Only then did I grasp the rest of his words: by the end of the week. My heart sank like a stone. She would burn by the end of the week. Too soon for us to reach her. Much too soon.

Several in the audience applauded the king’s outburst—including the balding man—but only Achille made a noise of protest. “Your Majesty, there are protocols in place. Without an Archbishop elect, the conclave must cast an official vote—”

“Ah.” Auguste’s nose crinkled as he turned. “You again, Father . . . ?”

“Achille, Your Majesty. Achille Altier.”

“Achille Altier, you do realize the support of the Crown is necessary to obtain bishopric?”

“Preferable. Not necessary.”

Auguste arched a brow, scrutinizing him with new eyes. “Is that so?”

“Please, Achille,” Gaspard interrupted smoothly. “His Majesty’s word is divine. If he proclaims the witch shall burn, the witch shall burn.”

“If his word is divine,” Achille grumbled, “he should have no qualms putting the matter to vote. The outcome will comply.”

“Something ought to.” Auguste glared at him before lifting his arms to address the room at large, his voice curt and impatient. Out of bounds. “You heard the man. Your Father Achille would like a vote, and a vote he shall have. All those in favor of burning the witch, raise your hand.”

“Wait!” Achille lifted his own arms, eyes widening in panic. “The witch could still prove valuable! The healers have not yet perfected their extinguishant—if it fails, if we burn this woman, what hope have we of dousing the fire?” He spoke to Auguste alone now. “Her knowledge has proved valuable to the healers. I can bring in another to testify.”

August spoke through his teeth. “That will not be necessary. This conclave has heard enough of your ludicrous ramblings.”

“With all due respect, Your Majesty, the pursuit of knowledge isn’t ludicrous. Not when a woman’s life is in jeopardy—”

“Careful, Father, lest I deem it heretical instead.”

Achille’s mouth snapped shut in response, disappearing into his beard, and Auguste addressed the congregation once more. “Let us try this again, shall we? All those in favor of burning the witch?”

Every hand in the courtroom rose. Every hand but one. Though Achille watched his peers decide my mother’s fate with an inscrutable expression, he kept both hands fixed at his sides. Firm. Implacable. Even under the king’s baleful gaze. “It seems you have been outvoted,” Auguste sneered. “My word is divine.”

“We’ll rescue you,” Lou whispered furiously to Madame Labelle. “I don’t know how, but we will. I promise.”

Madame Labelle might’ve shaken her head.

“Why wait until week’s end?” Achille’s voice shook with restraint. “You’ve made our decision. Why not burn the witch now?”