foot in the afterlife. Even the pain in my head and stomach had dulled—still there, still inhibiting, but somehow . . . removed. As if I existed apart from it.
“It’s time to get dressed, Lou.” Manon stroked my hair, her dark eyes deeply troubled. I didn’t attempt to move away from her touch. I didn’t even blink. I only continued my unending stare at the ceiling. “Tonight is the night.”
She lifted my nightgown over my head and bathed me quickly, but she avoided truly looking at me. A fortnight of inadequate eating on the road had forced my bones to protrude. I was gaunt. A living skeleton.
The silence stretched on as she stuffed my limbs into the white ceremonial gown of Morgane’s choosing. An identical match to the gown I’d worn on my sixteenth birthday.
“I’ve always wondered”—Manon swallowed hard, glancing at my throat—“how you managed to escape last time.”
“I gave up my life.”
There was a pause. “But . . . you didn’t. You lived.”
“I gave up my life,” I repeated, voice slow and lethargic. “I had no intention of returning to this place.” I blinked at her before returning my gaze to the moondust on the sill. “Of seeing you or my mother or anyone here ever again.”
“You found a loophole.” She exhaled softly on a chuckle. “Brilliant. Your symbolic life for your physical one.”
“Don’t worry.” I forced the words from my lips with extreme effort. They rolled—thick and heavy and poisonous—off my tongue, leaving me exhausted. She laid me back against my pillow, and I closed my eyes. “It won’t work again.”
“Why not?”
I peeked an eye open. “I can’t give him up.”
Her gaze dropped to my mother-of-pearl ring in an unspoken question, but I said nothing, closing my eyes once more. I was vaguely aware of someone knocking, but the sound was far away.
Footsteps. A door opening. Shutting.
“Louise?” Manon asked tentatively. My eyes fluttered open . . . whether seconds or hours later, I did not know. “Our Lady has requested your presence in her chambers.”
When I didn’t respond, she lifted my arm over her shoulder and hoisted me from the bed.
“I can only escort you to her antechamber,” she whispered. My sisters drew back—surprised—as we walked through the corridors. The younger ones craned their necks to get a good look at me. “You have a visitor, apparently.”
A