Out of the corner of my eye, I saw motion from Tristan’s side of the room. I wanted to turn my head and look, but I dared not. Instead I smiled and nodded as each of the girls took their turn, cursing the very idea that there was so much virtue in the world. Finally they had all finished and returned to their partners. The music struck up, I lifted my head to resume swinging, and I saw Sabine standing by the doors closest to the stage. But she wasn’t watching me. Instead, she was facing toward the rear of the room, eyes fixed on my mother, her posture rigid.

Too late, I remembered – Sabine had also seen the mask in Catherine’s memory. And it had clearly made an impression.

It was only all my practice and training that got the first line of the song through my numb lips as she began to pick her way toward Tristan. My gloves felt sodden with sweat between my palms and the ropes, logic telling me not to react, but instinct demanding I leap off my swing and stop her.

Julian sprang onto the stage below me, dancing circles around the girls as he tried to tempt away their virtues, but they all spurned him, and he and I dueled until he scampered offstage. Only one more short song to praise the victory and strength of the girls, and then it would be over.

I sang louder than I should, wishing I could feel the triumph of music. But there was no winning in my situation, no choice that wouldn’t have painful consequences. No matter what I did, I was destined to lose. And it would happen in minutes. Sabine had only a few more people to navigate around before she reached Tristan and told him the truth. Then he’d try to kill my mother, and there’d be only one way to stop him.

Why should you stop him, the promise whispered. She’s a murderer.

She’s my mother.

He’ll never forgive you…

You don’t know that.

You gave your word…

The ballroom blurred as I warred my internal argument, then sharpened into focus as Sabine stopped in her tracks, and though the music was too loud for me to hear, the curses were clear on her lips. Spinning on her heel, she ignored the appalled expressions on people’s faces and pushed her way back to the exit. My voice wavered as my eyes jerked to where Tristan had been standing moments before, catching only a flash of him as he bolted through another exit.

Panic flooded through my veins, and, not caring if all the audience noticed, I twisted on the swing, my eyes searching, searching for sight of my mother.

She was gone.

Fifty-Five

Tristan

Genevieve ambled her way along the far side of the ballroom, expression unconcerned as she paused to greet guests, the chatter of the room loud to compensate for the grinding noise of the rotating set. She cast a backward glance at the stage when the lights dimmed, and my eyes went with hers in time to watch the curtain lift, revealing Cécile sitting on a swing high above the stage.

She was lovely. Even with the thousand concerns running through my head, I couldn’t help but notice that. She wore a white silk gown that revealed an exceptional amount of pale skin, all of which shimmered with gold dust. Her long crimson hair hung amongst the feathers trailing down her back, and both swayed with the motion of the swing.

Only my unique insight into her mind betrayed that she was not content. She briefly tracked her mother’s progress before letting her gaze drift across the ballroom to land on me, her mind a twist of nerves, hurt, and… guilt? I smiled at her, but a flash of unease betrayed my expression.

Something was wrong.

Something was not going to plan.

Where was Sabine?

Genevieve had retreated almost to the rear of the ballroom, stopping in the door well of one of the exits and leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. It was too dark to see her expression, but I took advantage of those very same shadows to watch her openly, my ears picking up on every waver in Cécile’s voice through a performance I missed almost entirely.

The music rose into a climax, drums beating and cymbals crashing with deafening noise. It would be over in a matter of moments, and then I was sure Anushka would make her move. But as Cécile’s voice rose to the highest note of her range, the door behind Genevieve opened, a hand reaching around to clamp over her mouth. I caught a flash of a blade, but before I could react, her assailant dragged her out into the corridor.

It was happening.

Ignoring the surprised looks of those around me, I sprinted to the door closest to me, instead of drawing more attention to myself by pushing through the crowded room. The hall was empty, and I ran, knowing I could be around in seconds to the door Genevieve’s attacker had taken her through.

“Tristan, wait! It’s her!” Sabine’s voice floated up from behind me, but I didn’t dare pause. I had to find Genevieve before Anushka had a chance to kill her and vanish. If I failed, the chance of freeing my people might be lost. If I failed, Cécile might never forgive me for letting the witch kill her mother.

The narrow corridor sped by me in a blur, my boots skidding against the floor as I rounded the first corner. Then the second. The music from inside the ballroom was loud even here, but not loud enough to drown out the piercing scream of a woman. Turning down another corridor, I prayed my ears had not deceived me.

Then heeled shoes clattered, and Genevieve de Troyes was running toward me, one gloved hand clutching a bloodied throat. “Help me!” she whimpered. “Please help me!”

Sliding to a stop, I let her through my magic, keeping my eyes on the darkness she had come from, even as she flung her arms around my neck, the steel claws on her gloves making my skin itch. “She attacked me! Oh, God, I’m bleeding. I’m dying.”