Successfully untangling the knot, she moved on to another section of hair. “Père told us not to worry, of course. He said he would make it right.” Her smile twisted in the mirror’s leaden reflection. “He did just that, I suppose. Slowly but surely, Maman’s jewelry returned, along with all manner of other strange and unusual objects. He changed the lock on his safe shortly thereafter—an impossible lock even I could not pick. Not then, anyway.”
“Did Evangeline return?” I asked.
“No.” She shook her head ruefully. “Evangeline wouldn’t so much as step foot through our door after that. She said we were cursed. Another maid took her place, but Pip insisted on brushing my hair regardless. I think she wanted to distract me. Père’s contacts always visited at night.”
“She sounds like a wonderful sister.”
Her smile turned warm and genuine. “She was.”
We descended into silence for only a moment—Célie continuing to stroke my hair with expert precision—before Coco surprised me by speaking. “And your mother?”
Célie spoke without hesitation, matter-of-fact, as if Coco had asked her not an exceptionally personal question, but the color of the sky. “My mother tried. She was not particularly maternal, but she gave us what she could: gifts, mostly, but on occasion she’d join us in the parlor while we sewed or played pianoforte. She would read us stories. She could be severe at times, of course—especially after Pippa’s death—but . . . it was how she expressed her love.”
Coco no longer pretended to be interested in her reflection. “Do you think she misses you?”
“I certainly hope so.” Célie shrugged delicately, setting the brush atop the vanity. She swept my now-tidy hair down my back. “But I will see her again soon. Who knows? Perhaps she’ll be proud I helped rid the world of Morgane.”
Coco and I locked gazes in the mirror. The heartbreak in hers shone clear.
My mother tried.
It shouldn’t have been a glowing commendation, yet it was. Célie’s mother had tried, and in doing so, she’d given more to her daughter than either of our mothers had given us. Unbidden, my hand crept upward to the satin ribbon around my throat. A mark of my mother’s love.
“Why do you hide it?” Célie asked abruptly. I glanced up to find her staring at me—at my scar. Even Coco seemed to return from her thoughts, eyes sharpening on the emerald ribbon. She arched a brow, and Célie nodded to her. “Coco shows her scars.”
“Coco’s scars aren’t shameful.” I tilted my head, fixing her reflection with a narrow gaze. “Why don’t you show your scars, Célie?”
She looked away then. “I don’t have any scars.”
“Not all scars are visible.”
“You are avoiding the question.”
“So are you.”
Sighing, Coco joined Célie behind me, her hands threading through my hair. Comfortable and familiar. She leaned down, her cheek hovering beside mine, and our reflections met once more. “How many times have I told you? No scar is shameful.” Mouth set with determination, she plucked at the end of my ribbon, and it fell from my throat, revealing my scar. Except it wasn’t my scar any longer. At least, it wasn’t the scar I’d always known.
Gasping, I traced the fine lines with my fingertips, following the graceful curve of leaves, the delicate whorls of petals. Like a silver necklace, it transformed the column of my throat into something rare and beautiful. Something exquisite. When I swallowed, the leaves seemed to wink at me in the candlelight. “When did this happen?”
“When we learned you’d been possessed.” Coco straightened, pulling a small stool over beside my chair. From the pile of its fabric, the upholstery had once been velvet, though the original color and pattern had long been lost. It was simply gray now, its curving legs as rotted as the rest of this place. Coco gestured for Célie—who appeared paler than before, her hands knotted together in apprehension—to sit. “When I decided to hope regardless. My tears transformed it.”
Hope isn’t the sickness. It’s the cure.
Coco slipped her hands into Célie’s unbound hair next, surprising me yet again. Judging by the way Célie straightened, the way her eyes flew wide, Coco had surprised her too. She wove the black strands into a single plait down Célie’s back, tying the end with my ribbon, looping the emerald satin into a perfect bow. “You should both show your scars,” she murmured.
Célie dragged her braid across her shoulder to stare at it, fingering the tails of the ribbon in quiet wonder. Coco plopped her cheek atop my head, and her familiar scent—earthy yet sweet, like a freshly brewed cup of tea—engulfed me. “They mean you survived.”
The Oracle and the Sea Urchin
Lou
Clad in a gown of marigold chiffon with floral appliqué, each rose dark and glittering as gunpowder, I followed Eglantine through a labyrinth of passages that night. Coco walked beside me. Her own gown of ivory satin—slimmer in skirt than my own, with a fitted bodice and golden thread spun into delicate filigree—trailed behind us for miles. The dress of a true princesse. Célie glided forward on her other side, regal and elegant and completely in her element. The soft petal pink of her bodice brought color to her porcelain cheeks, and the crawling juniper vines adorning the skirt flattered her slender form.
We cut quite the striking figure, the three of us. More than one head turned as we passed.
Even Beau did a double take as he stepped from his cabin, eyes flitting from the pearl headpiece in Coco’s hair to the emerald earring in Célie’s ear, the matching ribbon on her wrist.
“Lord help us all.” Beau shook his head and stepped behind us, plunging his hands into the pockets of his velvet pants. He whistled low. “Though Heaven never created such a view.”
“We know.” Coco arched a brow over her shoulder, each step revealing a bit of smooth thigh through the slit in her skirt.
Like the rest of the ship, the hall boasted extravagance with its once-gilded panels and glittering, albeit broken, chandeliers. Unlike our cabins, however, this room rose high above us, the painted ceilings towering unnaturally tall for a sea vessel. The air here smelled not of mildew but of magic, sweet and pleasant and sharp. A golden banquet table ran the length of the enormous room, and atop it, dishes and platters of a strange variety covered every inch. At the door, a liveried melusine bowed deeply and nearly sent his wig tumbling to the floor.
“Bonjour, mes demoiselles.” He straightened with the cool hauteur of an aristocrat. On one powdered cheek, he’d drawn a tiny black heart. “Please, allow me to escort you to your seats.”
Eglantine winked at us before retreating from the room.
We followed the butler in a single-file line until we reached the head of the table, where a veritable throne of seashells and pearls sat empty, along with two seats on either side. The butler seated Coco and Célie together with practiced efficiency before turning to me. He ignored Beau altogether. With another low bow, he murmured, “The Oracle will join us shortly. She kindly asks for you to sample the salted sea lettuce.” He paused to sniff through his long nose. “It is her very favorite.”
“Remember”—Célie spoke in a low voice, keeping her expression pleasant as the butler stalked back to his post—“to mind your manners.” She smiled at the aristocrats down the table. They watched us openly, some returning her smile, others whispering behind painted fans. “We would not want to disrespect our host.”
Elvire appeared without warning at her shoulder. No longer naked, she wore a dress fashioned from faded sails, complete with a belt of rope and a tiara of emeralds. The latter matched Célie’s earring. I suspected it wasn’t a coincidence. Touching it reverentially, Elvire inclined her head. “Bonjour, Mademoiselle Célie. Your gown is exquisite.”
Behind her, Leopoldine and Lasimonne leaned forward with comical interest to hang on Célie’s every word. Without preamble, the melusines sitting beside Célie rose politely and offered their seats to the guards, who accepted with equal courtesy. It was all ve
ry civil. Almost saccharine. “You must try the sargassum,” Lasimonne insisted, spooning the yellowish leaves onto Célie’s plate and drizzling green sauce over them. “It is the Oracle’s favored dish.”
I eyed her plate suspiciously, feeling very much like I’d failed to prepare for a schoolroom test. “I thought the salted sea lettuce was her favorite?”
He blinked at me before turning to Leopoldine, who nodded gravely. “It is true. Sargassum was her favored dish yesterday.”
Oh god.
“Dear me.” Lasimonne lifted a horrified hand to his chest before bowing deeply over Célie’s plate of sargassum. “My apologies, mademoiselle. Of course you must sample the salted sea lettuce instead. Good gracious. The Oracle would not have forgotten such a slight.”
Beau and I exchanged wide-eyed glances.
Without another word, I heaped salted sea lettuce onto first my plate, then Beau’s. “To the right of the dinner fork,” he muttered discreetly as I studied the mismatched cutlery on either side of my plate. I speared a leaf with the tiny fork, but before I could lift it to my mouth, Beau stopped me with the curt shake of his head. “Cut it first. Were you raised in a barn?”
Heat licked at my cheeks as I returned the leaf to my plate, searching for the proper knife.
Elvire sipped at the effervescent liquid in her flute as Célie cut her own lettuce into exemplary pieces. “Yes,” the former said, “the Oracle positively banished Guillaumette for the gaffe last week.”
“An insipid woman,” Leopoldine added conspiratorially. “I never cared for her.”
Elvire fixed her with a cool stare, lifting a silver brow. “Verily? Is she not the godmother of your daughter?”
Leopoldine abruptly busied herself with her own drink, unable to answer.
“Where is Angelica?” I focused on cutting my sea lettuce into perfect squares, lest Elvire or Leopoldine or the octopi in the street take offense and feed me to the giant squid. “Will she be joining us?”
Lasimonne stared at me as if I were the giant squid. “Of course she is.” Though clearly vexed that I’d spoken at all, he didn’t hesitate to pour me a flute of the effervescent liquid. So polite. So fascinating. If I spilled my plate in his lap, would he thank me? “She is the most treasured of the Oracle’s companions. I daresay she will arrive with Our Lady herself.”
I bit my tongue before I could ask when that would be—then ran it over my teeth to check for bits of sea lettuce, just in case. Apparently, tardiness wasn’t as heinous a gaffe as forgetting Her Ladyship’s favorite food. Lifting the flute to my lips instead, I simply nodded. Then choked.
It was seawater.
With a forced smile, Beau patted my back as I spluttered, pressing his foot atop my own under the table. “There, there.” He handed me a folded napkin before saying to the others, “Please pardon my dear sister. She must have a sensitive gag reflex.”
I snorted again, unable to help myself, and kicked Beau’s foot from mine.
Two more liveried melusines stepped into the banquet hall then, each holding an enormous conch shell. As one, they lifted the shells to their lips and blew. The call reverberated through the chamber, rattling china and chandeliers, as the melusines around us swept to their feet.
The Oracle followed a moment later.
I could only stare at her.
Quite simply, she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.
Her hair rippled like water down her shoulders as she floated into the room, casting her ethereal silver gaze in our direction. When her eyes met mine, I saw not iris and sclera but tranquil moonlight on the sea, silken foam along the shore. I saw cresting waves and flashing scales—primordial creatures of teeth and shadow who awoke with the darkness. I saw tempests to tear apart kingdoms, secrets bared and secrets kept. Secrets drowned in boundless depths.
Then she smiled at me, and a shiver skittered down my spine. In that smile, I saw chaos.
Pure, unadulterated chaos.
Angelica walked behind her, head bowed and hands clasped. She caught Coco’s eye as they approached, winking covertly, before resuming her pious stance. The Oracle looked only at me. I straightened as furtively as I could, painfully aware of my damp palms, but otherwise, I didn’t cower. Claud had once described himself as the Wild, and in his true form, I’d believed it. The Oracle didn’t need to assume her true form for me to understand. From the misty, nameless color of her hair and skin to the liquid movement of her body, she was the sea. And the sea drowned those who couldn’t swim.
“Je vous voir, Louise.” To my great surprise, her voice held a calming, tranquil note, like still waters at dawn. “Bienvenue to the Crystal Palace. I have long awaited your arrival.”
I curtsied with the others. “I’m happy to be here. Thank you for interfering at the beach.”
Her silver eyes—so like Angelica’s, yet so different—sparkled with amusement. “Ah. The beach. We shall speak at length about that happy coincidence later. First, we must dine.” She nodded to another liveried melusine, who hastened to pull back her chair. Her gown—crafted entirely from long, gleaming strands of pearls—clinked softly as she sat. The rest of the court seated themselves with her. When she snapped her fingers, the aristocrat on Coco’s right vaulted to her feet without a word, ceding her seat to Angelica. “You have sampled the salted sea lettuce, yes?”
“Yes, my lady.” I too returned to my seat, wiping my palms on my thighs beneath the table. “It was . . .” The waters prevented me from lying. I tried again. “A special experience.”
“Come now.” Her smile broadened, and unbidden, the image of a hungry shark rose in my mind’s eye. I clenched my skirt between two fists, mentally chastising myself. “There is no need for clever language amongst friends. How did you find it, truly?”
“I’m glad to have tasted it.”
“Glad.” She said the word slowly, curiously. “There are uglier designations, I suppose. I am glad you found it . . . what clever word did you use?” She tapped her lips. “Special. Now”—she snapped her fingers again—“clear it away. I tire of its stench.” The servants bustled to remove every plate of salted sea lettuce from the table. “S’il vous plaît,” she continued before they’d finished, “I crave heavier fare tonight. Bring the neige marine for our special guests.”
Perhaps not so calming at all.
My palms continued to sweat.
We sat in distinctly uncomfortable silence as more dishes were passed down the table. Isla didn’t seem to notice. She merely continued to smile as servants spooned small amounts of gray, sticky substance onto each plate. When she lifted a bite to her lips, she paused, appraising the room to ensure she held everyone’s attention. She did, of course. Every melusine’s face turned toward her as if she were their very sun. She waved an elegant hand with a laugh. “Eat, mes enfants, and be merry.”
Her children obliged, and the gentle sounds of clinking cutlery and soft voices soon filled the silence. Elvire, Leopoldine, and Lasimonne immediately engaged in conversation with Célie—and Angelica with a resigned Coco—leaving Beau and me to suffer the weight of Isla’s stare alone. “Tell me,” she crooned, leaning across him to grasp my clammy hand. He stiffened but didn’t complain. “What were your last words to Reid?”
I looked up from my neige marine in surprise. “Pardon me?”
“The last words you spoke to your lover—what were they?”
“I—” Glancing at Beau, I frowned. “I don’t remember.”
Her smile turned positively wicked. “Try.”
Feeling increasingly unsettled, I concentrated on recalling the memory, exhaling hard as the threads of our conversation returned. “I said ‘Either I kill my mother, or my mother kills me. It’s the only way.’”
That smile. Those eyes. Not tranquil water at all, but the calm in the eye of a hurricane. Perhaps the hurricane itself. Inexplicably, I knew the pleasantries had ended. She released my hand and returned to her seat, dabbing her mouth with a napkin. “Is
that so?”
“I wouldn’t have been able to say it otherwise.”
Beau pressed his foot over mine again.
“And . . . do you remember his last words to you?” she asked slyly.
These words I didn’t struggle to remember. “He promised he would find me.”
“Find you?” When she batted her lashes as if—as if goading me—unease lifted the hair at my neck. Surely this wasn’t appropriate table conversation? We’d only just met, and melusines valued etiquette. My suspicion only deepened when she asked, “He sleeps belowdecks, does he not?”
“He does.” I forced my voice to remain calm and collected—pleasant even. Still, I couldn’t help but search her features for some of her brother’s warmth. His good humor. “I’ve tried to wake him to no avail. Actually . . .” I cleared my throat as delicately as possible, throwing caution to the wind. “I was hoping you might . . . speed along the process.”
Inexplicable triumph flashed in those nameless eyes. “Oh?” Though her voice remained light, conversational, her words belied the tone. “You hope, or you presume?”
My brows furrowed at the word. “I would never presume—”
“No?” Idly, she lifted a hand, and a servant hurried to fill her flute. “Do my mirrors lie, l’oursin? Do you not secretly scheme for an alliance?”
“I—” Incredulous, I met Coco’s eyes across the table. She didn’t intervene, however. She didn’t dare interrupt. “I don’t scheme for anything, my lady. While I would’ve liked to secure your friendship during our visit, I don’t expect it.”
“Would’ve? Does this mean you no longer desire my friendship?”
“No, my lady. I mean yes. It’s just”—I splayed my hands helplessly—“this doesn’t seem to be going terribly well.”
“What do you expect, Louise, when you treat gods and goddesses as your personal attendants?” She sipped at her seawater, still studying me. “To be frank, I cannot fathom what my siblings see in you, nor why they indulge your arrogance. When I sent Angelica to fetch you, I expected . . . some sort of grandeur—a magnetism, perhaps—but now, having met you, I see you possess neither. Aurore has bestowed her blessing on a sea urchin.”
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