It was not far to the market that was already in full swing. A tailor with a rare display of riotous fabrics, frothing Belgian lace and coils of ribbon from Saxony, jostled against stands of swedes and carrots and rhubarb, bunches of dried rosemary, sage and thyme. The curled wig of a noblewoman fluttered in the wind as she hung out of her carriage window to berate her driver for stopping behind a delivery wagon. Wheels and hooves splashed up sewer-smelling water. Ada walked blindly along the Rue St Honoré, stumbling into carts and street sellers, mud splashing her muslin skirts as she went faster and faster until her lungs burned and her heart raced. Anything to obliterate the image of Cam in James’s arms.

She stopped abruptly in front of the Conciergerie. Somehow her feet had led her across the river onto the Îsle de la Cité, back to where it had all started. Coming to her senses, she slid out of the thoroughfare and into the shadowed overhang of a building. It was a slim chance that any of the guards outside the gate would recognise the girl who’d fallen from the hot air balloon a few days before, but one she wasn’t willing to take.

It was stupid. She was stupid. She shouldn’t be here. Running across Paris because she’d seen Camille in the arms of some stupid boy with a square jaw and too many muscles. It was pathetic.

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

There wasn’t time for this. She still believed in Camille, and their plan.

She just wasn’t sure she trusted her.

Forcing herself into the first coffee house, Ada ordered coffee then picked up bread and cheese and any other bits and pieces she could find on the way back to Saints-Innocents. Threading towards the market, she nearly barrelled into Al. He looked terrible: pinched and grey as if he was still covered in a fine layer of ash from the fire.

‘Ada – oh, thank god I found you.’

‘I should be saying that. You left with no word. You know that’s against protocol—’

‘Shut up. Sorry, I mean, just shut up.’ He thrust a crumpled letter into her hands. ‘This is more important. Tell me off later.’

It was unaddressed, but on expensive, creamy paper.

‘I don’t understand.’

‘I must have been followed – I know, I said shout at me later – but some scrote slunk out of nowhere to give me this. I think I shook him off but—’

‘We’re being watched.’

‘Looks like.’

Ada swore, turning the letter over. She didn’t recognise the seal. ‘Cam should know.’

‘And yet I don’t see you rushing back to her side.’

Ada gave him a dark look.

‘Oh dear, trouble in paradise? Want to talk about it?’

‘Absolutely not.’