Nothing happened.

“Show me Genevieve,” I demanded, hating the desperation in my voice. Please be alive.

Nothing.

I pulled harder, magic coming into me from all directions, and then I switched tactics. “Show me Anushka.”

An image appeared in the flame, and the sound of my mother singing danced through the air. Anushka’s with her! Leaning forward, I peered into the fire, but it was like looking through the keyhole of a door. Motion flashed in front of me, black fabric and pale skin, but whoever it was sat too close to the lamp to give me any perspective.

My mother sang her warm-up exercises, and there was nothing in her voice hinting at fear or anxiety. She did not yet realize the danger she was in, but that didn’t matter. She was alive, and that was all I cared about.

“We have Cécile. She’s getting ready even as we speak.” A voice interrupted my mother’s exercises, but it was a familiar one: Marie.

Elbows bent and hands clasped in front of the flame, and I held my breath, waiting to hear Anushka speak. “Good. Cursed girl seemed set to ruin everything.” My heart skipped – it was my mother who had spoken. Something wasn’t right.

“She thinks she needs to protect you,” Marie replied, her voice toneless. “She’ll play right into your hands and bring the creature along with her.”

My heartbeat seemed to slow, each thump, thump, thump deafening. Realization was dawning on me, too slowly. Too quickly. The wild sting of betrayal pierced my chest, and my wretched heart prayed that my mind was mistaken.

“You’ve convinced her to perform?”

“Yes.” Marie was silent for a moment. “Is the performance truly necessary? The risks…”

“The ritual is everything. The timing is everything,” my mother interrupted. “The last one disrupted both, and look at the cost: I was weakened enough that one of them was able to break free. It cannot happen again.”

No, no, no! I was on my feet, rotating around the flame, trying to find an angle where I could see her face. I needed proof that it wasn’t her – that I was mistaken. That I’d misunderstood.

“Go out and mingle with your guests, Marie. And make sure you and yours stay clear of the troll. His death is mine, along with all the power that comes with it. Tonight, I will crush what remains of the mighty fey.”

I clenched my teeth to keep the threatening sobs from betraying me. Dropping to my knees, I looked up through the flame and saw her face. Her painfully familiar face, and around her throat, the necklace that marked those destined to die. The necklace I should have been wearing.

My mother is Anushka, my mother is Anushka. The words repeated in my head, but even seeing proof with my eyes, it was hard to believe. Shaking, I watched as she picked up a cruel beaked mask that I recognized from when Sabine and I had watched Catherine’s memory in my washbasin, tying it to her face with a black ribbon.

“It is time.”

The witch’s eyes turned to the flame. I ducked under the table before she could see me, releasing the magic and vanquishing the spell. And then I sat shaking on the floor.

It had been hard enough learning that Anushka was my ancestor, but knowing that she was my mother– that she’d borne me for the sole purpose of sacrificing me to her immortality. That the woman I’d all but worshipped my whole life was a killer. The thought of it made the contents of my stomach rise, and twisting onto my hands and knees, I heaved them onto the carpet, my muscles straining painfully as though they might rid me of everything I’d seen.

I was the target. I was the one who was supposed to die tonight, and Tristan along with me. And with that power, my friends in Trollus had no hope. I had to warn him. “Tristanthysium,” I whispered, and then broke off. If I told him Genevieve was Anushka, he’d kill her. And the thought of her lying as dead as Esmeralda had elicited a reaction in me that I could not have predicted: sorrow. She was the enemy, but though I knew I was a fool for it, I still loved her as I always had. Perhaps if we caught her, she could be reasoned with. Perhaps, there was another way…

Staggering to my feet, I ran to the door. Regardless of my sentiments, Tristan needed to be warned. He was expecting to protect Genevieve – our entire plan was predicated on keeping her safe – the last thing he’d expect would be for her to turn on him. I had to find a way to get to him, explain to him the circumstances. Convince him to at least try to find another way.

The handle turned under my grip, but the door wouldn’t open. I slammed a shoulder against it, but to no avail. It was bolted from outside. I sucked in a deep breath, planning to scream until someone came, and then I clacked my teeth together. Marie and Anushka would have planned for that. Planned for me to resist. If I screamed, only people under their control would come, and then they’d drag me off and all hope of warning Tristan would be lost. I had to be smarter than that.

Anushka didn’t know I’d discovered her true identity, and I needed to keep it that way. The only way to do that was to play along until a chance revealed itself. “Tristanthysium,” I repeated, knowing I needed to say something. “Be wary. One of our friends is foe. Trust no one.”

The bolt slid, and I broke off the thought. The door opened to reveal Monsieur Johnson, resplendent with a sprig of rowanberries on his collar. “Ah, Cécile, you look marvelous!” he said, beaming from between the two guards who flanked him. “You must come with me; we are about to begin. Are you ready?”