How much torture could a person endure before breaking? A knot of continuous pain sat in the back of my mind – pain laced with wild fear and anger that never diminished, never seemed to rest. A constant reminder that Tristan suffered in Trollus so that I could be safe in Trianon. A constant reminder of my failure to help him.

“Cécile?”

I twisted around, instinctively covering my bonding marks with my other hand until I saw it was Sabine, and then I let my arms drop to my sides. Her brow furrowed when she saw my face, and she came the rest of the way inside, shutting the door behind her.

Despite her parents’ protestations, my oldest and dearest friend had insisted on coming to Trianon with me. She’d always been a talented seamstress and had proven to have a knack for hair and cosmetics, so I’d been able to convince the company to hire her as my dresser.

While I had been recovering, my family had told everyone in the Hollow that I’d gotten cold feet about moving to Trianon and fled to Courville on the southern tip of the Isle. But keeping my secret from Sabine had never been an option. After what she’d gone through during my disappearance, allowing her to believe that I’d let her endure all that hurt because of performance nerves would have been unforgivable.

“You weren’t all that bad,” she said, dipping a rag in some cold cream and setting to work removing my makeup before fastening my gold necklace back around my throat. “In fact, you weren’t bad at all. Just not your best. Who could be under the circumstances?”

I nodded, both of us aware that it wasn’t my mother’s words troubling me.

“And Genevieve, she’s being a right old witch to say otherwise.”

Apparently my mother’s whispered criticism had not gone unheard. “She wants the best for me,” I said, not knowing why I felt the urge to defend her. It was a childhood habit I couldn’t seem to break.

“You’d think that, you being her daughter and all, but…” Sabine hesitated, her brown eyes searching mine in our reflection. “Everyone knows she’s jealous of you – her star’s setting while yours is on the rise.” She smiled. “It looks better onstage when it’s you playing Julian’s lover. Genevieve is old enough to be his mother, and the audience, well, they’re not blind, you know?”

“She’s still better than I am.”

Her smile fell away. “Only because your passion has been stolen by what’s happening to him.”

She never said Tristan’s name.

“If you sang how you used to before…” Sabine huffed out a frustrated breath. “You worked so hard for this, Cécile, and I know you love it. It makes me angry knowing that you’re throwing your life away for the sake of some creature.”

I’d been so angry the first time she picked this argument; hackles up and claws out in defense of Tristan and my choices. But I’d come to see events from Sabine’s perspective. All that resonated with her was the worst of it, which made my decision to put aside everything to try to free my captors incomprehensible to her.

“It’s not only him I’m trying to help.” Names drifted through my mind. So many faces, and all of them relying on me. Tristan, Marc, Victoria, Vincent…

“Maybe not. But it’s him who’s changed you.”

There was something in her tone and the set of her jaw that made me turn from the mirror to face her.

“You might be hunting this woman for the sake of them, but you’ve stopped living your life because of him.” Sabine bent down and took my hands in hers. “It’s because you’re in love with him that you’ve lost your passion for singing, and I wish…” She broke off, eyes fixed on my hands.

I knew she wasn’t attacking, that she only wanted what was best for me, but I was sick of defending my choices. “I’m not going to stop loving him for the sake of improving the caliber of my performance,” I snapped, pulling my hands out of her grip, and a second later regretting my tone. “I’m sorry. It’s only that I wish you’d accept that I’m set on this path.”

“I know.” She rose to her feet. “I only wish there was more I could do to help you find happiness.”

Find happiness… Not find the witch. Sabine had been an integral part of my plan to find Anushka – her ability to ferret out gossip and information was second to none – but she’d been clear that she wasn’t happy about doing it.

“You do enough by listening.” I caught hold of her hand and kissed it. “And by keeping me in style.”

We stared at each other, keenly aware that the awkwardness between us was new and strange. Both of us longing for the days when it hadn’t existed.

“Come out with us tonight,” she said, the words spilling from her mouth in one last desperate plea. “Just this once, can’t you forget the trolls and be with us lowly humans? We’re going to have our fortunes told in Pigalle. One of the dancers heard from a subscriber that there’s a woman who can see your future in the palm of your hand.”

“I’ll not hand my hard-earned coins over to a charlatan,” I said, forcing lightness into my voice. “But if she happens to have red hair and blue eyes and seems wise beyond her years, do let me know.”

If only it could be so easy…

I lingered in my dressing room so that everyone would have the chance to go out into the foyer or vacate the theatre. I wasn’t in the mood to entertain subscribers, and besides, I’d all but given up on finding Anushka on the arm of some wealthy nobleman out for a night at the opera. Or at parties. Or in private salons. All that behavior had earned me was legions of admirers and a reputation for stringing men along. I needed a new strategy, and I needed it soon.