It has nothing to do with swimming. Another image arises through the inky mist. A woman. She walks with purpose toward an unnaturally smooth sea—a sea so smooth it resembles the face of a mirror. Endless. Gleaming. She doesn’t break stride as she crosses into its depths, and the water . . . it seems to absorb her movements. Not a single ripple breaks its surface. She keeps walking, submerging her knees. Her hips. Her chest. When her head slips beneath the water, she does not reemerge. You aren’t the first to seek the waters’ embrace. Many have come before you, and many will come behind. She cherishes her lovers. She kisses each to sleep, tucking them in bed and healing them with brine.

A thought strikes like lightning. What happens to you if I die?

You’ve seen an Ascension, she says. I feel rather than see her turn her attention to Etienne, who trembles beneath her observation. He’s forgotten his name again. The soul can live for an indefinite amount of time without a body.

Indefinite isn’t forever.

No.

So . . . you could die if I do.

It will not come to that.

Why not?

Another chuckle. My mistress resides at the Chateau. She will have brought my body. If you succumb to the waters’ lure, I will return to it. You will die, and I will live.

How do you know your body is there? I ask her, pushing again. Repeating the names. You’ve failed, Nicholina. My mother attacked you, and you openly challenged her. Your mistress needs her more than she needs you. Perhaps your body won’t be there at all. Perhaps you will die.

I have not failed. The darkness writhes in agitation at the words, and Legion hisses and spits. The emotion only partly belongs to them, however. No, they also feel . . . curious, and there—deep within their essence—a sense of longing pervades. A sense of hope. My mistress tasked me with bringing you to Morgane le Blanc—Nicholina spits the name—and I will do so, regardless of your foul family. We will see who dances and who drowns.

Reid, Coco, Beau.

Laughing again, Nicholina withdraws.

Reid Coco Beau Reid Coco Reid Coco Reid Coco

Hold on, Etienne says.

Then he slips into Legion once more.

Wake up, little mouse.

I rouse as if waking from deep sleep, and immediately, I sense something has changed. Though darkness still shrouds everything, it dissipates into eerie wisps at Nicholina’s words, drifting in the wind. Clinging to trees and rocks and—

And people.

I study the man beside me. Copper hair tousled, he stalks along a mountain path with rope in his hand, bickering with the young woman beside him. Look at them, Louise. Look one last time. Your family. A hateful pause. Have you forgotten them?

Though their names rise slowly, as if through tar, I hold on to each for dear life. Reid and Coco. No.