He gave a full-body shudder. “I don’t like fish.”

Another silver face flashed through the waters, sticking her forked tongue out at him.

Angelica glanced over her shoulder as she continued to glide forward. “Whatever you do, do not insult them. They’re incredibly vain, melusines, but never vapid. They value beauty almost as much as gentility—manners are of utmost importance to a melusine—but they have vicious tempers when provoked.”

At Beau’s alarmed expression, Coco added, “They love flattery. You’ll be fine.”

“Flattery.” Beau nodded seriously to himself, tucking the knowledge away. “Right.”

“Are they very beautiful, then?” Célie asked, clutching her leather satchel over her shoulder with both hands. Dirt was caked beneath her cracked nails, and her hair spilled haphazardly from her chignon. Blood and grime stained her porcelain skin, the once-rich velvet of her trousers. The lace trim at her sleeves now trailed gently behind her in the wind. “Since they value beauty?”

“They are.” Angelica inclined her head with an almost impish smile. “They are not, however, human. Never forget that, child—beautiful things can have teeth.” Célie frowned at the words but said nothing more, and Angelica turned her attention instead to Coco, who studiously ignored her. She stared at her daughter for a long moment, deliberating, before clearing her throat. “Are you well, Cosette? Have your own injuries healed?”

“It’s Coco.” She glared at a beautiful fish flitting past, its golden fins rippling behind it. “And I’ve survived worse.”

“That isn’t what I asked.”

“I know what you asked.”

An awkward moment passed before Angelica spoke again. “Are you warm enough?”

“I’m fine.”

Then another.

“Your hair looks lovely, I must say,” she tried again. “Look how long it’s grown.”

“I look like a drowned rat.”

“Nonsense. You could never look like a rat.”

“Though you do look a bit peaky,” Beau interjected helpfully. “A bit limp.”

They both turned cold gazes upon him, and he shrugged, not at all contrite. When they turned away once more, I elbowed him in the ribs, hissing, “You ass.”

“What?” He rubbed the spot ruefully. “That’s likely the first time they’ve ever agreed on something. I’m trying to help.”

After a handful more feeble attempts at conversation—which Coco shut down with an ease and efficiency I admired—Angelica cut straight to the heart of it. “We have a long walk ahead of us to Le Présage, daughter. I should like to know you better, if you are willing.”

Coco scoffed and kicked an algae-covered rock. It plunked into the water, splashing my ruined hem. “Why? You said you’ve been watching me. You should already know everything.”

“Perhaps. I don’t know your thoughts, however.” Angelica tilted her head to the side, lips pursed, as if debating something. After another few seconds, she said, “I don’t know why you wear my necklace, for example.”

Subtle as a brick.