“They could still come, you know.” She smothered a yawn, her eyes drifting shut. “The others. They could still rescue us.”

“They could.”

I held her tighter than necessary as she slipped under. The silence seemed to grow and stretch in her wake. The torchlight flickered. “They could,” I repeated firmly. To her. To myself. To anyone who would listen.

They could still rescue us.

But they didn’t.

A Single Spark

Reid

When the door opened an hour later, I knew immediately the time had come.

Two huntsmen followed the first, shoulders rigid and Balisardas drawn. Two more filed in after that. Another set. Another. They kept coming until they filled the council room completely. Others waited in the corridor beyond. Dozens of them. Though I scanned their faces in search of Jean Luc, he wasn’t there.

Lou startled awake at the footsteps, her eyes still heavy with sleep. “What is—?”

She inhaled sharply as she took in the room, jerking upright. The Chasseur nearest us dropped his eyes to the laces of her trousers. He barked a laugh. Swiftly, I twisted to block her from sight—pulling her to her feet—but she merely leaned around me and flashed a catlike smile. “See something you like?”

Despite her bravado, her eyes remained red-rimmed and puffy. Overly bright. Her hand trembled against my arm.

The huntsman’s lip curled. “Hardly.”

Sniggering, she surveyed his trousers pointedly. Stepped around me to lace up her own with casual nonchalance. “I doubt that very much.”

“You little—” He lunged for the bars, but when Lou met him there, moving with lethal speed, he changed his mind mid-step. Pointing his Balisarda at her face instead, he said, “You’ll sing a different tune soon, witch. Your last word will be a scream.”

She beckoned him closer. “Why don’t you come in here and show me?”

“Lou.” Voice low in warning, I pulled at the back of her shirt. She yielded only a step. Around us, the Chasseurs shadowed the movement, pressing closer. “Don’t provoke them.”

“It’s a bit late for that, I think.”

“That it is.” Philippe’s deep rumble preceded him into the chamber. At his appearance, the Chasseurs separated in two waves on either side. Lou’s grin turned feral. Dressed in an impeccable suit of royal blue and gold—captain’s medal shining on his lapel—he regarded her as a bug beneath his boot. Then he smiled coldly. Bowed. “The sun has set, ma Dame. Your funeral pyre awaits.”

Lou retreated another step. Her arm brushed mine. Though her smirk remained fixed in place, her gaze darted from the room to the corridor. From Philippe to his Chasseurs. My heart pounded violently as I counted. A score of them in all. An entire squadron. “There are too many.”

Lou gestured to the cage’s door with a brittle laugh. “Good thing we have a choke point.”