Unable to remain still, I stalked down the steps toward my mother. “You will not touch them.”

“Why?” She hurried to trail after me. “He’s clearly a bastard—”

The vaulted doors burst open before she could finish.

Clad in a cape made of lion’s fur—the mane draped across his shoulders—my father strode inside the courtroom. Philippe and three huntsmen I didn’t recognize accompanied him. As one, the entire congregation rose and bowed at his arrival. Every man. Even Achille. My stomach turned as I lurched to a halt by the podium.

He’d threatened torture the last time I saw him. Threatened rats. Immediately, my gaze dropped to my mother, who lay very still. Though her dress had once been emerald green, I couldn’t now place its color—an unpleasant shade of brown, perhaps. I knelt to examine her stomach. When her eyes fluttered at the movement, I froze.

“Yes, yes, bonjour.” Auguste waved an agitated hand. He offered no smiles today. No empty platitudes. I surveyed him with mounting hatred. His hair remained immaculate, of course, but shadows deepened his eyes. His fingers trembled inexplicably. He hid them in his cape. “I cannot stay long. Though this damned fire has abated slightly”—several around the room stared at the expletive, but Auguste didn’t apologize—“the healers at last believe they’ve discovered the solution: a rare plant in La Fôret des Yeux.” Sweeping forward, he motioned for Achille to move away from my mother. “Let us be done with this.”

Coco snorted and muttered, “There is no solution, fruit or otherwise.”

I frowned. “How do you know?”

“Because the fire stemmed from my grief.” Expression solemn, she met my eyes directly. “And there is no solution for grief. Only time. The fire might abate, yes, but it will never truly die.”

Lou nodded in agreement, staring at my mother, and my mother—I swore she stared back. Crouching beside her, Lou laid a hand on her arm as Auguste continued his tirade.

“We all know the crimes of the creature.” Pointing, he sneered at her soiled form. “From its own lips, it admitted its guilt. It is a witch. A powerful one. It promised to douse this lake of black fire in exchange for its life, but God has found our cure. The healers have already begun testing. By the end of the week, they promise an extinguishant to the Hellfire, and at such time, this witch shall burn for her sins.”

This witch. The words shouldn’t have chafed. She was a witch. But she was also my mother and his former lover. He’d laid with her. He’d even loved her once, if she were to be believed. She’d certainly loved him. Now her stomach bled from rat bites, and she lifted a ruined hand to Lou’s cheek. Lou tried and failed to hold it, her own hand passing through without purchase.