“No decision has been made,” Achille growled.

Gaspard smiled. A cat with a juicy secret. “Of course it has. I cannot blame you for this ignorance, of course, as your idealism has hardened many against you. They dare not speak freely in your presence for fear of censure.” When Achille didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reply—not a frown, not even a blink—he continued, “By all means, however, let us wait for His Majesty to tally the vote. He arrives at any moment.” He leaned forward to whisper something in Achille’s ear then. A real whisper, this time. Not a feigned one. Stiffening, Achille muttered something back. As if given permission, the conclave broke into low conversation of their own, all waiting for my father to arrive.

Lou sat beside me. “They won’t really burn her. Don’t worry.”

Her thigh pressed into my own. I forced myself to scoot away. “They will.”

Coco grimaced and slid beside Lou, bouncing her own leg in agitation. “Unfortunately, I think he’s right. Auguste will probably burn her with the Hellfire out of spite.”

Lou glanced at me in alarm, eyes wide. “What do we do?”

“Nothing.” When she arched a brow, unimpressed, I scowled and added, “There’s nothing we can do. Even if I wanted to help her—which I don’t—there isn’t time. My mother is a witch, and she’ll burn for her sins.”

“You are a witch,” Lou snapped. “And even if you weren’t, you’ve conspired with us plenty.” She ticked off my crimes on her fingers, each a knife coated in poison. “You’ve married a witch”—I didn’t remember—“slept with a witch”—I wished I did—“hidden and protected a witch, multiple times”—I closed my eyes, innards clenching—“and best yet: you’ve murdered for a witch. Four of us, to be precise.” My eyes snapped open as she rotated a finger between the three of us. Then jabbed it toward the chamber floor. “And the most important of those is bleeding out on the carpet right now. Because of you, might I add. She sacrificed herself for you. Her son. Whom she loves.”

Most in the Church wouldn’t welcome their own mother if she was a sinner.

But I wasn’t a holy man either.

I clenched my fists and looked away. “I can’t do magic.”

“You can.” Voice conversational, Coco examined a scar on her wrist. “And many times, you practiced when Lou wasn’t directly involved, which means you’re choosing to forget.” When I opened my mouth to answer, to snarl, she merely flicked a finger at me. “Shut up. I’m not interested in excuses. Isla gifted us this vision, so we need to pay attention. We’re here for a reason.”