“She will drink,” Constantin said, his form beginning to fade, “or she will die.”

I couldn’t suppress a snarl of frustration. “You’re a real son of a bitch, you know that?”

When he lifted his hands, they dissolved into mist. Another arrogant smile. “I am a simple guardian. Drink of the waters, and spill their truth. If you succeed, you may enter their healing depths. If you fail, you will leave this place, and you will never return.”

“I’m not going anywhere—” But even as the words left my mouth, I felt the mist constrict around me like iron manacles, knew staying upon failure wouldn’t be an option. The mist—or Le Cœur, or the waters, or the magic itself—wouldn’t allow it. Only when I muttered a terse agreement did the manacles dissipate. I still felt their presence, however, hovering over my skin. Their warning.

“Drink of the waters,” Constantin repeated, near immaterial now, “and spill their truth.” Only his eyes remained. When they found Coco, they softened, and a tendril of fog reached out to caress her face. “Good luck.”

He left us standing alone in the moonlight, staring down at our chalices.

The Waters’ Truth

Reid

I still remembered the exact moment I received my Balisarda. After each tournament, a banquet was held to honor the champions, to welcome them into the ranks of brotherhood. Few attended outside of the Chasseurs and Church, and the celebrations never lasted long—a quick address, a quicker meal. No toasts. No music. No revelry. A modest affair. The next morning, however, the real exhibition would begin. The entire kingdom would come to Cathédral Saint-Cécile d’Cesarine to watch the induction ceremony. Aristocrats and paupers alike would dress in their finest. Initiates would line the aisle. At the altar, the Archbishop would stand with the inductees’ Balisardas. They would adorn the communion table, polished and resplendent in their velvet boxes.

I’d been the only inductee at my ceremony. Mine had been the only Balisarda.

Jean Luc had stood at the end of the aisle, hands clasped behind his back. His face tight. His body rigid. Célie had sat in the third row with her parents and sister. She’d tried to catch my eye as I’d marched down the aisle, but I hadn’t been able to look at her. I hadn’t been able to look at anything but my Balisarda. It’d called to me as a siren’s song, the sapphire glittering in the filtered sunlight.

I’d repeated my vows by rote. Shoulders straight and proud. After, the Archbishop had broken tradition to embrace me, but his public display hadn’t embarrassed me. I’d been pleased with it. Pleased with myself. So, so pleased. And why not? I’d trained religiously for years—I’d bled and sweat and sacrificed—all for this moment.

When I’d reached out to finally accept my Balisarda, however, I’d hesitated. Just for a second.

Part of me had known, even then, this sword—this life—would bring pain. Part of me had known I would suffer.

I’d chosen it anyway.

Just as I chose it now.

My fingers wrapped around the cold metal of my chalice, and I knelt to fill it. No ripples emanated when I broke the waters’ still surface. Instead, it seemed to absorb the movement. Frowning, I tried to slip my hand beneath as well, to splash, to create movement, but I met with an invisible wall. I pushed harder. My hand stopped a hair’s breadth over the surface—so close I could feel the wintry cold emanating from the waters. I still couldn’t touch them. Expelling a harsh breath, I abandoned the attempt. Constantin had said as much.

I eyed the iron chalice warily. This wouldn’t be pleasant.

“Wait.” Coco clasped my forearm when I moved the cup to my mouth. “Lou first. I don’t know what’ll happen when we drink, but I doubt we’ll be able to help her.”

“I don’t think we can help her.” Still, I lowered my hand. “We don’t know what the waters will show her. How can we fight an invisible foe?”

“I’m not saying she’s incapable of fighting her own battle.” Coco rolled her eyes and bent to fill the other chalices. “I’m saying she’s unconscious. She’ll need help with the actual drinking.”

“Oh.” Despite the seriousness of our circumstances, heat crept up my throat. I hurried to help her lift Lou, gently pulling her onto my lap. “Right.”

“Tilt her head back.”

I obliged, fighting the instinct to knock the chalice aside as Coco brought it to Lou’s lips. Because Coco was right—if anyone could do this, Lou could. I held her secure, and slowly, carefully, Coco opened her mouth and tipped the water in. “Easy,” I warned her. “Easy.”

Coco didn’t take her eyes from the task at hand. “Shut up, Reid.”

Nothing happened when the cold water touched Lou’s tongue. Coco poured a little more. It trickled from one corner of her mouth. Still nothing. “She isn’t swallowing,” I said.

“Yes, thank you—” But Coco stopped abruptly when Lou’s eyes snapped open. We both stared down at her. Coco placed a tentative hand on her cheek. “Lou? How do you feel?”

Her eyes rolled to the back of her head in response, and her mouth opened on a violent scream—except no sound came out. Silence still reigned. The waters, however, rippled in an eerie sort of acknowledgment. Gripping her shoulders, I watched helplessly as she scratched at her face, her hair. Like she would tear Nicholina out by force. Her head thrashed. “Shit.” I struggled to hold her, but Coco pushed me backward, downing her chalice in a single swallow.

“Hurry!” She tossed her cup aside, bracing her hands against the shore. “Drink now. The sooner we spill our truths, the sooner we can dip Lou in the—” But her eyes too rolled backward, and though her body didn’t seize as Lou’s had, she fell sideways, comatose, her cheek hitting the sand. Eyes still rolling.

She’d looked like this once before. Seeing nothing. Seeing everything.

A man close to your heart will die.

Cursing bitterly—casting one last look at Lou, who’d gone limp on my lap—I tossed back the contents of my own chalice. If possible, the water tasted even colder than it’d felt. Unnaturally cold. Cruelly cold. It burned my throat all the way down, solidifying to ice in my stomach. In my limbs. In my veins. Within seconds, movement became difficult. Coughing, gagging, I slid Lou from my lap as the first tremor rocked my frame. When I collapsed forward on hands and knees, the edges of my vision paled to white. Strange. It should’ve gone dark, not light, and—

The burn in my lungs vanished abruptly, and my vision cleared. I blinked in surprise. Blinked again. This couldn’t be right. Had I not drunk enough? Straightening, I glanced first to my empty cup, then to Lou and Coco. Surprise withered to confusion. To fear. They’d disappeared in the mist as completely as the others. I shot to my feet. “Lou? Coco?”

“I’m here!” Lou called from down the shoreline. Surprised, relieved, I hurried after her voice, peering through the mist and darkness. Though the moon still suffused the scene in soft silver light, it illuminated little now. Shafts of it shone through the mist intermittently. Blinding me one moment. Disorienting me the next.