She stepped beside Morgane at the last, tall and unyielding. Together, the two formed a striking image. Both regal, both beautiful. Both queens in their own right. Whereas Morgane possessed a dark sort of glamour, however—ever the showman—Josephine boasted no decoration. She was stark. A study in harsh reality and bleak truth. The malice in the former’s eyes looked comically bright next to the flat, cold cunning of the other. The honesty. She didn’t try to hide it.

La Voisin loathed Morgane.

“The ends justify the means,” she finally murmured. “If we don’t stand together, we will fall.”

Coco stared at her aunt as if seeing her for the first time. “You’re right.” The Dames Rouges on the beach stilled at Coco’s unexpected response. I recognized a few of them from our time together in Léviathan. “I was a child,” she continued, her voice growing stronger with each word. Impassioned. “I was a child scared of my own birthright—of leading everyone, of failing anyone. Of disappointing you. I feared the responsibilities such a life would entail. Yes, I ran, and I am sorry for that.”

She looked to her kin then, bowing her head, accepting her culpability in their hardship. They regarded her with a mixture of suspicion and admiration. “I am no longer that child. You are my kin, and I want to protect you as much as my aunt does. But her life”—she pointed a finger in Lou’s direction—“is worth just as much as yours.” She turned back to her aunt. “Morgane has been hunting the king’s children. We found Etienne—the king’s son—butchered in our own camp, and Gabrielle disappeared shortly after. Morgane was responsible, tante. But you already know that, don’t you? Did you offer them up yourself? Your own people?” When Josephine said nothing, confirming her suspicions, Coco exhaled harshly, moving to stand between us and her aunt with deliberate care. “I’ve chosen my side.”

Lou went still at her words. The blood witches, however, stirred. Murmurs rose from a few of them. Whether in support or dissent, I couldn’t tell.

La Voisin’s expression didn’t change at her niece’s declaration. Instead, she jerked her head to the witches nearest her. “Take her.” When they hesitated, shooting anxious glances at Coco, La Voisin slowly turned to face them. Though I couldn’t see her expression, they hastened to obey this time.

Coco skittered backward as they approached, and the waters rippled again. Kept rippling.

The witches halted at the shore, reluctant to follow, until the bravest took a tentative step forward.

When her toe touched the waters, her entire body jolted, and—as if a spectral hand had reached forth to snatch her foot—she slipped, vanishing into their depths. They swallowed her scream without even a ripple. Sinister and still in the moonlight.

The witch might’ve never existed.