We would end with a stake and a match.
Waving my hand, I shielded us from any huntsman’s gaze. Magic erupted around us. “Kiss me, Reid.”
Confessional
Reid
I stared at her tearstained face, chest aching. She didn’t need to convince me. I’d do anything she asked. If kissing her would stop another tear from falling, I’d kiss her a thousand times. If we survived the night, I’d kiss away every tear for the rest of her life.
Where you go, I will go. Where you stay, I will stay.
She’d whispered the words to me like a prayer. And I still felt them. I felt each one.
How could I have ever thought this emotion between us wasn’t sacred? This connection. What I felt for Lou was visceral and raw and pure. It would consume me, if I let it. Consume us both.
But I stared for too long. With fresh tears, she flung her arms around my neck and buried her head in my shoulder. Cursing my mistake, I cradled her face in both hands. Gently. So gently. I tipped her face up to look at me. And then—with deliberate care—I pressed my lips to hers.
I couldn’t soothe this ache. I couldn’t right this wrong. In all likelihood, we’d both burn at sunset.
But I could hold her.
“I love you,” she breathed, lashes fluttering as I brushed soft kisses along her cheeks. Her nose. Her eyelids. “I loved you then, I love you now, and I’ll love you after.” My lips trailed down her throat. Toward her scar. Her head fell back in response, baring it to me. Completely vulnerable. “Before my mother slit my throat on Modraniht”—the words sounded like a confession—“I thought I’d never see you again. A witch and a witch hunter can’t have each other in the afterlife.”
I lifted my head then. “I’ll find you again, Lou.” The words came readily, as if they’d been waiting on the tip of my tongue. A confession of my own. Perhaps I’d said them before. I couldn’t remember. It didn’t matter. Though I’d lost our past, I refused to lose our future too. Even death wouldn’t take it from me. “I promise.”
She met my eyes with languorous heat. “I know.”
Despite the urgency of our situation—the huntsmen patrolling outside, the sun setting over the city—Lou didn’t rush as she slipped her palms into my collar, as she slid them down my back. My own hands moved leisurely to the hem of her shirt. Peeling the fabric from her belly inch by inch, I lowered her to the floor. She stripped my own shirt overhead. Heat pooled between us as she traced the scar on my torso, as I eased down her body. As I tasted each curve. With every breath, every touch—sultry and slow, as if searching—the intensity built. The quiet desperation.
Her fingers curled in my hair.
My tongue stroked her hip.
“You called me your heathen,” she said on a sigh, arching and shifting my mouth lower. Lower still.
I would find her again, yes, but we still had this moment. This last breathless hour. “You still are.” Sliding her pants down her legs, I flipped her over. Trapping her. Her nails raked against the bars on the floor as I lifted her hips to kiss her. As I stroked her there instead. Her trembling built and built until at last she fractured—biting her hand to stifle the sound—and I hauled her flush against my chest. Pressed her against the bars. Waited with ragged breaths.
Her head fell back on my shoulder, and she snaked an arm around my head. Her lips slanted up to meet mine. “Don’t you dare stop.”
I plunged into her without another word—unable to speak if I’d tried—snaking one arm around her waist. Heat ripped through my entire body. Overcome, my other arm wrenched her backward, wrapping around her shoulders. Holding her to me. When her fingers braced against my forearm, I couldn’t look away from them. Smooth and golden atop my own paler, rougher skin. The simple sight of it tightened my chest to the point of pain. So similar. So different. I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t breathe. She felt—she felt like heaven, but I forced myself to move slowly. Deeply. To savor her. At her moan, I clapped a hand to her mouth. “Shh. They’ll hear.”
She had other ideas.
Twisting in my arms, she bore me back to the floor and pinned my hands above my head. Leaning low, she bit my lower lip. “Let them.”
The last of my breath left in a rush. I fought to remain still as she moved atop me, pressure building until I clenched my eyes shut. Until I couldn’t help it. Until my hands descended on her hips, and I coaxed her to move faster, adjusting her angle. Watching as her lips parted, her breath quickened. Though the pressure at my core swelled to physical pain, I gritted my teeth against it. Not yet. Her body moved in perfect unison with mine. She was perfect. I’d been so foolish to not realize before. So blind.
When she shuddered in release a moment later, I let go too—and in that moment, gold winked in my periphery. Just a flash. There and gone before I could fully register it. A figment of my imagination.
A fragment of memory remained, however. A handful of words. My words.
It heeds those who summon it.
Pain wracked my senses at the realization, and I bowed over with it, nearly toppling sideways. Lou’s eyes shot open in alarm. “Reid?” She shook me weakly. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” The pain passed just as quickly as it’d come. Just as inexplicably. When she remained unconvinced, I shook my head. “I’m fine. Truly.”
“A memory?”
“It’s gone now.”
With a weary sigh, she wrapped her arms around me. I crushed her in my own. We sat like that for several minutes, simply holding each other. Breathing. Her cheek fell heavy upon my shoulder. “You should dress,” I murmured at last. “The huntsmen . . .”
“I don’t think I can move.”
“I can help.”
Her arms constricted briefly, but she didn’t protest as I slipped first her shirt overhead, then mine. I tugged her pants into place next. She didn’t bother lacing them. Instead, she collapsed back against my chest. Her eyelids fluttered. Swallowing hard, I stroked her hair. “Sleep. I’ll wake you if anything changes.”
“They could still come, you know.” She smothered a yawn, her eyes drifting shut. “The others. They could still rescue us.”
“They could.”
I held her tighter than necessary as she slipped under. The silence seemed to grow and stretch in her wake. The torchlight flickered. “They could,” I repeated firmly. To her. To myself. To anyone who would listen.
They could still rescue us.
But they didn’t.
A Single Spark
Reid
When the door opened an hour later, I knew immediately the time had come.
Two huntsmen followed the first, shoulders rigid and Balisardas drawn. Two more filed in after that. Another set. Another. They kept coming until they filled the council room completely. Others waited in the corridor beyond. Dozens of them. Though I scanned their faces in search of Jean Luc, he wasn’t there.
Lou startled awake at the footsteps, her eyes still heavy with sleep. “What is—?”
She inhaled sharply as she took in the room, jerking upright. The Chasseur nearest us dropped his eyes to the laces of her trousers. He barked a laugh. Swiftly, I twisted to block her from sight—pulling her to her feet—but she merely leaned around me and flashed a catlike smile. “See something you like?”
Despite her bravado, her eyes remained red-rimmed and puffy. Overly bright. Her hand trembled against my arm.
The huntsman’s lip curled. “Hardly.”
Sniggering, she surveyed his trousers pointedly. Stepped around me to lace up her own with casual nonchalance. “I doubt that very much.”
“You little—” He lunged for the bars, but when Lou met him there, moving with lethal speed, he changed his mind mid-step. Pointing his Balisarda at her face instead, he said, “You’ll sing a different tune soon, witch. Your last word will be a scream.”
She beckoned him closer. “Why don’t you come in here and show me?”
“Lou.” Voice low
in warning, I pulled at the back of her shirt. She yielded only a step. Around us, the Chasseurs shadowed the movement, pressing closer. “Don’t provoke them.”
“It’s a bit late for that, I think.”
“That it is.” Philippe’s deep rumble preceded him into the chamber. At his appearance, the Chasseurs separated in two waves on either side. Lou’s grin turned feral. Dressed in an impeccable suit of royal blue and gold—captain’s medal shining on his lapel—he regarded her as a bug beneath his boot. Then he smiled coldly. Bowed. “The sun has set, ma Dame. Your funeral pyre awaits.”
Lou retreated another step. Her arm brushed mine. Though her smirk remained fixed in place, her gaze darted from the room to the corridor. From Philippe to his Chasseurs. My heart pounded violently as I counted. A score of them in all. An entire squadron. “There are too many.”
Lou gestured to the cage’s door with a brittle laugh. “Good thing we have a choke point.”
I glanced down at her. Her chest rose and fell in shallow breaths. My own limbs shook with adrenaline.
A Chasseur behind us sneered, “You have to come out eventually.”
She whipped around to glare at him. “We really don’t.”
“You’ll starve.”
“Come now. His Majesty won’t exhibit such patience. He decreed we would burn this evening.” Her grin widened. “It won’t reflect well on him if this execution doesn’t go to plan, will it? I imagine his denizens are already rather restless about the Hellfire. Rather frightened.” She addressed Philippe directly now. “It won’t reflect well on you either.”
On sudden impulse, I added, “Especially after my mother escaped.”
Low murmurs broke out across the room at the allegation, and Philippe’s face hardened. His expression said everything. Short-lived relief swept through me. They’d saved her. Coco and Jean Luc and Célie—somehow, they’d saved my mother. She was safe. Lou practically cackled now, casting me an appreciative look from the corner of her eye. “She will be apprehended,” Philippe said tersely. “Make no mistake.”
“You need a win, Phil. You can’t afford to wait.” Lou waggled her fingers at him. “I think you’ll be coming in sooner rather than later.”
A different Chasseur—this one younger than the others, practically an initiate—wielded his Balisarda like a crucifix. “You think your magic can harm us, witch?”
“I think,” she said slowly, “that it won’t be terribly difficult to disarm you, mon petit chou. I believe you’ve all met my husband.” She hooked her thumb at me. “Youngest Chasseur in the brotherhood. Youngest captain too.”
“He is no captain,” Philippe said darkly.
Lou arched a brow. “Well. He did kick your ass.”
I placed a hand on her shoulder, distinctly uncomfortable. Cold sweat trickled down my spine. When she glanced up at me, I shook my head. Near indiscernible. What are you doing? I tried to ask.
When she lifted said shoulder—so slight no one else could see—I had my answer. She didn’t know. The bluster, the jeers, the threats—all desperate bids for time. For help. For anything.
We’d run out of ideas.
“Come on, Phil,” she coaxed, and at her words, the faint scent of magic enveloped me. The others smelled it too. Some snarled and stiffened, knuckles tightening on their Balisardas, and looked to Philippe for instruction. Others shifted uneasily. A few, however, studied Lou in fascination as her skin began to glow. “Open the door. Play with me.”
Different words resounded in my head. Still her voice, but soft and scared. Reid.
I stared at her.
When they open the door, she said, still watching Philippe, stay close to me. I can’t harm them directly with magic, but I can bring this tower down on their heads. It’s the best chance we have. Then— Do you think Beau escaped too?
I didn’t know, and I couldn’t answer. Not as Philippe accepted a bow from the Chasseur next to him. A quiver of blue-tipped arrows. “Not today,” he growled, notching one with expert precision. When he pointed it directly at Lou’s face, her eyes narrowed. She no longer smiled. “As you’ve pointed out, I have little time for games. The kingdom awaits.”
He loosed the arrow without warning. Before I could vault forward—before I could even shout—it shot toward her with unerring aim. She whirled at the last second, however, faster still, and dropped into a crouch as the shaft lodged into the wall behind us. The Chasseurs there had already moved. They formed ranks on the front and sides of the cage, forming a sort of corral. A bull’s-eye.
More bows emerged around us. More arrows.
I hurtled toward her, seizing her hand and dragging her to the back of the cage. I had to do something. Now. Lou had spoken of magic, of willing golden cords into being. I focused on them now—on a shield, on a weapon, on a fucking key. Anything to escape this cage. No patterns answered. Of course they didn’t. I rolled sideways as Philippe launched a second arrow.
“Why bother with the stake?” Snarling, Lou lifted her hand, and the bolt fractured midair. When it fell to our feet, I seized it, spearing a foolish Chasseur who’d tried to creep behind. He fell like a stone. Eyes rolling. Limbs twitching. Lou stared at him in horror. “What the—?”
Philippe notched another arrow. “Hemlock.”
This one nearly clipped my shoulder. So close it split the sleeve of my shirt. Lou’s eyes blazed at the torn fabric. Her skin pulsed with unnatural light. When she stepped in front of me, her voice rang with deadly calm. Ethereal calm. Not a single voice, but many. They reverberated together in a chilling timbre. “You will not touch him.”
Immune to the enchantment, Philippe motioned for the others to raise their bows. All twenty of them.
Lou bared her teeth.
At his sharp command, arrows hurtled from two sides. More than twenty. More than forty. They cut through the air with lethal precision, but each turned to dust in a three-foot radius around us. They simply—disintegrated. I sensed the barrier in the air rather than saw it. A thin film, like the soap of a bubble. A shield. Lou’s fists shook with the effort to maintain it as more arrows flew. “How do I help? Tell me, Lou!”
“A pattern,” she said through gritted teeth. “You can strengthen—my magic.”
“How?”
“Focus.” The air rained thick with arrows now, each Chasseur notching and firing at different times. A constant onslaught. Lou winced at the strike—as if she could feel each poisoned tip—and the shield rippled in turn. “You are a witch. Accept it. Focus on the outcome, and—the patterns will appear.”
But they didn’t—they weren’t—no matter how hard I focused. No gold sparked. I focused harder. On her. On her shield. On the arrow tips tearing it apart. A strange thrumming started in my ears. Voices. Whispers. Not mine or Lou’s but others’. Still no gold surfaced, however, and I let out a roar of frustration, of rage.
“You can do it, Reid,” Lou said urgently. “You’ve done it before. You can do it again. You just have to—”
She didn’t finish her words. Unnoticed, two Chasseurs had succeeded where their fallen brother had not. Hands snaking between the bars—using her shield to their advantage—they seized Lou’s shirt and wrenched her backward against the wood.
Her shield vanished instantly.
Shouting her name, I dove forward, prying one’s arm from her neck, but sharp pain pierced my thigh. I didn’t look. I couldn’t—not as they plunged a syringe, two syringes, three, into Lou’s throat simultaneously. Not as her back bowed, her body thrashed, her hands reached for me. “Reid! Reid!” Her voice sounded as if from a tunnel. At last, she tore free, catching me as my knees gave out. The Tower shook around us. Her body jolted from impact as she shielded me from arrow after arrow. More than one protruded from her back now. Her arms. Her legs. Still she dragged me toward the cage’s door, which Philippe had flung wide.
Hands pulled at our clothing, our hair, flinging us to the council room floor. My vision faded as they descended on Lou like an
ts. As she collapsed, unmoving, under their syringes. They would kill her before she reached the stake. Lou. Clenching my teeth, delirious with pain—with fear—I focused on her dimming skin harder than I’d focused on anything in my life. Hard knees pressed into my back.
She’ll die she’ll die she’ll die
Gold exploded in my vision—and I to my feet—but it was too late.
A quill stabbed into my neck, and the world went dark once more.
I woke to shouts.
To smoke. The scratch of hay at my feet and hard wood at my back. Tight binds on my wrists. Stomach lurching, I pried my eyes open. It took a moment for them to focus. My vision swam.
Torches.
They flickered in the darkness, casting an orange haze over the scene. Over the faces. So many faces. The entire city pressed together in the street below. With a start, I realized I stood above them. No. I closed my eyes, pitching forward with a heave. The ropes kept me upright. They held me in place. I didn’t stand at all. My eyes snapped open again at the realization.
The stake.
They’d tied me to the stake.
Details rushed in quickly after that, disorienting my senses—the steps of the cathedral, the wooden platform, the warm presence at my back. “Lou.” The word slurred on my tongue from the hemlock. My head pounded. I struggled to crane my neck. “Lou.” Her hair spilled over my shoulder, and her head lolled. She didn’t respond. Unconscious. I strained in earnest now, trying to see her, but my body refused to obey. Someone had removed the blue-tipped arrows, at least. They’d clothed her in a clean chemise. Anger fanned as quickly as the drug at that fresh injustice. A Chasseur had undressed her. Why?
I glanced down at my own simple shirt and woolen trousers. They’d removed my boots.
Leather doesn’t burn.
Blue coats lined the streets, forming a barricade. They kept the crowd at bay. My eyes narrowed, and I blinked slowly, waiting for the scene to sharpen. Philippe stood among them. Jean Luc too. I recognized his black hair. His broad neck and bronze skin. He didn’t look at me, his attention focused on Célie, who stood at the front of the crowd with her parents. No Coco. No Beau. No Claud or Blaise or Zenna.
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