“Did Evangeline return?” I asked.

“No.” She shook her head ruefully. “Evangeline wouldn’t so much as step foot through our door after that. She said we were cursed. Another maid took her place, but Pip insisted on brushing my hair regardless. I think she wanted to distract me. Père’s contacts always visited at night.”

“She sounds like a wonderful sister.”

Her smile turned warm and genuine. “She was.”

We descended into silence for only a moment—Célie continuing to stroke my hair with expert precision—before Coco surprised me by speaking. “And your mother?”

Célie spoke without hesitation, matter-of-fact, as if Coco had asked her not an exceptionally personal question, but the color of the sky. “My mother tried. She was not particularly maternal, but she gave us what she could: gifts, mostly, but on occasion she’d join us in the parlor while we sewed or played pianoforte. She would read us stories. She could be severe at times, of course—especially after Pippa’s death—but . . . it was how she expressed her love.”

Coco no longer pretended to be interested in her reflection. “Do you think she misses you?”

“I certainly hope so.” Célie shrugged delicately, setting the brush atop the vanity. She swept my now-tidy hair down my back. “But I will see her again soon. Who knows? Perhaps she’ll be proud I helped rid the world of Morgane.”

Coco and I locked gazes in the mirror. The heartbreak in hers shone clear.

My mother tried.

It shouldn’t have been a glowing commendation, yet it was. Célie’s mother had tried, and in doing so, she’d given more to her daughter than either of our mothers had given us. Unbidden, my hand crept upward to the satin ribbon around my throat. A mark of my mother’s love.

“Why do you hide it?” Célie asked abruptly. I glanced up to find her staring at me—at my scar. Even Coco seemed to return from her thoughts, eyes sharpening on the emerald ribbon. She arched a brow, and Célie nodded to her. “Coco shows her scars.”

“Coco’s scars aren’t shameful.” I tilted my head, fixing her reflection with a narrow gaze. “Why don’t you show your scars, Célie?”

She looked away then. “I don’t have any scars.”

“Not all scars are visible.”

“You are avoiding the question.”

“So are you.”

Sighing, Coco joined Célie behind me, her hands threading through my hair. Comfortable and familiar. She leaned down, her cheek hovering beside mine, and our reflections met once more. “How many times have I told you? No scar is shameful.” Mouth set with determination, she plucked at the end of my ribbon, and it fell from my throat, revealing my scar. Except it wasn’t my scar any longer. At least, it wasn’t the scar I’d always known.

Gasping, I traced the fine lines with my fingertips, following the graceful curve of leaves, the delicate whorls of petals. Like a silver necklace, it transformed the column of my throat into something rare and beautiful. Something exquisite. When I swallowed, the leaves seemed to wink at me in the candlelight. “When did this happen?”

“When we learned you’d been possessed.” Coco straightened, pulling a small stool over beside my chair. From the pile of its fabric, the upholstery had once been velvet, though the original color and pattern had long been lost. It was simply gray now, its curving legs as rotted as the rest of this place. Coco gestured for Célie—who appeared paler than before, her hands knotted together in apprehension—to sit. “When I decided to hope regardless. My tears transformed it.”

Hope isn’t the sickness. It’s the cure.

Coco slipped her hands into Célie’s unbound hair next, surprising me yet again. Judging by the way Célie straightened, the way her eyes flew wide, Coco had surprised her too. She wove the black strands into a single plait down Célie’s back, tying the end with my ribbon, looping the emerald satin into a perfect bow. “You should both show your scars,” she murmured.

Célie dragged her braid across her shoulder to stare at it, fingering the tails of the ribbon in quiet wonder. Coco plopped her cheek atop my head, and her familiar scent—earthy yet sweet, like a freshly brewed cup of tea—engulfed me. “They mean you survived.”

The Oracle and the Sea Urchin

Lou

Clad in a gown of marigold chiffon with floral appliqué, each rose dark and glittering as gunpowder, I followed Eglantine through a labyrinth of passages that night. Coco walked beside me. Her own gown of ivory satin—slimmer in skirt than my own, with a fitted bodice and golden thread spun into delicate filigree—trailed behind us for miles. The dress of a true princesse. Célie glided forward on her other side, regal and elegant and completely in her element. The soft petal pink of her bodice brought color to her porcelain cheeks, and the crawling juniper vines adorning the skirt flattered her slender form.

We cut quite the striking figure, the three of us. More than one head turned as we passed.

Even Beau did a double take as he stepped from his cabin, eyes flitting from the pearl headpiece in Coco’s hair to the emerald earring in Célie’s ear, the matching ribbon on her wrist.

“Lord help us all.” Beau shook his head and stepped behind us, plunging his hands into the pockets of his velvet pants. He whistled low. “Though Heaven never created such a view.”

“We know.” Coco arched a brow over her shoulder, each step revealing a bit of smooth thigh through the slit in her skirt.

Like the rest of the ship, the hall boasted extravagance with its once-gilded panels and glittering, albeit broken, chandeliers. Unlike our cabins, however, this room rose high above us, the painted ceilings towering unnaturally tall for a sea vessel. The air here smelled not of mildew but of magic, sweet and pleasant and sharp. A golden banquet table ran the length of the enormous room, and atop it, dishes and platters of a strange variety covered every inch. At the door, a liveried melusine bowed deeply and nearly sent his wig tumbling to the floor.

“Bonjour, mes demoiselles.” He straightened with the cool hauteur of an aristocrat. On one powdered cheek, he’d drawn a tiny black heart. “Please, allow me to escort you to your seats.”

Eglantine winked at us before retreating from the room.

We followed the butler in a single-file line until we reached the head of the table, where a veritable throne of seashells and pearls sat empty, along with two seats on either side. The butler seated Coco and Célie together with practiced efficiency before turning to me. He ignored Beau altogether. With another low bow, he murmured, “The Oracle will join us shortly. She kindly asks for you to sample the salted sea lettuce.” He paused to sniff through his long nose. “It is her very favorite.”

“Remember”—Célie spoke in a low voice, keeping her expression pleasant as the butler stalked back to his post—“to mind your manners.” She smiled at the aristocrats down the table. They watched us openly, some returning her smile, others whispering behind painted fans. “We would not want to disrespect our host.”

Elvire appeared without warning at her shoulder. No longer naked, she wore a dress fashioned from faded sails, complete with a belt of rope and a tiara of emeralds. The latter matched Célie’s earring. I suspected it wasn’t a coincidence. Touching it reverentially, Elvire inclined her head. “Bonjour, Mademoiselle Célie. Your gown is exquisite.”