“Er—Lou? Do you think—I’m terribly sorry, but—might you be able to return my gown now?”
Lou blinked in confusion. With a breathy laugh, Célie gestured to her armor.
“Oh.” Lou chuckled too and waved her hand. The sharp scent of incense erupted. “Yes, of course.”
From her feet, Célie’s armor unraveled into a black mourning gown, and she patted her waist anxiously. At whatever she found, tension left her shoulders, and she relaxed. Just a little. “Right. Thank you so much.” A bright smile at Lou. A quick glance at me. It seemed . . . inexplicably significant. When Jean Luc shouted for her a moment later, however, she grimaced and strode toward the door. “I shall return in just a moment.”
Lou watched her go with a bemused grin, stretching to watch her through the window. “What was that about?”
“She must . . . really like dresses?”
Lou rolled her eyes.
Coco and Beau found us next. Though tears still stained my brother’s face, he rubbed them away with a weak smile, pulling a chair around to sit beside Lou. Then he wrapped her in a headlock and ruffled her hair. “Did Reid tell you I saved his life?”
She didn’t push him away. “He didn’t.”
“Then he is a spectacular ass. I threw a knife with such precision that it would’ve put Mort Rouge to shame—”
“You also caught me on fire,” I said scathingly. “Her too.”
“Nonsense. Also—nuance.” Sighing dramatically, he held Lou there for another moment. They locked eyes, and both of their grins gradually faded. “How are you, sister mine?” he asked seriously.
Her hands came up to grip his forearm. “I’m . . . better now, I think. The shock is starting to wear off. It’s like—like I can finally take a breath.” Her fingers squeezed, and she blinked rapidly. “I’m so sorry, Beau.” When she looked to Coco, he released her from his grip. “To all of you.”
Coco traced a pattern in the tabletop’s grain. “I lost my mother a long time ago.”
“My father too,” Beau added, his voice quiet.
But not Victoire. The guilt resurfaced with a vengeance. I’d survived enough to know it always would. There’d been no sense in that little girl’s death. No explanation to make it right. There’d been none when we’d burned the witches’ children, either. Victoire had deserved better. They all had.
We did too.
Pushing to my feet, I craned my neck in search of Pan. He’d disappeared into a back room at my arrival, but he couldn’t hide from me forever. I strode to the counter and rang the bell. I rang it again. If a small voice in my head chastised me—if it called me rude for harassing a baker after he’d risked life and limb for mine—I ignored it. The witches hadn’t doused his hearth. I would bake the pastries myself if he couldn’t. Surely I could figure it out.
“What are you doing?” Lou eyed me suspiciously from the table. “You need to be nice to Pan.”
“I’m always nice to—”
“You’re ringing his bell.”
“Isn’t that why it’s here?”
“He isn’t a cat, Reid,” Beau said with a smirk.
“It’s rude to ring the bell,” Coco agreed.
Lou nodded. “Also annoying.”
“Very,” Beau said.
I grimaced at them all. “I am trying to purchase us sticky buns.” To Lou, I grumbled, “I think I owe you one, in particular.”
Her face cleared instantly, and she leaned forward with bright eyes, knitting her fingers together atop the table. “Have I told you today how absolutely and completely attractive I find your ass?”
I snorted just as Pan strode into view. Scowling, he snatched the bell from his counter. “What is it? What do you want? Can you not see I am closed for business?” He gestured a wild hand at the window. “There was a war, young man. Wake up!” When he snapped his fingers beneath my nose, I fought the urge to roll my eyes. “We cannot all cower and tremble, forsaking our loved ones. Oh no! Some of us must protect this great kingdom of ours. You treat our fair Lucida like a princess now, yes?”
I cast a scathing look over my shoulder. Both Beau’s and Coco’s shoulders shook with laughter. Lou gazed back at me with a perfectly placid expression. She batted her lashes. “Like a queen,” I said wryly.
Pan frowned at me as if considering. “Very well. I shall make you the sticky buns”—he snapped his fingers again—“but you shall pay full price.”
I flashed a hard smile. “Thanks.”
Back at the table, Lou pressed her foot over mine. “A truly spectacular ass.”
A moment of silence stretched between us. Then another. Outside, Father Achille still coordinated with Jean Luc. With Célie. They’d sent word to neighboring villages for supplies. For healers. Two had survived Morgane’s attack on the Tower, but they needed medical treatment themselves. At least, I thought they’d said two. Behind the counter, Pan bustled ostentatiously, banging every pot and slamming every utensil. “Double price,” he’d muttered at one point.
At last, Beau heaved a shattered sigh. His smirk had faded. His eyes gleamed anew. “What are we supposed to do now? The cathedral is destroyed. The castle too, by the looks of it. The Archbishop is dead, the king is dead, La Dame des Sorcières is dead—er, the old one, anyway.” He shot Lou an apologetic glance.
She shrugged stiffly, tracing the lines on my palm. “The Chateau remains standing. I suppose it’s mine now. We can . . . live there.” Her eyes flashed to Coco. “All of us.”
A wide smile spread across Coco’s face. “I don’t think Father Achille will give us any trouble.”
“If he’s elected.”
“He will be,” Beau said. “Father Gaspard nearly pissed down his leg when Morgane showed up. He’s a politician.” He jerked his head to the window. To Father Achille. “Not a leader.”
“Are you a leader, Beau?” Coco asked quietly.
He studied her for a moment, his lips pursed. Undecided. “I don’t know yet.”
She smirked at him. “We have that in common.”
“You can say that again,” Lou muttered. “I couldn’t manage an attic, let alone a fucking castle.”
We lapsed into silence until Célie poked her head into the patisserie once more. With a quick wave, she motioned me forward. I kissed Lou’s hand before rising to meet her. Jean Luc stood on the other side of the door. Leaning past me, he pushed it closed behind us, and Célie—she actually bounced on the balls of her feet. “I have something for you.” She spoke over me before I could answer. “When Jean Luc stole your items from the Tower, I chose not to keep it with the rest—your bandolier and knives and such—because it looked too important. I didn’t want you to lose it in the heat of the battle.”
Jean Luc nodded. “I told her it belonged to your mother.”
Realization sparked. Anticipation.
“Of course, when Lou enchanted our clothing, I thought I’d lost it.” She shook her head, grinning but frazzled. Reaching into the band at her waist, she extracted a familiar ring with a thin golden band and mother-of-pearl stone. It gleamed even in the grayish light. Her smile widened as she placed it in my hand. “Here. Do as you wish with it. It’s yours.”
I stared down at it in wonder. Warmth radiated through me at the point of contact. My heart pounded. “Thank you, Célie.”
“That isn’t all.” Jean Luc touched the hilt of the Balisarda in my bandolier. Its sapphire winked through the leather. “I spoke with Father Achille. We agreed, both of us—you have a place within our ranks if you want it. That Balisarda is yours.”
The happiness in my chest punctured slightly. But—no. I wouldn’t let it. Not this time. Unsheathing the Balisarda with one hand, I extended it to Célie. “I think there are others better suited.” When her fingers curled around it, her eyes widening in shock, I said, “Two clever little girls once told me they wished to be huntsmen. Not as they are now, but as they should be: proper knights riding forth to vanquish evil. Defending the land and pr
otecting the innocent. One of them even swore she’d wear a dress.”
“Oh, I can’t”—she shook her head swiftly, attempting to return the Balisarda—“I don’t know how to wield a sword. I couldn’t possibly use this.”
“You don’t need to wield a sword to protect the innocent, Célie,” Jean Luc said, nodding to me in appreciation. In respect. He glowed with pride as he looked at her. “You’ve proven that more than anyone.”
I nodded too, stepping away from the door. Opening it wide. “The Tower is broken. It’s time to rebuild.”
She flashed a tentative smile before Jean Luc swept her through it.
I didn’t follow. Not right away. Instead I stared at the ring in my hand.
“What are you doing out here?” Lou touched my shoulder, and I turned, tucking the ring into my pocket. She looked left and right with a pointed smirk. “Having fun with all your friends?”
At her inquisitive gaze, I couldn’t help it. A broad smile split my own face, and I kissed her full on the mouth. When I pulled back, she flicked my nose before soothing the spot with her thumb, her hand lingering on my cheek. “Come back inside. Pan says the sticky buns are done.”
I brushed my lips across her palm. “That sounds like paradise to me.”
Epilogue
Ansel
Summer bloomed slow and languorous at Chateau le Blanc. Wild sage and lavender rippled across the mountain in dusky purple and blue; white and yellow marguerites grew rampant between rocks, along creek beds, joined by the blushing pink of thrift and clover. I’d never seen such colors in life. I’d never felt such warmth on my cheeks, like the kiss of a mother, the embrace of a friend. If the voices—no, the laughter—of my own friends hadn’t called to me, I could’ve stood within the peace of those wildflowers forever.
Lou wore a spray of each on her wedding day.
Sitting cross-legged atop her childhood bed—the golden thread of her quilt sparkling in the late afternoon sunlight—she waited impatiently for Coco to weave the blooms into a crown. “Stop squirming,” Coco chided, grinning and tugging a strand of Lou’s hair. “You’re shaking the whole bed.”
Lou only wriggled her hips more pointedly. “Oh, it’ll be shaking tonight.”
Célie’s cheeks warmed along with my own. When she swept a simple ivory gown from the armoire to cover her embarrassment, I smiled, settling on the chaise beside Madame Labelle. She couldn’t see me, of course, but from the way her eyes sparkled, from the way they danced, I thought she might feel me instead.
“You, my friend, are delectably depraved.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” With another wide grin, Lou twisted to face Coco. “Who was it who lost her virginity atop a—?”
Coughing delicately, Célie asked, “Might I suggest we postpone this conversation for more appropriate company?” Her eyes flicked to Violette and Gabrielle, who flitted about the room, examining anything and everything. The gold leaf across the ceiling. The moondust on the sill. The gilded harp in the corner and the tin soldiers beneath the chaise. Lou had etched mustaches on them as a child. A trunk at the foot of her bed still held toy swords and broken instruments, half-read books and a white rabbit. Stuffed, of course.
The very real cat at my feet hissed at it.
Melisandre, Lou had named her. The cat. Not the rabbit. With her broken tail and crooked teeth, the gray tabby wasn’t beautiful, but one wouldn’t know it from the way Lou looked at her. She’d found the cat yowling indignantly in a back alley after the battle of Cesarine, and she’d promptly adopted the pitiful creature, much to Reid’s chagrin.
Melisandre didn’t like Reid.
“Please do not worry yourself, Mademoiselle Célie.” With poppy blooms braided into her black hair, Violette giggled and bounced on the balls of her feet as Madame Labelle cackled beside me. “We know all about the birds and the bees. Don’t we, Gaby? It’s terribly romantic.”
“I think the euphemism is silly.” Gabrielle now sat beside me on her knees—wrinkling her olive dress—and attempted to coax Melisandre closer with a piece of string. The cat hissed again before glancing at me with a pained expression. Grinning, I knelt to scratch her ears, and the hiss transformed to a purr. “As if we need the imagery of a bird laying eggs to understand ovulation, or a bee depositing pollen to understand fertiliza—”
“Oh, dear.” Célie’s cheeks washed as pretty a petal pink as her dress, and she draped the ivory gown across the foot of the bed. “That is quite enough talk about that, I think. It’s almost time for the ceremony. Shall we help you don your gown, Lou?”
When Lou nodded and rose to her feet, Melisandre abandoned me instantly, darting to her mother’s side. Lou didn’t hesitate to scoop her up and cuddle her against her chest. “And how is my darling honeybee? So fetching.” She nodded appreciatively to Célie, who’d woven a miniature version of Lou’s flower crown for the cat. Melisandre purred under Lou’s praise, craning her neck, exorbitantly pleased with herself.
Snorting, Coco helped Célie unlace the wedding gown. “You know Reid is currently plotting her demise.”
Madame Labelle rose to join them with a chuckle. “It was his own fault. Vanity, thy name is cat, after all.”
Even Manon—who’d hovered silently in the corner, unsure of her place among these people—inched forward tentatively, clutching the handfasting ribbons. When Lou winked at her, she smiled. It was a small, unsure sort of smile, but a smile nonetheless. I recognized it well. I’d worn it many times. Pushing to my own feet, I strode to stand beside her.
She would find her new place here. They all would.
“He’d insulted her!” Lou pressed a kiss to Melisandre’s scarred nose, undeterred. “Besides, the piss washed right out of his pillow. No harm done.” To Melisandre, she crooned, “He won’t mock your singing again, will he, honeybee? No, he won’t.”
Melisandre yowled in answer, rubbing her head against Lou’s chin.
I looked away as they helped her into her gown.
Though heat still suffused my cheeks, it was no longer embarrassment but . . . pride. I nearly burst with it. For too long had Lou deserved this moment—all of these moments, the large ones and the small ones and the ones in between. She’d suffered more than most, more than any one person ever should. I could only hope that she’d delight in just as much from this day forward.
Hope.
It wasn’t the sickness.
God, she’d done so beautifully. They all had.
Reid would cherish her, I knew. He would do everything in his power to ensure her happiness, and she would return his efforts tenfold. Though I’d known little of life when I’d walked beside them, even then, I’d recognized theirs was a love that would change everything. A love that would break the world. A love that would make it new.
Their love had been the cure.
“What do you think?” Lou’s low murmur brought pressure to my eyes. “Will it do?”
I waited to hear Madame Labelle’s and Célie’s exclamations, Violette’s and Gabrielle’s laughter, Coco’s sniffle, even Manon’s soft inhalation before turning to look at my dearest friend.
Reid paced in the early evening sunlight of the old pear grove. It burnished his hair more golden than copper, caught the fine stitching of his jacket and made the threads shimmer. He’d forgone his bandolier for the occasion, instead buckling a single sword at his waist. He steadied it with one hand as he trod a well-worn path in the grass. His other he dragged through his hair.
Beau watched him with unabashed amusement. “Tell me you aren’t nervous.”
“I’m not nervous.” Reid scoffed as if insulted, but his eyes still darted to the opposite end of the grove, where guests had already begun to arrive. It would be an intimate ceremony. They’d invited only those they loved or trusted: Zenna and Seraphine, Toulouse and Thierry, Johannes Pan and his wife. Babette mingled with a handful of other witches, all of whom kept one eye on Jean Luc and Father Achille. Blaise and his children hovered at the edge of
the grove, speaking little, until Toulouse beckoned them to come sit. Even Elvire and Lasimonne were in attendance, lounging regally with their diamond gowns and fishhook earrings.
Reid, Beau, and Jean Luc had spent the morning filling the grove with chairs. On the backs of each, they’d painstakingly looped brightly colored ribbons and flowers—poppies, marigolds, peonies, and cornflowers. Scarlets and golds and blushes and blues, all nestled in beds of deep green. More blooms spilled from the stumps of pear trees throughout the grove, where lush moss crept over gnarled wood.
Reid glared at the stumps, the only piece of the scene out of place. Only yesterday, he’d painstakingly constructed the arbor of vines and florets overhead. Every detail had been planned. Every flower plucked to perfection.
Beau followed his gaze with a wistful expression. “If only Claud were here. He could’ve grown new trees.”
Reid looked at him incredulously. “He could also be dead.”
“We don’t know that. He’s a god. Perhaps after he’s served his time—”
“The ground opened up and swallowed him.”
“—he will return to us, good as new,” Beau finished determinedly, clasping Reid’s shoulder. Forcing him to a halt. “Loosen up, brother mine. It’s your wedding day.”
“I know.” Reid nodded to himself, shaking free to pace again. “I know. I just want it to be perfect.”
“And it is.”
He was right. Lou would love it.
If my heart ached that I too couldn’t be part of this moment, this memory, the pain eased when I caught sight of an empty chair in the front row. In a burnished oval frame, a picture of my likeness had been affixed to a bouquet of sunflowers. Warmth radiated through me as I knelt to study it.
They’d saved me a seat, after all.
When Coco swept forward in her own gown of ivory—with flowers braided into her black curls—the warmth in my chest bloomed tenfold. Exertion flushed her cheeks, and her dark eyes sparkled with excitement as she looked to Reid and Beau, lifting the sunflower bouquet from my seat. “It’s time.” She dipped her chin to Beau. “She’s waiting.”
Gods & Monsters Page 46