Beau smirked as tension bolted down Coco’s spine. “That won’t be necessary,” she said tersely. Angelica turned away to hide her smile behind her hand. “Thank you.”

“Very well. I shall leave you here.” Eglantine halted outside another decaying door. A burgundy curtain had been draped over the threshold, shielding the room from the hall. “This entire wing is completely your own.” She nodded to the other doors lining the way. “Ring the bells when you’ve finished with your wash, and I shall collect you. Might I bring anything else to make you more comfortable?”

Célie reluctantly glanced at her ruined trousers. “Perhaps a clean nightgown?”

“Oh! How silly of me.” Eglantine brushed the burgundy curtain aside, pointing to the tarnished armoire beside a hammock of nets. “Each room has been stocked with clothing of all shapes and sizes, hand selected by the Oracle herself. Consider each piece yours.”

The Green Ribbon

Lou

Coco followed me into the curtained room while Beau and Célie wandered down the corridor in search of privacy. Already, steam curled from a golden tub in the corner. What had probably once been a silk dressing screen stood furled beside it, but the fabric had decomposed long ago. They’d woven seaweed into the panels instead.

Yawning, Coco unlaced her blouse before stripping it overhead. Though I moved to Reid’s side, I didn’t bother shielding his eyes. He hadn’t so much as stirred since we’d entered Le Présage, and if the sight of even Coco’s exquisite assets couldn’t tempt him to wake, we might’ve been in more trouble than I thought.

I snatched a bowl from the dressing table, filling it with bathwater.

Then again, this was Reid. If he’d opened his eyes just now, he would’ve fainted all over again.

He was going to be fine.

Coco eyed the bowl as she shimmied from her pants and plucked a scarf from the armoire, wrapping it around her hair. “Are you bathing him?”

“Nope.” Thrusting my shoulder into his, I rolled him onto the hammock, and his magical bed burst beneath us, soaking the carpet once more. “Not yet anyway.” She arched a brow and slipped into the tub, scooping sea salt from the pot beside it and scrubbing the gritty substance onto her skin. When I lifted Reid’s wrist to submerge his hand in the bowl, she shook her head and sighed.

“Tell me you aren’t doing what I think you’re doing.”

I shrugged. “Your mom said he would wake. I’m just helping him along.”

“She said he would wake when he’s ready.”

“And?” I watched his pants intently, settling into the hammock beside him, my back against the musty wall. My magic wouldn’t work, but . . . “Perhaps he’s ready.”

Her lips twitched slightly as she followed my gaze. His chest still rose and fell rhythmically, but otherwise, he didn’t move. “Perhaps he’s not,” she said.

“Well, we’ll know in a few minutes, won’t we?”

“I expected you to be more worried about this.”

“I’ve spent the entirety of my life worried, Coco. Nothing has changed.”

Except it had. Everything had changed. I’d made a promise to Ansel—to myself—when I’d left him in those waters. I wouldn’t allow fear to control me for another moment. No. Not even for another second.

Coco’s lips twitched harder as she scrubbed her skin. “He’ll be furious when he wakes.”

When he wakes.

I arched a devilish brow. “Dare I say he’ll be . . . pissed?”

She cackled outright now, leaning over the tub to better see the proceedings. “Oh my god. That was terrible.”

“That was brilliant, and you know it.” Absurdly pleased with myself, I pushed to my feet just as a veritable army of maids bustled through the curtain. Each carried pitchers of fresh, scalding water in tow.

“Are you finished, milady?” one of them asked Coco. When she nodded, the maid held out a silk robe, and Coco—shooting a quick, dubious glance in my direction—hesitated before stepping into it. I hid a smile behind my hand. I couldn’t speak for Coco, but I hadn’t been waited on since I’d left the Chateau at sixteen. Had anyone ever pampered her? My grin spread as another maid presented her with bottles of perfumed oils for her skin and hair. The others set about emptying the tub and refilling it with fresh water.

“From the geysers below the palace,” one explained through the steam. She selected a gown for Coco, draping it across the ornate—albeit mildewed—chair in the corner. “We often visit them to bathe ourselves, yet this is our first opportunity to use their waters in such a fashion. How did you find your bath?” she asked Coco. “Was it pleasant?”

“Very.” Slowly, Coco trailed her fingers along the lace of her nightgown. “Thank you.”

The maid smiled. “Very good. Is there anything else you require?”

Coco touched a tentative hand to her stomach. “I’m actually feeling a little sick.”

“We shall send for some ginger tea. Just harvested from a ship on route to Amandine. It will settle your stomach.”

I waited until they’d left before shucking off my bloody chemise and sinking into the tub. The water nearly scalded me, but I relished the heat of it, the catharsis. Dipping my head back, I scrubbed at my scalp, loosening the sand and dirt there. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been truly clean.

I glanced again at Reid, who hadn’t wet himself and hadn’t woken.

Coco removed his hand from the bowl. “We need to get creative. You could—”

A light knock sounded from the threshold, and we both turned. “It’s me,” Célie said softly. “May I come in?”

At the sound of her voice, Coco and I both froze, exchanging a panicked look. It wasn’t as if we disliked Célie. Indeed, we’d risked life and limb to save her, but we hadn’t . . . spent time with her. Not really. We hadn’t bonded outside of La Mascarade des Crânes. We weren’t friends.

Coco gestured toward the curtain. Go on, she mouthed. Answer her.

I waved an agitated hand down my naked body.

Coco shrugged, the corners of her mouth lifting. Who cares? You’re hot as f—

“Come in!” I called, flinging wet sea salt at Coco’s smug face. It landed with a splat, soaking her robe, just as Célie poked her head into the room. “Hi, Célie. Is something wrong?”

A pretty pink blush spread across her cheeks at the question. She too had bathed, and she wore her own dressing robe, ruffles rising to her chin. “No.” Moving the curtain aside tentatively, she stepped forward without looking at either of us, concentrating on the ostentatious gold-and-glass serving tray in her hands. A chipped china set perched atop it. “I just . . . heard you talking. Here”—she thrust the tray toward us abruptly—“I passed a maid in the hall. She ground ginger for your stomach pains, and I—I offered to bring it to you.”

Coco cut her gaze to me, clearly waiting to follow my lead. I scowled at her. It made sense, of course, as Célie wasn’t Beau’s clinging ex-paramour, but still . . . how did one react in this situation? Célie had nowhere to go. She had no friends to speak of, and the horrors she’d endured . . . I sighed. The last time I’d spoken to her, she’d loathed my very name, accusing me of stealing Reid away from her with magic. That same night, she’d fled into my arms.