He leaned closer. “You’re probably the only one who should. I’ve recently met some of your enemies, Nicholina—splintered souls and vengeful witches and even a few of the king’s children. They’re all waiting for you.”

I stepped closer, looping my elbow through his and ignoring the chill down my spine at his words. The certainty in them. I focused instead on the euphoric tingle in my chest, the warmth spreading through my limbs. His arm felt solid in mine. Real. I couldn’t have stopped my grin if I’d tried. Which I didn’t. “I bet they have all sorts of fun things planned for you.”

He inclined his head. “Fun is one word.”

“You’re lying.” Nicholina lunged again, and he stepped in front of me, blocking her knife. The movement held a sort of grace, or perhaps confidence, he’d never achieved in life. Fascinated, morbidly curious—and something else, something that weighed heavy in my chest—I plucked the knife from midair, paced backward twice, and threw it at him.

He caught it without hesitation—without even looking, the cheeky bastard—and I laughed again, unable to help myself. That heavy sensation in my chest lessened slightly when he blushed. “This is an interesting development,” I said.

“Lots of those going around.” He lifted a brow before pressing the knife back into my hand. Though Nicholina sprang for it, she couldn’t seem to move past him to reach me. The wall he’d erected held firm. He didn’t acknowledge her efforts, so I didn’t either. “The Lou I knew wouldn’t have given up,” he continued softly. My grin vanished. “She would’ve fought, and she would’ve won.”

My own words were barely audible. I spoke through numb lips. “Not without you, she wouldn’t have.”

“You’ve never needed me, Lou. Not like I needed you.”

“Look where that got you.” I closed my eyes, a fat tear rolling down my cheek. “I’m so sorry, Ansel. I—I should’ve protected you. I never should’ve let you come with me.”

“Lou.”

My chin quivered.

“Lou,” he repeated, voice soft. “Look at me. Please.” When I still didn’t, he turned his back on Nicholina completely, drawing me into a hug. My arms wrapped around his slender torso of their own volition, and though they shook, they held on tight. Too tight. Like they’d never let him go again. “I didn’t want to be protected. I wanted to help you—”

“You did—”

“I know I did,” he said firmly, squeezing me once before drawing back. My arms remained locked around him. Removing them one at a time, he disentangled himself gently, stronger now than before. Strong and graceful and confident. Another tear spilled over. “And I’m going to help you again.” He nodded toward Nicholina, who thrashed against the invisible barrier. “You’ll have to kill her.”

“I’ve tried.”

“Try harder.” He squeezed my fingers around the knife’s hilt. “A wound to the arm won’t do it. The waters have healed you both of superficial injuries. You won’t be able to drown her, either.” He glanced over his shoulder to where she raged, all but invisible, and a flash of pity crossed his warm brown eyes. “She’s lived too long with her emotions. She’s numb to them now.”

“She isn’t numb to her son.”

He turned back around to look at me. “You’d rather kill her slowly? Make her suffer?”

“No.” The word rose to my lips unbidden. I frowned, realizing its truth. Despite the heinous things she’d done—to me, to Etienne, to God knew who else—I couldn’t forget the sense of longing she’d felt in that lavender field with Mathieu, the despair and hopelessness and shame. The fear. We cannot do this, she’d said to La Voisin. Not the children. Loathing burned up from my stomach to my throat. She’d still done it. She’d still killed them. And perhaps that was punishment in itself.

Will I become a wraith too, maman?

Never.

“I think . . .” I said the words quietly, my thoughts tangling out loud. “I think she’s suffered enough.” My knuckles clenched around the knife. “But this won’t kill her permanently, will it? She said her body is at the Chateau.”

“Only one way to find out.”

With a sweep of his arm, the barrier collapsed, but Nicholina didn’t assail us right away. Eyes narrowed, suddenly wary, she skittered backward as I approached. She felt my resolve. It frightened her. Undeterred, I continued forward with purpose, shifting to block the tunnel, her easiest means of escape. Though she dodged with incredible speed—feinted even faster—we still shared our consciousness, and I matched her every step. Ansel watched our dance in silence, black smoke undulating around his lean frame.

It didn’t take long. Not now. Not with him behind me.

Not with Nicholina so incredibly alone.

I anticipated her third bluff, catching her wrist and trapping her against the wall of rock. Flames licked up its face, but neither of us could feel their heat. I pinned my forearm across her throat. She tore at my face, but Ansel appeared, catching her hands and subduing them with ease. She arched off the wall in response, hissing, spitting—eyes bright and rolling with fear—but stilled unexpectedly when I raised the knife. Those eyes found mine and held, and one name radiated through our consciousness.

Mathieu.

I took a deep breath and brought the knife down.

It slid through her ribs in a sickening, viscous movement, and I left it there, protruding straight from her heart. She stared at me, unblinking, as her body collapsed in our arms. “I’m sorry,” I said. I didn’t know if it was true.

With one last, ragged breath, she clutched me and whispered, “The dead should not remember, but I do.” Those eyes found mine again as the light finally left them. “I remember everything.”

She slipped from our hold, fading into black mist, and was gone.

We both stared at the spot where she’d disappeared.

In those seconds, a mournful sort of blanket settled over us, deadening the crackling of flames and rumbling of stone. The entire amphitheater would collapse soon. I couldn’t bring myself to care. A knot solidified in my throat as I glanced at Ansel, as he looked back with a sad little smile.

“Good riddance.” Swallowing hard, I forced a laugh. “She was a huge pain in the ass.”

And that was a huge understatement.

“Thank you,” I continued, rambling now. “We should really look into procuring you armor for next time. Just imagine—you riding in on a white steed, undoing your helmet in slow motion and tossing all that glorious hair in the wind.” I swallowed again, unable to dislodge the lump, and—also unable to look at him—glanced down. “Coco would love it. Hell, Beau probably would too.” The fire had completely consumed his body now. Bile rose in my throat, and I tore my gaze away, fresh tears filling my eyes. Surely, this was Hell, yet I couldn’t bring myself to leave. My feet had grown roots. An inexplicable tug unfurled deep in my stomach the longer we stood there, like an itch I needed to scratch, yet I resisted its pull. It would take me away from here. Away from him. I knew it as fundamentally as I knew that, one way or another, this moment would have to end.