It took a moment to collect myself, to calm my racing heart. He waited patiently, his thumbs kneading my temples. The intimacy of the gesture both agitated and soothed me. At last, I pulled away and said, “After Violette and Victoire rescued you from the dungeons, you returned to Léviathan. Do you remember that?”

He shadowed my footsteps. “Yes. I took a bath.”

“And then?”

“And then I”—his face contorted—“I spoke with Claud. I told him about my mother’s capture.”

Lacing my fingers through his, I shook my head. “You didn’t. ‘They took her, Lou. They took my mother, and she’s not coming back.’ That’s what you told me.”

He stared at me, nonplussed. “What happened next?”

“You tell me.” When he said nothing, only stared, I reached up to kiss his cheek. His arms wrapped around my waist. “After I took Bas’s memories,” I whispered against his skin, “I didn’t realize what I’d done until I saw him again. There were these—these gaps in my thoughts. I didn’t scrub him away completely, only the romantic moments, but he didn’t recognize me at all. I had to find a trigger to help me remember—one memory to spark the rest.”

He pulled back to look at me. “But that could be anything.”

“For me, it was the moment I met Bas in Soleil et Lune.”

“Where did I meet you?”

“Outside of Pan’s patisserie.” I spun him toward the lock hastily. “Imagine a door. You were blocking the whole thing like a giant asshole, watching Beau’s homecoming parade in the street.” He turned to scowl at me over his shoulder. “What? You were. It was completely discourteous. I tried to move past you”—I imitated the movement—“but there wasn’t room for both of us. You ended up turning and nearly breaking my nose with your elbow.” When he pivoted to face me in real time, I lifted his elbow and snapped my head back, pantomiming the injury. “Does any of this ring a bell?”

He looked thoroughly miserable. “No.”

Fuck. “Maybe this isn’t your trigger.” I fought to keep my voice even. “It could be something else—like when you chased me in Soleil et Lune, or when we married on the bank of the Doleur, or—or when we had sex for the first time on the rooftop.”

His eyes narrowed. “We consummated our relationship on a rooftop?”

I nodded swiftly. Too swiftly. “Soleil et Lune again. It was so cold—try to imagine it. The wind on your bare skin.”

When fresh guards popped in to check on us, we ignored them, and after a taunt or two, they left. The clock ticked onward. Every second, it brought us closer to sunset. No other shouts rose from the corridor. No second rescue attempt. Where were they? Reid shook his head, scrubbing a hand over his face as he paced. “I don’t remember any of this.”

“But you—I’ve seen you as you’ve started to remember. I’ve seen the pain in your expression. It hurts.”

He threw his arms in the air, growing more and more frustrated. Or perhaps flustered. Perhaps both. “Those times have been few and far between, and even then, when I try to push through—to follow the memory—it’s like I’m jumping into a void. There’s nothing there. No wall to break. No door to open or lock to pick or window to smash. The memories are just gone.”

Wretched tears gathered in my eyes. “The pattern can be reversed.”

“What pattern?” His voice rose to almost a shout as he whirled to face me, jaw clenched and cheeks flushed. “The entire world seems to think I’m a witch—and I’m about to burn at the stake, so it must be true—but I can’t—I don’t—I’ve never seen a pattern, Lou. Not a single speck of gold or white or fucking indigo. It’s like this person you know—he doesn’t exist. I’m not him. I don’t know if I’ll ever be him again.”

When the tears fell freely down my cheeks, he groaned and wiped them away, moisture glistening in his own eyes. “Please, don’t cry. I can’t stand your tears. They make me—they make me want to rend the world apart to stop them, and I can’t—” He kissed me again, fierce with abandon. “Tell me again. Tell me all of it. I’ll remember this time.”

Within the hard shield of his arms, I repeated everything. I told him the story of us: the slashed arm and spattered sheet, the book called La Vie Éphémère, the trip to the theater and the market, the temple, the troupe, the shop of curiosities. I told him of Modraniht and La Mascarade des Crânes and every moment spent together in between. Every momentous shift in our relationship. The bathtub. The attic. The funeral.

I told him of magic.

He remembered nothing.

Yes, his face twisted occasionally, but upon embracing the pain, chasing the memories, he’d find only smoke and mirrors.

We gradually realized the guards rotated in two-hour shifts—Reid could remember that—checking in every half hour. When the last set appeared, I wept openly as Reid cradled me in his lap. “Not long now,” one of them had jeered. The other hadn’t wanted to linger, however, pulling his companion from the room with a discomfited expression.

Still no one came for us.

I hoped they’d survived. I hoped they’d rescued Madame Labelle and Beau, and I hoped they’d fled the city. I couldn’t bear the thought of them watching us burn. Though it wouldn’t be their fault, they’d never forgive themselves, and Coco—she’d suffered enough. She’d lost enough, as had Madame Labelle and Beau and Célie and even Jean Luc. Perhaps we’d been stupid to dream of something more. Something better. I still hoped they’d found it.

If anyone deserved peace, it was them.

Reid rested his cheek against my hair. “I’m so sorry, Lou.” Silence stretched between us, tautly strung like a bow. I waited for it to snap. “I wish—”

“Don’t.” Slowly, I lifted my head to look at him. My heart contracted at the anguish on his familiar face. I traced the shape of his brows, his nose, his lips, staring at each feature in turn. Deep down, I’d known how this would end all along. I’d sensed it from the moment we’d first met, from the time I’d first glimpsed the Balisarda in his bandolier—two star-crossed lovers brought together by fate or providence. By life and by death. By gods, or perhaps monsters.

We would end with a stake and a match.

Waving my hand, I shielded us from any huntsman’s gaze. Magic erupted around us. “Kiss me, Reid.”

Confessional

Reid

I stared at her tearstained face, chest aching. She didn’t need to convince me. I’d do anything she asked. If kissing her would stop another tear from falling, I’d kiss her a thousand times. If we survived the night, I’d kiss away every tear for the rest of her life.

Where you go, I will go. Where you stay, I will stay.

She’d whispered the words to me like a prayer. And I still felt them. I felt each one.

How could I have ever thought this emotion between us wasn’t sacred? This connection. What I felt for Lou was visceral and raw and pure. It would consume me, if I let it. Consume us both.