Her silver eyes—so like Angelica’s, yet so different—sparkled with amusement. “Ah. The beach. We shall speak at length about that happy coincidence later. First, we must dine.” She nodded to another liveried melusine, who hastened to pull back her chair. Her gown—crafted entirely from long, gleaming strands of pearls—clinked softly as she sat. The rest of the court seated themselves with her. When she snapped her fingers, the aristocrat on Coco’s right vaulted to her feet without a word, ceding her seat to Angelica. “You have sampled the salted sea lettuce, yes?”

“Yes, my lady.” I too returned to my seat, wiping my palms on my thighs beneath the table. “It was . . .” The waters prevented me from lying. I tried again. “A special experience.”

“Come now.” Her smile broadened, and unbidden, the image of a hungry shark rose in my mind’s eye. I clenched my skirt between two fists, mentally chastising myself. “There is no need for clever language amongst friends. How did you find it, truly?”

“I’m glad to have tasted it.”

“Glad.” She said the word slowly, curiously. “There are uglier designations, I suppose. I am glad you found it . . . what clever word did you use?” She tapped her lips. “Special. Now”—she snapped her fingers again—“clear it away. I tire of its stench.” The servants bustled to remove every plate of salted sea lettuce from the table. “S’il vous plaît,” she continued before they’d finished, “I crave heavier fare tonight. Bring the neige marine for our special guests.”

Perhaps not so calming at all.

My palms continued to sweat.

We sat in distinctly uncomfortable silence as more dishes were passed down the table. Isla didn’t seem to notice. She merely continued to smile as servants spooned small amounts of gray, sticky substance onto each plate. When she lifted a bite to her lips, she paused, appraising the room to ensure she held everyone’s attention. She did, of course. Every melusine’s face turned toward her as if she were their very sun. She waved an elegant hand with a laugh. “Eat, mes enfants, and be merry.”

Her children obliged, and the gentle sounds of clinking cutlery and soft voices soon filled the silence. Elvire, Leopoldine, and Lasimonne immediately engaged in conversation with Célie—and Angelica with a resigned Coco—leaving Beau and me to suffer the weight of Isla’s stare alone. “Tell me,” she crooned, leaning across him to grasp my clammy hand. He stiffened but didn’t complain. “What were your last words to Reid?”

I looked up from my neige marine in surprise. “Pardon me?”

“The last words you spoke to your lover—what were they?”

“I—” Glancing at Beau, I frowned. “I don’t remember.”

Her smile turned positively wicked. “Try.”