We never missed.
Now—standing before Lou—I visualized the point above her head. Just a few scant inches of wood. Five, to be precise. There was no room for error. Taking a deep breath, I waited. I waited.
I let my sword fly.
The audience gasped, and the sound of sword striking board vibrated in my bones. I tore off my blindfold.
Chest heaving, mouth parted, Lou stared back at me with wide eyes. The sword had lodged not atop her head, but beside it—so close it’d drawn a thin line of blood on her cheek. One of her moth wings fluttered to the stage, severed, as she slowed to a stop. The audience cheered wildly. Their shouts, their praise, their laughter—it made little sense to me.
I’d missed.
And Lou was keeping secrets again.
She Loves Me Not
Lou
When the last villagers retreated to their homes, bleary-eyed and stumbling, Claud Deveraux broke out the Boisaîné to celebrate our reunion. “We should dance,” I murmured, dropping my head to Reid’s shoulder. He rested his cheek on my hair. Together, we sat on the amber wagon’s steps, huddled beneath a patchwork quilt, and watched as Coco and Ansel joined hands with Zenna and Toulouse. They staggered round and round in a frenzied circle to Deveraux’s mandolin. Each tried and failed to remember the lyrics to “Big Titty Liddy.” With every bottle of wine at their feet, their laughter grew louder, and their song grew stupider.
I wanted to join them.
When I yawned, however—my eyelids impossibly heavy from exhaustion and wine—Reid brushed a kiss to my temple. “You’re exhausted.”
“They’re butchering Liddy’s song.”
“You butcher Liddy’s song.”
“Excuse me?” I leaned forward, turning to glare at him. A smile still tugged at my lips. “Thank you very much, but my enthusiasm is everything.”
“Except a full vocal range.”
Delighted, I widened my eyes in mock outrage. “All right, then. Fine. Let’s hear your full vocal range.” When he said nothing—only smirked—I poked him in the ribs. “Go on. Show me how it’s done, O Melodious One. The plebeians await your instruction.”
Sighing, he rolled his eyes and scooted away from my finger. “Forget it, Lou. I’m not singing.”
“Oh no!” I followed like a plague, poking and prodding every inch of him I could reach. He dodged my attempts, however, and surged to his feet. I bounded to the top step in response, leaning forward until we were nearly nose to nose. The blanket fell to the ground, forgotten. “I’m prepared for shock and awe here, Chass. Your voice had better hypnotize snakes and charm the pants from virgins. It’d better be the love child of Jesus and—”
His kiss swallowed the rest of my words. When we broke apart, he murmured, “I have no interest in charming the pants from virgins.”
Smirking, I wound my arms around his neck. He hadn’t mentioned our spat onstage or the black fox that slept in our wagon. I hadn’t mentioned the cut on my cheek or that said fox’s name was Brigitte. “Not even Ansel?” I asked.
After our performance, Coco and Ansel had cornered me, asking how Reid had received the news of his siblings’ murders. My ensuing silence had exasperated them. Their ensuing silence had exasperated me. It wasn’t that I—that I didn’t want to tell Reid the whole truth, but what purpose would it serve? He didn’t know Etienne and Gabrielle. Why should he mourn them? Why should he take responsibility for their deaths? And he would take responsibility. Of that much, I was certain. If he knew my mother had started targeting his individual siblings, his focus would shift to protecting them instead of defeating Morgane—an illogical strategy, as her death was the only way of ensuring their safety.
No, this wasn’t a lie. I hadn’t lied to him. This was just . . . a secret.
Everyone had secrets.
Reid shook his head. “Ansel isn’t really my type.”
“No?” I pressed closer, the word a breath against his lips, and he climbed the steps slowly, backing me against the wagon door. His hands braced on either side of my face. Caging me there. “What is your type?”
He trailed his nose along my shoulder. “I love girls who can’t sing.”
Scoffing, I planted my hands on his chest and shoved. “You ass.”
“What?” he asked innocently, stumbling backward, nearly busting said ass in the snow. “It’s the truth. When your voice cracks on a high note, it gets me—”
“BIG WILLY BILLY TALKED SORT OF SILLY,” I bellowed, thrusting a hand on each hip. I stalked toward him, trying and failing to repress my laughter. “BUT HIS KNOB WAS AS LONG AS HIS ARM.” When he spluttered, glancing behind toward the others, I said loudly, “Is this what you like, Chass? Does this make you hot?”
The revelry behind us ceased at my words. Every eye fell upon us.
A flush crept up Reid’s cheeks, and he lifted a placating hand. “All right, Lou. You’ve made your point—”
“ITS SHAPE DOWN HIS THIGH SOON CAUGHT LIDDY’S EYE—”
“Lou.” Darting forward when Madame Labelle giggled, he attempted to cover my mouth, but I danced out of reach, looping elbows with Beau and spinning wildly.
“—AND IN NINE MONTHS, A NIPPER WAS BORN!” Over my shoulder, I called, “Did you hear that, Reid? A nipper. Because sex—”
Deveraux clapped his hands together and cackled. “Excellent, excellent! I knew Liddy, you know, and a lovelier creature I will never again meet. Such a vivacious spirit. She would have quite enjoyed knowing she is now beloved by the entire kingdom.”
“Wait.” I pivoted toward Deveraux, dragging Beau with me as I went. “Big Titty Liddy was a real person?”
“And you knew her?” Beau asked incredulously.
“Of course she was. And young William. It’s an unfortunate fact the two didn’t remain together after the birth of their dear daughter, but such is the nature of relationships nourished solely by appetites of passion.”
Reid and I exchanged a glance.
We both looked away quickly.
And that is when I saw Coco and Ansel slipping away together.
Unfortunately, Beau saw it too. Scoffing, he shook his head and marched back to the campfire, bending low to snag a bottle of wine as he went. Reid stared after him with an inscrutable expression. As for me, I tried to discern Coco’s and Ansel’s silhouettes across the field, where they stood near a stream on the edge of the forest. They looked . . . close. Suspiciously close. Alarmingly close.
Deveraux interrupted my furtive observation. “You fear for your friend’s heart.”
“I—what?” I tore my gaze from them. “What are you talking about?”
“Your friend.” Sagely, he nodded to Ansel. “La jeunesse éternelle. He will remain eternally young. There are some who do not appreciate such innocence in a man.”
“There are some who are stupid,” I said, craning my neck to watch as Ansel—
My eyes widened.
Oh my god.
Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.
They were kissing. They were kissing. Coco had—she’d leaned in, and Ansel—he was actually doing it. He was playing the game, making his move. I inched closer, pride and fear swelling within me in equal measure.
Deveraux smirked and arched a brow. “Obviously, there are also some who do appreciate it.”
Reid dragged me back to his side. “It’s none of our business.”
I cast him an incredulous look. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No—”
But I didn’t listen to the rest of his reprimand. Shaking off his hand, I slipped around the wagons. Perhaps it was the wine that compelled me, or perhaps it was the way Coco held herself—stiff and awkward—like . . . like she . . .
Like she was kissing her kid brother. Shit.
She withdrew for one second, two, three, before leaning in to try again.
I crept around the stage, hiding within its shadows, close enough to hear her murmur for him to stop. Shaking her head, she wrapped h
er arms around her waist as if trying to make herself as small as possible. As if trying to disappear. “Ansel, please.” She struggled to look at him. “Don’t cry. This isn’t—I didn’t mean—”
Shit, shit, shit.
I pressed closer to the stage, straining to hear her whispered explanation. When a hand touched my back, I nearly leapt out of my skin. Reid crouched behind me, radiating disapproval. “I’m serious, Lou,” he repeated, voice low. “This is their business, not ours.”
“Speak for yourself.” Peeking back around the corner of the stage, I watched as Ansel wiped a tear from his cheek. My heart twisted. “Those are my best friends out there. If things get messy between them, I’m the one who’ll have to clean it up. It is absolutely my business.”
“Lou—”
Coco’s head whipped in our direction, and I lurched backward, knocking straight into Reid. He managed to catch himself before he toppled the entire stage, grabbing my shoulders for balance and pulling us both to the ground. I turned my head to whisper against his cheek. “Shhh.”
His breath at my ear sent chills down my spine. “This is wrong.”
“By all means, then, go back to the wagons.”
He didn’t, and together, we leaned forward, hanging on Coco’s every word.
“I didn’t mean for this happen, Ansel.” She buried her face in her hands. “I’m so sorry, but this was a mistake. I shouldn’t have—I didn’t mean for it to happen.”
“A mistake?” Ansel’s voice broke on the word, and he stepped closer to clutch her hand. Fresh tears trickled down his cheeks. “You kissed me. You kissed me. How can you say it was a mistake? Why did you kiss me again if it was?”
“Because I needed to know!” Wincing at her outburst, she dropped his hand and started to pace. “Look,” she whispered furiously, “I’m a little drunk—”
His face hardened. “You aren’t that drunk.”
“Yes, I am.” She pushed the hair away from her face in agitation. “I’m drunk, and I’m acting like an idiot. I don’t want to give you the wrong impression.” She clutched his hands then, winging them. “You’re a good person, Ansel. Better than me. Better than everyone. You’re—you’re perfect. Anyone would be lucky to have you. I just—I—”
“Don’t love me.”
“No! I mean yes.” When he pulled away, turning his face from hers, she visibly wilted. Her voice dropped so low that Reid and I strained forward in our desperation to hear. “I know you think you’re in love with me, Ansel, and I—I wanted to be in love with you too. I kissed you because I needed to know if I ever could be. I kissed you again because I needed to be sure.”
“You needed to be sure,” he repeated. “So . . . each time you touched me . . . made me blush, made me feel like you—like you might want me too . . . you didn’t know. You gave me hope, but you weren’t sure.”
“Ansel, I—”
“So which is it?” Ansel held himself rigid, his back to us. Though I couldn’t see his face, his voice sounded sharper than I’d ever heard it. Meaner. In its pitch, I could almost see his anguish, a living thing that tormented them both. “Do you love me or not?”
Coco didn’t answer for a long while. Reid and I waited with bated breath, not daring to speak. To even move. Finally, she laid a gentle hand on his back.
“I do love you, Ansel. I just . . . don’t love you the same way you love me.” When he flinched, violent in his reaction, she dropped her hand and backed away. “I’m so sorry.”
Without another word, she turned and fled down the stream.
Ansel’s shoulders drooped in her absence, and I moved to approach him—to fold him in my arms and hold him until his tears subsided—but Reid’s arms tightened on my waist. “Don’t,” he said, voice low. “Let him process.”
I stilled beneath his touch, listening as Deveraux announced it was time for bed. Ansel wiped his tears, hurrying to help him clean up. “Typical Ansel,” I whispered, feeling physically sick. “Why does he have to be so—so—”
At last, Reid released me. “He didn’t deserve what she did to him.”
Conflicting emotions warred within me. “She didn’t do anything. Flirtation is hardly a cardinal sin.”
“She led him on.”
“She—” I struggled to articulate my thoughts. “She can’t change the way she feels. She doesn’t owe him anything.”
“It wasn’t just harmless flirtation, Lou. She knew Ansel’s feelings. She used them to make Beau jealous.”
I shook my head. “I don’t think she meant to. You have to understand . . . Coco has always been beautiful. She grew up with suitors flocking to her, even as a child, which means she grew up quickly. She’s confident and vain and guileful because of it—and I love her—but she isn’t cruel. She didn’t mean to hurt Ansel. She just . . . didn’t understand the depth of his emotion.”
Reid scoffed and shoved to his feet, extending a hand to me. “No. She didn’t.”
While the others prepared for bed, dousing the fire and gathering empty bottles of wine, I snuck down the stream to find Coco. It didn’t take long. Within a few yards, I found her sitting beside a holly tree, face buried in her arms. I sat next to her without a word. The water trickled gently before us, counting the seconds. It would’ve been peaceful if not for the snow soaking through my pants.
“I’m a piece of shit,” she finally mumbled, not lifting her head.
“Nonsense.” In a practiced movement, I parted her hair, dividing each half into three sections near her crown. “You smell much better than shit.”
“Did you hear us?”
“Yes.”
She groaned and lifted her head, teary-eyed. “Did I ruin everything?”
My fingers maintained their deft movements, adding new strands of hair to each section as I braided. “He’ll be fine, Coco. He won’t die of a broken heart. It’s actually a rite of passage for most.” I finished the first braid, leaving the tail loose. “Alec broke mine, and I lived. Babette broke yours. Without them, we wouldn’t have found the next one. I wouldn’t have found Reid.”
She stared out at the water. “You’re saying it’s fine I broke his heart.”
“I’m saying if you hadn’t done it, someone else would have. Very few of us settle down with our first loves.”
She groaned again, tipping her head back in my hands. “Oh, god. I was his first love.”
“Tragic, isn’t it? I suppose there’s no accounting for taste.” When I finished the second braid, I snapped a sprig of holly from the nearest branch, stripping the berries and tucking them into her hair. She sat in silence while I worked. At last, I crawled around to sit in front of her. “Give him time, Coco. He’ll come around.”
“No.” She shook her head, and her braids came undone. The berries sprinkled the snow around us. “He’ll hate me. He might’ve forgiven the flirtation, but I never should have kissed him.”
I said nothing. It would do little good to tell her what she already knew.
“I wanted to love him, you know?” She gripped her elbows against the cold, hunching slightly. “That’s why I did it. That’s why I never shut him down when he looked at me like that—all doe-eyed and smitten. It’s why I kissed him twice. Maybe I should’ve tried a third.”
“Coco.”
“I feel terrible.” Fresh tears brimmed in her eyes, but she stared determinedly at the sky. Not a single one escaped. “I never wanted to hurt him. Maybe—maybe this ache in my chest means I’m wrong.” She looked up abruptly and clutched my hand. “I’ve never hurt over romance like this in my entire life, not even when Babette abandoned me. Maybe that means I do care for him. Maybe—Lou, maybe I’m misinterpreting my feelings!”
“No, I don’t think—”
“He’s certainly handsome enough.” She spoke over me now, her desperation bordering on hysteria. “I need someone like him, Lou—someone who’s kind and caring and good. Why don’t I ever like the good ones? Why?” Her face crumpled, and her hands relaxe
d around mine. She dropped her chin in defeat. “We need mothers for this kind of shit.”
With a snort, I leaned back on my hands and closed my eyes, savoring the icy bite of snow between my fingers. The moonlight on my cheeks. “Isn’t that the truth.”
We lapsed into silence, each caught in the tempest of our thoughts. Though I’d never admitted it to anyone before this moment, I yearned for my mother. Not the scheming Morgane le Blanc. Not the all-powerful La Dame des Sorcières. Just . . . my mother. The one who’d played with me. Listened to me. Wiped my tears when I’d thought I would die of a broken heart.
When I opened my eyes, I caught her staring at the water once more. “Aunt Josephine says I look like her,” she said, emotion thick in her voice. “That’s why she can’t stand the sight of me.” She tucked her knees to her chest, resting her chin on them. “She hates me.”
I didn’t ask her to clarify between La Voisin or her mother. The pain in her eyes would be there with either.
Sensing silence would comfort her more than words, I didn’t speak. She’d waited a long time for the right moment to tell me this, I realized. Besides—what words could I possibly offer her? The Dames Blanches’ practice of forsaking their children—their sons without magic and their daughters with the wrong kind—was aberrant. No words could ever make it right.
When she finally spoke again, a wistful smile touched her lips. “I can’t remember much of her, but sometimes—when I really concentrate—I catch glimpses of blue, or light shining through water. The smell of lilies. I like to think it was her perfume.” Her smile faded, and she swallowed hard, as if the pleasant memory had turned sour on her tongue. “It’s all ridiculous, of course. I’ve been with Aunt Josephine since I was six.”
“Did she ever visit you? Your mother?”
“Not once.” Again, I waited, knowing she had more to say. “On my tenth birthday, I asked Aunt Josephine if Maman would come to celebrate.” She clutched her knees tighter against the wind. Or perhaps the memory. “I still remember Aunt Josephine’s face. I’ve never seen such loathing before. She . . . she told me my mother was dead.”
Blood & Honey Page 19
