I suspected she was anything but delicate.

“Answer the question, Jean.” Célie’s voice reclaimed my attention. She scowled up at Jean Luc, fierce and unrelenting. “You said the priests—the king—requested your presence at the conclave.”

“They did.”

“You disobeyed them?”

“I . . .” He tugged at his collar. “I had to see you.”

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Why? Why are you here? Did you”—those accusing eyes cut to mine—“did he think I couldn’t do this? Did he think I would die at the first opportunity?”

“You did almost fall from a cliff,” Jean Luc muttered defensively. When Célie’s face contorted in shock, in outrage, he added, “What? You did. I spoke with Father Achille.”

“You spoke with Father Achille?” Célie’s voice could’ve frozen water. Abruptly, she stepped away from him, her neck and spine snapping impossibly straight. Taut as a bow. “Have you been following me?”

“I—well, I—of course I have.” He rubbed a sheepish hand across his neck. “How could I not?”

“For how long?”

He hesitated, clearly reluctant. “Since . . . since Cesarine.”

Her expression emptied of all emotion. “You abandoned your post. You forsook the conclave.”

“No.” Jean Luc shook his head vehemently. “I delegated my duties before I left. I ensured the king and your parents would remain protected—”

“Do my parents know? Did you tell them that you planned to follow me?”

He looked deeply uncomfortable now. “Yes.” At her intense, cold stare, he hastened to add, “We had to know you were safe, Célie. They—I—couldn’t bear the thought of anything—”

She didn’t allow him to finish. Instead, she bludgeoned him in the chest with her own pack, turning on her heel to follow Coco and Lou. He staggered beneath its weight. “Célie.” When she didn’t turn, his voice grew louder, imploring. “Célie, please, wait—”

She whirled suddenly, fists clenched. “I do not need a keeper, Jean. This may come as a surprise, but I can take care of myself. I may be a woman—I may be gentle and meek and refined, like a pretty doll—but I have survived more in my eighteen years than you and my parents combined. Do not mistake me for porcelain. Do not mistake me for weak.”

She left without another word.

Struggling to hold her bag, Jean Luc tried to follow, but the crown prince clapped his shoulder, further upsetting his balance. He pitched forward with a curse. “Bad luck, man.” Beau didn’t lift a finger to set him right. “I think there might be actual bars of gold in there.” He shrugged. “The melusines liked her best.”

“She’s wearing trousers,” Jean Luc said incredulously, panting now. “Célie.”

Tension radiated across my face, shoulders, neck. I cared for none of this—the witches, their lies, their clothes. Tasteless wardrobes aside, however, the women had disappeared around the bend. We couldn’t afford to lose them. I couldn’t afford to lose them. Not with my memory at stake. Despite their deceit, they would help me restore my memories, or I would cut the very lies from their tongues. I just needed patience. Scowling, I hitched Lou’s bag higher. “Where are we going?”

Beau started after them without waiting for either of us. “I believe to pillage a castle.”

Jean Luc acquired two additional horses at the next village to speed our travel. When he extended a hand to Célie to help her mount his own, she knocked it aside and ascended herself. She now sat formal and straight in his saddle while he perched behind her.

That left four of us.

I glared at the witches, prepared to tie them behind as Jean Luc had tied me. Beau had a different idea. Without giving me a chance to speak—to protest—he ushered Coco astride the second horse, hoisting himself up after her.

That left two of us for the last horse.

And it was unacceptable.

“Give me the rope.” I stomped to Jean Luc’s side, seizing his bag. The coil sat at the top. Right. Squaring my shoulders, I turned to face the witch. The others watched in rapt fascination. “Don’t make this difficult.”

Her eyes fell to the rope in my hand. Her smile faltered. “You’re kidding.”

“I don’t kid. Give me your wrists. You can walk behind the horse.”

“Fuck you.”

Coco slid from her own horse now, coming to stand beside Lou. “Don’t make us tie you to the horse, Reid.” She lifted her wrist to place a thumbnail upon it. A threat. “If you talk to her like that again, it would be my pleasure.”

My hands tightened on the rope. “Try.”

Beau rolled his eyes. “Honestly, brother, will you insist on this asshattery at every turn? If so, it’s going to be a very long trip.”

“I’m not riding anywhere with that witch.”

Without my Balisarda, I was virtually defenseless. She could attack me even now, and I wouldn’t be able to stop her. As if sensing that thought, Lou snorted. “You aren’t in any more danger on the horse.” Stepping into the stirrup, she swung her leg over its back. “Don’t be stupid, Chass. Climb up. You can tie me up later if you’d like, but I’m not walking anywhere.”

I glared up at her. “I don’t trust you.”

Her answering smile was hard. “I don’t particularly trust you either, which is why you should know”—she brushed the sheath at her thigh—“I’ll gut you like a fish if you try anything.”

I didn’t move. Coco didn’t either. Her eyes narrowed on my bandolier. “Not good enough. Give me your knives.”

“That isn’t going to happen.”

Lou tipped her face up to the sky, exhaling heavily. “It’s fine, Coco. I’ve kicked his ass before. I can do it again.”

“We’re wasting time,” Célie urged.

Jean Luc shot me an impatient look. “Just get on the horse, Reid.”

Judas.

Reluctant, furious, I hoisted myself behind her, reaching around to take hold of the reins. She relinquished them freely. “Be very careful,” I warned her, voice low. “You may have magic, but you aren’t the only one who can gut a fish.”

She turned her face toward mine. “I’m not the only one who has magic either.” When I nudged our horse into a trot, following the others, she asked, “Have you heard them yet? The voices?”

I glared straight ahead. “I am sound of mind.”

“For now.”

I ignored the bait. Ignored her altogether. Until— “Beau said we’re riding toward a castle?”

“Chateau le Blanc.” She settled between my arms, heaving a terse sigh when I shoved her forward once more. “My ancestral home.”

“You’re going to rob it?” I tried to keep my voice casual. Cold. Only a Dame Blanche could locate the infamous Chateau. Finally, I’d found one to lead me to it. How many years had my brethren searched? How many witches would I snare there, unsuspecting and defenseless? Would I unearth the great pythoness herself, La Dame des Sorcières? One could only hope.