Smoke obscured the setting sun, dark and ominous above us. Heavy. It should’ve been impossible. We’d been traveling for days. The skies here, miles and miles from Cesarine—where smoke still billowed from tunnel entrances, from the cathedral, the catacombs, the castle, from cemeteries and inns and alleyways—should’ve been clear. But the flame beneath the capital wasn’t simple fire. It was black fire, unnatural and unending, as if birthed from the bowels of Hell itself.

It was Coco’s fire.

A fire with smoke to envelop an entire kingdom.

It burned hotter than regular flame, ravaging both the tunnels and the poor souls trapped within them. Worse, according to the fisherman who’d accosted us—a fisherman whose brother happened to be an initiate of the Chasseurs—no one could extinguish the blaze. King Auguste contained it only by posting a huntsman at each entrance. Their Balisardas prevented the blight from spreading.

It seemed La Voisin had spoken truth. When I’d pulled her aside in Léviathan, before she’d fled to the forest with her surviving Dames Rouges, her warning had been clear: The fire rages with her grief. It will not stop until she does.

Toulouse, Thierry, Liana, and Terrance were trapped in those tunnels.

“It still isn’t your fault, Coco.”

Her face twisted as she stared at the statue of Saint Magdaleine. “My tears started the fire.” Sitting heavily, she folded her knees to her chest. Wrapped her arms around her shins. “They’re all dead because of me.”

“They aren’t all dead.” Immediately, my mind snapped to Madame Labelle. To her hemlock chains, her damp prison cell. To the king’s hard fingers on her chin. Her lips. Rage kindled my blood. Though it made me despicable, relief flickered as well. Because of Coco’s fire, King Auguste—my father—had more important things to deal with than my mother.

As if reading my thoughts, Coco said, “For now.”

Fuck.

“We have to go back,” I said gravely, the wind picking up around us. I imagined the scent of charred bodies in the smoke, of Ansel’s blood on the earth. Even armed with the Dames Rouges and loup garou—even armed with the Woodwose—we’d still lost. Once again, I was struck by the utter foolishness of our plan. Morgane would slaughter us if we marched alone on the Chateau. “Lou won’t listen to me, but maybe she’ll listen to you. Deveraux and Blaise stayed behind to search for the others. We can help them, and afterward, we can—”

“They aren’t going to find them, Reid. I told you. Anyone left in those tunnels is dead.”