Serpent & Dove

by Shelby Mahurin

  “How can you cherish a book that ends in death?”

  “It doesn’t end in death. The lovers die, yes, but the kingdoms overcome their enmity and forge an alliance. It ends in hope.”

  She frowned, unconvinced. “There’s nothing hopeful about death. Death is death.”

  I sighed and turned to place the book back in my vault. “Fine. Don’t read it. I don’t care.”

  “I never said I didn’t want to read it.” She held out a hand impatiently. “Just don’t expect me to develop your weirdly evangelical zeal. The plot sounds dreary, but it can’t be worse than Shepherd.”

  I clutched La Vie Éphémère with both hands, hesitating. “It doesn’t describe grass.”

  “A decisive point in its favor.”

  Reluctantly, I handed it to her. This time, she accepted it carefully, examining the title with new eyes. Hope flickered in my chest. I cleared my throat and stared behind her at a dent in the headboard. “And . . . it does have a love scene.”

  She cackled, flipping through the pages eagerly.

  I couldn’t help it. I smiled too.

  A knock sounded an hour later. I paused in the washroom, shirt halfway over my head. The tub half full. Lou made an exasperated noise from the bedroom. Pulling my shirt back down, I opened the newly repaired washroom door as she tossed La Vie Éphémère on the quilt and swung her legs from the bed. They barely reached the floor. “Who is it?”

  “It’s Ansel.”

  With a grumbled curse, she hopped down. I beat her to the door and pulled it open. “What is it?”

  Lou glared at him. “I like you, Ansel, but this had better be something good. Emilie and Alexandre just had a moment, and I swear if they don’t kiss soon, I will literally die.”

  At Ansel’s confusion, I shook my head, fighting back a grin. “Ignore her.”

  He nodded, still bemused, before bowing hastily. “Madame Labelle is downstairs, Captain. She—she demands to speak with Madame Diggory.”

  Lou wriggled beneath my arm. I stepped aside before she could stomp on my toe. Or bite me. A learned experience from our time at the river. “What does she want?”

  Lou crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe. “Did you tell her to piss off?”

  “Lou,” I warned.

  “She refuses to leave.” Ansel shifted uncomfortably. “She says it’s important.”

  “Well, then. I suppose Emilie and Alexandre will have to wait. Tragic.” Lou elbowed past me to grab her cloak. Then she halted abruptly, nose wrinkling. “Also, Chass—you stink.”

  I blocked her path. Resisted the urge to rise. Or smell myself. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  “Of course I am.” She sidestepped me, scrunching her face and waving a hand in front of her nose. I bristled. Surely I didn’t smell that bad. “Ansel just said she won’t leave until she sees me.”

  Deliberately, I reached behind her, brushing my sweaty skin against her cheek, and grabbed my coat. She didn’t move. Merely turned her head to glare at me, eyes narrowed. Our faces inches apart, I fought the urge to lean down and inhale. Not to smell me—but to smell her. When she hadn’t been traipsing in the infirmary, she smelled . . . good. Like cinnamon.

  Clearing my throat, I shoved my arms into my coat. My shirt, still damp with sweat, rolled and bunched up against my skin. Uncomfortable. “She shouldn’t be here. We finished our interrogation yesterday.”

  And a lot of good it had done us. Madame Labelle was as slippery as Lou. After accidentally revealing the witch’s true name, she’d remained tight-lipped and wary. Suspicious. The Archbishop had been furious. She was lucky he hadn’t detained her for the stake—her and Lou.

  “Perhaps she wants to extend another offer,” Lou said, oblivious to the precariousness of her situation.

  “Another offer?”

  “To buy me for the Bellerose.”

  I frowned. “The purchase of human beings as property is illegal.”

  “She won’t tell you she’s purchasing me. She’ll say she’s purchasing an indenture—for training me, beautifying me, providing me room and board. It’s how people like her slip through the cracks. East End runs on indentures.” She paused, tilting her head. “But that’s probably a moot point now that we’re married. Unless you wouldn’t mind sharing?”

  I buttoned up my coat in tense silence. “She doesn’t want to buy you.”

  She swept past me with a mischievous grin, wiping a bead of sweat from my brow. “Shall we find out?”

  Madame Labelle waited in the foyer. Two of my brothers stood beside her. Expressions wary, they looked unsure whether she was welcome at this hour. The Tower—and kingdom—enforced strict curfews. She stood calmly between them, however. Chin held high. Her face—perhaps once exceptionally beautiful, but aged now, with fine lines around her eyes and mouth—broke into a wide smile upon seeing Lou.

  “Louise!” She held her arms out as though expecting Lou to embrace her. I almost laughed. “How splendid to see you in such good health—though those bruises on your face look ghastly. I hope our gracious hosts aren’t responsible?”

  All inclination to laugh died in my throat. “We would never harm her.”

  Her eyes fell to me, and she clasped her hands together in feigned delight. “How wonderful to see you again, Captain Diggory! Of course, of course. I should’ve known better. You’re far too noble, aren’t you?” She smiled, revealing those unnaturally white teeth. “I do apologize for the lateness of the hour, but I need to speak with Louise immediately. I hope you won’t mind me stealing her away for a moment.”

  Lou didn’t move. “What do you want?”

  “I’d rather hoped to discuss it in private, dear. The information is quite . . . sensitive. I attempted to speak with you yesterday after the interrogation, but my escort and I found you otherwise occupied in the library.” She looked between the two of us with a knowing smile, leaning forward and whispering, “I never interrupt a lovers’ quarrel. It’s one of the few rules by which I live.”

  Lou’s eyes boggled. “That wasn’t a lovers’ quarrel.”

  “No? Then perhaps you’d be amenable to reconsidering my offer?”

  I resisted the urge to step between them. “You need to leave.”

  “Rest easy, Captain. I have no plans of whisking away your bride . . . yet.” At my expression, she winked and laughed. “But I do insist on speaking privately. Is there a room that Madame Diggory and I could use? Somewhere less”—she gestured to the Chasseurs standing at attention around us—“congested?”

  At that moment, however, the Archbishop stormed into the foyer in his nightcap. “What’s all this commotion? Don’t you all have duties to attend—” His eyes widened when he saw Madame Labelle. “Helene. What an unpleasant surprise.”

  She curtsied. “Likewise, Your Eminence.”

  I hastened to bow, fisting a hand over my heart. “Madame Labelle is here to speak with my wife, sir.”

  “Is she?” His gaze didn’t waver. He stared at Madame Labelle with burning intensity, lips pressed into a hard line. “How unfortunate, then, that the church locks its doors in approximately”—he pulled a watch from his pocket—“three minutes.”

  Her answering smile was brittle. “Surely the church shouldn’t lock its doors at all?”

  “These are dangerous times, madame. We must do what we can to survive.”

  “Yes.” Her eyes flicked to Lou. “We must.”

  Silence descended as we all glared at one another. Tense and awkward. Lou shifted uneasily, and I contemplated removing Madame Labelle by force. Whatever she claimed otherwise, the woman had made her purpose perfectly clear, and I would burn the Bellerose to the ground before Lou became a courtesan. Like it or not, she’d made an oath to me first.

  “Two minutes,” the Archbishop said sharply.

  Madame Labelle’s face twisted. “I am not leaving.”

  The Archbishop jerked his head toward my brethren, and they inched closer. Brows furrowed. To
rn between following orders and removing a woman from the premises. I suffered no such qualms. I too stepped forward, shielding Lou from view. “Yes, you are.”

  Something flickered in Madame Labelle’s eyes as she looked at me. Her sneer faltered. Before I could throw her from the Tower, Lou touched my arm and murmured, “Let’s go.”

  Then several things happened at once.

  A crazed gleam entered Madame Labelle’s eyes at Lou’s words, and she lunged forward. Quicker than a snake’s strike, she crushed Lou into her arms. Her lips moved rapidly at Lou’s ear.

  Furious, I wrenched Lou away at the same moment Ansel leapt to subdue Madame Labelle. My brethren joined him. They pinned her arms behind her back as she fought to return to Lou.

  “Wait!” Lou thrashed in my arms, twisting toward her. Eyes wild. Face pale. “She was saying something—wait!”

  But the room had descended into chaos. Madame Labelle shrieked as the Chasseurs attempted to drag her out of the building. The Archbishop motioned toward Lou before rushing forward. “Get her out of here.”

  I complied, tightening my grip around Lou’s waist and hauling her backward. Away from the madwoman. Away from the panic and confusion of the room—of my thoughts.

  “Stop!” Lou kicked and pounded against my arms, but I only tightened my grip. “I changed my mind! Let me speak to her! Let me go!”

  But she’d made an oath.

  And she wasn’t going anywhere.

  Chill in My Bones

  Lou

  My throat is weeping.

  Not tears. Something thicker, darker. Something that bathes my skin in scarlet, streams down my chest and soaks my hair, my dress, my hands. My hands. They scrabble at the source, fingers probing, searching, choking—desperate to stem the flow, desperate to make it stop, stop, stop—

  Shouts are echoing around me through the pines. They disorient me. I can’t think. But I need to think, to flee. And she’s behind me, somewhere, stalking me. I can hear her voice, her laughter. She calls to me, and my name on her lips rings loudest of all.

  Louise . . . I’m coming for you, darling.

  Coming for you, darling

  Coming for you, darling . . . darling . . . darling . . .

  Blind terror. She can’t find me here. I can’t go back, or—or something terrible will happen. Gold still flickers. It lingers on the trees, the ground, the sky, scattering my thoughts like the blood on the pines. Warning me. Leave, leave, leave. You can’t come back here. Never again.

  I’m lunging into the river now, scrubbing my skin, washing away the trail of blood that follows me. Frantic. Feverish. The slash at my throat closes, the sharp pain receding the farther I run from home. The farther I run from my friends. My family. Her.

  Never again never again never again

  I can’t see any of them ever again.

  A life for a life.

  Or I’ll die.

  I woke with a start, my eyes darting to the window. Flushed and agitated, I’d left it open last night. Snow coated the ledge in fine powder, and occasional gusts of wind blew snowflakes into our room. I watched them swirl through the air, trying to ignore the icy fear that had settled in the pit of my stomach. Blankets weren’t enough to warm the chill in my bones. My teeth chattered.

  Though I hadn’t heard all of Madame Labelle’s frantic words, her warning had been clear.

  She is coming.

  I sat up, rubbing my arms against the chill. Who was Madame Labelle, really? And how had she known about me? I’d been naive to think I could truly disappear. I’d lied to myself when I’d worn my disguises—when I married a Chasseur.

  I’d never be safe.

  My mother would find me.

  Though I’d practiced again this morning, it wasn’t enough. I needed to train harder. Every day. Twice a day. I needed to be stronger when she arrived—to be able to fight. A weapon wouldn’t hurt either. In the morning, I would search for one. A knife, a sword. Anything.

  Unable to stand my thoughts any longer, I swung from the bed and dropped to the floor beside my husband. He breathed, slow and rhythmic. Peaceful. Nightmares didn’t plague his sleep. Slipping beneath the blankets, I pressed close to him. Rested my cheek against his back and savored his warmth as it seeped into my skin. My eyes fluttered shut, and my breathing slowed to match his.

  In the morning. I would deal with everything in the morning.

  His breathing faltered slightly as I drifted to sleep.

  A Clever Little Witch

  Lou

  The small mirror above the basin was unkind the next morning. I scowled at my reflection. Pale cheeks, swollen eyes. Dry lips. I looked like death. I felt like death.

  The bedroom door opened, but I continued staring at myself, lost in thought. Nightmares had always plagued my sleep, but last night—last night had been worse. I stroked the scar at the base of my throat softly, remembering.

  It had been my sixteenth birthday. A witch entered womanhood at sixteen. My fellow witchlings had been excited for theirs, anxious to receive their rites as Dames Blanches.

  I’d been different. I’d always known my sixteenth birthday would be the day I died. I’d accepted it—welcomed it, even, when my sisters had showered me with love and praise. My purpose since birth had been to die. Only my death could save my people.

  But as I’d laid on that altar, the blade pressing into my throat, something had changed.

  I had changed.

  “Lou?” My husband’s voice echoed through the door. “Are you decent?”

  I didn’t answer him. Humiliation burned in my gut at last night’s weakness. I clenched the basin, glaring at myself. I’d actually slept on the floor to be close to him. Weak.

  “Lou?” When I still didn’t respond, he cracked the door open. “I’m coming in.”

  Ansel hovered behind him, face drawn and concerned. I rolled my eyes at my reflection.

  “What’s wrong?” My husband’s eyes searched my face. “Has something happened?”

  I forced a smile. “I’m fine, thanks.”

  They exchanged glances, and my husband jerked his head to the door. I pretended not to notice as Ansel left, as an awkward silence descended.

  “I’ve been thinking,” he said finally.

  “A dangerous pastime.”

  He ignored me, swallowing hard. He had the air of someone about to rip off a bandage—equal parts determined and terrified. “There’s a show at Soleil et Lune tonight. Maybe we could go?”

  “What show is it?”

  “La Vie Éphémère.”

  Of course it was. I chuckled without humor, staring at the shadows beneath my eyes. After Madame Labelle’s visit, I’d stayed up late into the night finishing Emilie and Alexandre’s story to distract myself. They’d lived and loved and died together—and for what?

  It doesn’t end in death. It ends in hope.

  Hope.

  A hope they would never see, would never feel, would never touch. As elusive as smoke. As flickering flames.

  The story was more fitting than my husband would ever know. The universe—or God, or the Goddess, or whoever—seemed to be poking fun at me. And yet . . . I glanced around at the stone walls. My cage. It’d be nice to escape this wretched place, even for a little while.

  “Fine.”

  I made to move past him into the bedroom, but he blocked the doorway. “Is something bothering you?”

  “Nothing to concern yourself with.”

  “Well I am concerned with it. You aren’t yourself.”

  I managed a sneer, but it was too difficult to maintain. I yawned instead. “Don’t pretend to know me.”

  “I know if you aren’t swearing or singing about well-endowed barmaids, something is wrong.” His mouth quirked, and he tentatively touched my shoulder, blue eyes sparkling. Like the sun on the ocean. I shook the thought away irritably. “What is it? You can tell me.”

  No, I can’t. I turned away from his touch. “I said I’m fine.”
/>   He dropped his hand, eyes shuttering. “Right. I’ll leave you alone then.”

  I watched him leave with a twinge of what felt strangely like regret.

  I poked my head out after a few moments, hoping he’d still be there, but he’d gone. My foul mood only worsened when I saw Ansel sitting at the desk. He watched me apprehensively, as if expecting me to sprout horns and spew fire—which, in this case, was exactly what I felt like doing.

  I stormed toward him, and he leapt to his feet. A savage sort of satisfaction stole through me at his skittishness—then guilt. None of this was Ansel’s fault, and yet . . . I couldn’t force my spirits to lift. My dream still lingered. Unfortunately, so did Ansel.

  “C-Can I help you with something?”

  I ignored him, shouldering past his lanky form and yanking the desk drawer open. The journal and letters were still gone, leaving only a worn Bible inside. No knife. Damn it. I knew it’d been a long shot, but irritation—or perhaps fear—made me irrational. I turned and stomped toward the bed.

  Ansel shadowed my footsteps, bewildered. “What are you doing?”

  “Looking for a weapon.” I scratched at the headboard, trying and failing to pry it from the wall.

  “A weapon?” His voice hitched incredulously. “W-What do you need a weapon for?”

  I threw my weight against the blasted thing, but it was too heavy. “In case Madame Labelle or—er, someone else comes back. Help me with this.”

  He didn’t move. “Someone else?”

  I bit back a growl of impatience. It didn’t matter. He probably wouldn’t have hidden a knife in his little hole anyway. Not after he’d shown it to me.

  Dropping to my stomach, I wriggled under the bed frame. The floorboards were spotless. Practically clean enough to eat from. I wondered if it was the maids or my husband with the obsessive tendencies. Probably my husband. He seemed the type. Controlling. Freakishly neat.

  Ansel repeated his question, closer this time, but I ignored him, probing the floor for a hidden seam or loose board. There was nothing. Undeterred, I began knocking at regular intervals, listening for a telltale hollow thud.