“You’re right, of course, Cosette. I broke a woman’s heart in the process—my one true regret in life.”

Rolling her eyes, Coco said, “Constantin leapt from these cliffs. When Angelica wept her sea of tears, the waters . . . revived him.” She gestured to the mist around us. The very mist from which he’d formed. “Their magic gives him life. Now he serves as a warning.”

We all stared at her. “What does that mean?” Beau finally asked.

“It means Isla poked her nose in like a prying busybody,” Constantin said, surprisingly pleasant given the circumstances. He swept a hand down his arm, his bare chest. He wore nothing save the cloth around his waist, his lower half obscured by mist. Condensation collected on his skin, curled in his hair. “She watched everything between Angelica and me, and when the waters intervened, she swept in and cursed me to guard the women of these waters—and their magic—forever.”

Célie’s gaze darted. “The women of these waters?”

“The melusines.” Constantin’s face contorted with distaste. “Fish women. Fickle women.”

“Temptresses,” Coco added. “The ones who dwell here are also truth tellers. Some are seers. The waters have given them strange abilities.”

My arms began to burn, and I readjusted my grip on Nicholina. “Who is Isla?”

Constantin snorted in response. “The queen of the melusines.”

“Claud’s sister,” Coco said at the same time.

“Is she a goddess, then?” Célie asked.

Constantin bowed slightly, inclining his head. “Some would call her such. Others would not. Either way, she is very old and powerful. If you seek an audience, however, I must warn you: she cannot interfere in the affairs of humans. Not without repercussion.”

Coco touched his arm. “We aren’t here for her, Constantin. Not yet, at least.” She looked to Nicholina, to Lou in my arms, and her entire body seemed to wilt once more. Constantin followed her gaze, his sharp eyes tracking over Lou’s sallow skin, her gaunt cheeks. He hummed a low note of understanding.

“Louise is ill.”

“And possessed,” I added a touch desperately.

His eyebrows shot up. “You believe the waters will heal her.”

“They healed you,” Beau pointed out, “and you were dead.”

Constantin parted the mist with his hands, the tendrils curling between his fingers. It struck me as an idle gesture. An apathetic one. “It’s true. If anything can heal her, these waters can. Though they started as mere tears, they’ve become as sentient as the pulse within a Dame Rouge, as connected as a Dame Blanche to this land. Angelica was a seer, and her magic shaped them. The waters see things we cannot see, know things we cannot know. I am part of them now, yet even I do not grasp the future as they. I have lived a hundred human lives, yet even I cannot comprehend their knowledge.”

I struggled to extract the pearls from my pack while maintaining my hold on Nicholina. Beau extended his arms instead. Reluctantly, I handed her over before thrusting the pearls at Constantin. To my surprise, his hands felt solid. Warm. He truly was alive. “Our payment,” I said.

His fingers curled around the pearls. His eyes flicked to Coco. “Are you sure?”

She nodded resolutely. “She’s my best friend.”

He shrugged then, and the pearls dissolved into mist. “Very well. On her head be it.” To the rest of us, he asked, “Who accompanies the fair maidens?”

I stepped forward. “Me.”

“Of course.” His gaze swept from my head to my toes. He hmphed as if displeased. As if the mud on my boots, perhaps the bandolier on my chest, offended him. “I’ve heard of your exploits, Reid Diggory. I’ve heard of your glory in my legacy. I’ve heard all about the death and blood on yours and your brethren’s hands.” He paused for me to respond, but I didn’t give him the satisfaction. I didn’t give him any reaction at all. “To be honest, you remind me of a much younger version of myself.”

“I am nothing like you.”

He tilted his head. “Time changes us all, does it not?”

“La-di-da, mysterious bullshit, ominous warnings.” Beau repositioned Nicholina with stiff, awkward movements, exhaling an aggrieved breath. “Should we keep standing around, or—?”

“Point taken.” Constantin grinned, and with the wave of his hand, Beau and Célie vanished. Both just . . . vanished. Nicholina’s weight landed solidly back in my arms.

“Where did you send them?” Coco asked, voice rising in panic. “I mean—are they safe?”

Constantine’s eyes glittered knowingly. “No one is safe here, Cosette. Not even you. I protected you and your friend as children. This time, however, you seek the waters as an adult of your own volition. I can no longer bend the rules. You too must drink and speak truth. Now”—he stepped aside, gesturing to the path before us, the path still concealed by semisolid mist—“shall we?”

She swallowed visibly.

When I strode forward, however, she slipped her arm through mine, hurrying to keep up. “Have you never drunk before?” I asked her quietly. Though I couldn’t hear Constantin following, I sensed his presence behind us as we trekked down the path. It sloped gently, evenly, despite the rocks. Silence still coated everything. “In all the times you visited?”

“Just once,” she whispered back, “when I tried to see my—” But she stopped abruptly, squeezing my arm tight. “When Lou and I tried to swim in the waters. Constantin never made us drink of them otherwise. We usually just played along the shore.”

“And that one time?” I asked.

She shuddered. “It was awful.”

“What did you see?”

“What I wanted most in the world.”

“Which was?”

She scoffed but didn’t withdraw her arm. “Like I’d tell you. I already spoke it once. I’m not speaking it again.”

“You aren’t serious.” An ache started to build in my right temple. “How can I know what to expect if you won’t—”

“You can’t,” Constantin interrupted, materializing directly in front of us. We both skidded to a halt. “None know what the water will show them. Desires, fears, strengths, weaknesses, memories—it sees truth and demands truth in turn. All you must do is acknowledge it.”

At his words, the mist behind him began to clear. It moved slowly, deliberately, each tendril creeping apart to reveal a vast, impossibly smooth body of water. It stretched between two mountains, extended as far as the eye could see. To the horizon. Beyond. The moon—silver as a freshly minted coin—shone clear and bright across its glassy surface. No smoke here. No waves either.

Not a single sound.

Constantin flicked his wrist, and from the fog, three chalices formed, solidifying into simple iron. They waited in the sand at the edge of the water. Almost touching it. Not quite. Gently, I lowered Nicholina to the ground. She didn’t stir when I lifted her eyelid, checked her pulse. “What did you do to her? She’s barely conscious.”

“It’s a simple sleeping solution—lavender, chamomile, valerian root, and blood.” Coco shrugged nervously. “It’s possible that I overdid it.”