I didn’t know, and I couldn’t answer. Not as Philippe accepted a bow from the Chasseur next to him. A quiver of blue-tipped arrows. “Not today,” he growled, notching one with expert precision. When he pointed it directly at Lou’s face, her eyes narrowed. She no longer smiled. “As you’ve pointed out, I have little time for games. The kingdom awaits.”

He loosed the arrow without warning. Before I could vault forward—before I could even shout—it shot toward her with unerring aim. She whirled at the last second, however, faster still, and dropped into a crouch as the shaft lodged into the wall behind us. The Chasseurs there had already moved. They formed ranks on the front and sides of the cage, forming a sort of corral. A bull’s-eye.

More bows emerged around us. More arrows.

I hurtled toward her, seizing her hand and dragging her to the back of the cage. I had to do something. Now. Lou had spoken of magic, of willing golden cords into being. I focused on them now—on a shield, on a weapon, on a fucking key. Anything to escape this cage. No patterns answered. Of course they didn’t. I rolled sideways as Philippe launched a second arrow.

“Why bother with the stake?” Snarling, Lou lifted her hand, and the bolt fractured midair. When it fell to our feet, I seized it, spearing a foolish Chasseur who’d tried to creep behind. He fell like a stone. Eyes rolling. Limbs twitching. Lou stared at him in horror. “What the—?”

Philippe notched another arrow. “Hemlock.”

This one nearly clipped my shoulder. So close it split the sleeve of my shirt. Lou’s eyes blazed at the torn fabric. Her skin pulsed with unnatural light. When she stepped in front of me, her voice rang with deadly calm. Ethereal calm. Not a single voice, but many. They reverberated together in a chilling timbre. “You will not touch him.”

Immune to the enchantment, Philippe motioned for the others to raise their bows. All twenty of them.

Lou bared her teeth.

At his sharp command, arrows hurtled from two sides. More than twenty. More than forty. They cut through the air with lethal precision, but each turned to dust in a three-foot radius around us. They simply—disintegrated. I sensed the barrier in the air rather than saw it. A thin film, like the soap of a bubble. A shield. Lou’s fists shook with the effort to maintain it as more arrows flew. “How do I help? Tell me, Lou!”

“A pattern,” she said through gritted teeth. “You can strengthen—my magic.”

“How?”

“Focus.” The air rained thick with arrows now, each Chasseur notching and firing at different times. A constant onslaught. Lou winced at the strike—as if she could feel each poisoned tip—and the shield rippled in turn. “You are a witch. Accept it. Focus on the outcome, and—the patterns will appear.”