But I didn’t recognize my reflection. Round brown eyes stared back at me, and straight, wheat-colored locks replaced my own. Pink cheeks replaced freckles. My gown hung from diminutive shoulders, the excess fabric pooling at my feet. As I stared at it, the heat in my chest morphed slowly to something else—something innocent, youthful, inquisitive, alive.

Without realizing, I’d transformed into the Maiden.

When Isla stood to stroll toward me, her entire court stood too. She trailed a casual finger across my throat. Scarless now. “You were saying?”

I swallowed hard against her nail, refusing to look at anyone. Especially my reflection. “How—how is this possible?”

“Claud warned Morgane. He told her what would happen if she continued to defy us. Morgane arranged your possession regardless.”

“But that”—Beau pushed his plate away with a slack expression—“that means—”

“Yes, princeling.” Isla moved behind me, fanning my hair across my shoulders. “The sea urchin has become La Dame des Sorcières. A pity, if you ask me, but admittedly a useful one.”

“Does Morgane know?” Coco asked sharply.

In answer, Angelica tensed, her eyes eddying until she no longer saw the room but something else. Somewhere else. “Yes.” She returned to us after another moment, shaking her head and wincing. “She is not pleased.”

I spoke through numb lips. “Why did you bring us here?”

Her hands tightened on my neck, and at last—at last—she answered. “My darling Angelica believes we should ally ourselves with you in this tedious struggle against Morgane.” I felt her shrug, as if we discussed the weather and not my very life. “I must confess, I care not for it. Neither your death nor your mother’s will affect us here.” She moved beside me then, offering a hand. I had no choice but to accept it. Tucking my arm in hers, she led me about the room while the others tracked us with their eyes. No one dared resume eating.

“I am not, however, a fool.”

I didn’t correct her.

“You present a unique opportunity for me and my people—and most of all for Angelica. I treasure her, you know,” she added. The woman in question kept her head bowed and her hands clasped, as all the melusines did. “Twenty years ago, a ring of hers was stolen while she dallied above water, creating your rather beautiful friend.” Isla waved a vague hand toward Coco. “You have heard of this ring. You have called it by name.” Reaching around me, she lifted my right hand to stroke my empty ring finger. “You have even wielded its magic. You do not, however, know it as we do. It is not a simple ring of immunity and invisibility, as your foolish kin believe. More importantly, it does not belong to them. It does not belong to any of you. It is Angelica’s Ring—it is her very power—and we shall have it back.”