“Sorry we’re late, sister mine.” Beau darted to her—careful of his torch—as the Chasseurs surged forward, their shouts lost amidst the sudden mayhem. Philippe gestured wildly as those in the crowd fled. As they screamed. As they pulled children away or pressed closer to watch, shoving past the King’s Guard, the constabulary. One man even vaulted to the platform with a fierce “Burn the king!” before Philippe caught his collar and threw him back to the ground.

“Maintain the line!” he roared.

When Chasseurs charged the platform, Blaise materialized from beneath it—and Liana and Terrance, Toulouse and Thierry. The werewolves had half-changed, their eyes glowing and their canines lengthening. Dozens more spilled forth from the crowd to join them. Snapping. Snarling. Fully transformed wolves hurtled from every alley. They met the Chasseurs’ steel with claws and teeth.

Beau tugged at Lou’s ropes with one hand. Hasty. Clumsy. “Turns out Chasseur Tower is a bit of a fortress. Who knew? We couldn’t reach you there, but here—” His rapid explanation broke off at Lou’s moan, and his gaze dropped to the blood on her chemise. The punctures in her arms, her chest. His voice dripped with quiet menace. “What the hell happened to her?”

Though my hands twitched and spasmed, I couldn’t readily move them. Couldn’t help. I strained to regain control. “Poisoned arrows. Hurry—”

“You dare to choose them?” Auguste hissed. Another vein throbbed in his throat. He looked less handsome now. More deranged. “Over your own father?”

Before Beau could answer, Philippe finally breached the platform, and Auguste lunged.

It happened in slow motion.

Beau whirled to drive him back, sweeping the torch wide, and a single spark snapped into the air. It hung motionless for a second—for a thousand seconds—before drifting almost lazily to the platform. To the hay.

I could do nothing but watch, horrified, as we went up in flames.

A Shower of Light

Reid

The fire spread quicker than natural, licking up the haystack, our feet, within seconds.

The Hellfire. The eternal flame.

There is no solution, Coco had told me, fruit or otherwise.

How do you know?

Because the fire stemmed from my grief. And there is no solution for grief. Only time.

Despite the sweltering heat, cold dread seized me. Shouting Lou’s name, I twisted toward her, determined to shield her. To protect her from the inevitable. I would not give up. I would not cede. If we could free ourselves, we could jump to safety—