“I’m sorry, Ettie … The less you knew, the safer you would be.”

“S-sorry is not close to enough to make up for leaving me with him,” she says, raising her head and pointing at le Maire. “Do you know how awful he is? How boring?”

I stare at her. The tears in her eyes are just tears of frustration.

Le Maire sighs loudly.

“He says nothing, he tells me nothing, he confines me to three rooms. I’m not allowed to ask questions, or sing, or breathe, or talk to him.”

“It’s never stopped you from talking,” says le Maire.

“No, but you never answer me, which is pretty much the same thing!” Her eyes are wild. “Nina, I’ve been talking to myself for two years! Two years! And I know how long it was because I kept track of the days by carving marks into the walls … I’d never have known how much time was passing because I was never allowed to open the shutters!

“He keeps telling me his name is Monsieur Madeleine, but it isn’t! He has a tattoo, a prison tattoo, and I know the mark of the Guild of Letters when I see it.”

“See? She doesn’t stop talking,” le Maire says with weariness.

“And he doesn’t know any stories.”

“You told yourself enough for the both of us,” le Maire offers drily.

I know the signs of two people who have been too long cooped up together.

“And the nuns think he is a saint! The gardener thinks he’s the Holy Lord incarnate. He’s got them all wrapped around his little finger, and if I ever dare try to get news of the outside world or, Ysengrim forbid, seek out any company aside from his, they all cluck at me that Monsieur Madeleine wouldn’t like it!”

“At times,” le Maire says to me, “at times I have thought that you should have left me to rot in the Châtelet.”

Ettie shoots him a reproachful look before she carries on with her tirade. “At first I thought he was one of the Tiger’s men, but after a few weeks—”

“During which she tried to escape on twenty-three separate occasions—”

“I realized he couldn’t be working for the Tiger. But still he refused to tell me who he was and what he wanted with me.” She shivers. “I used to think he had sinister intentions, but after a while I came to understand that he only meant me to die of boredom.

“And all the while, I couldn’t know what was happening, to Gavroche, and Orso, and Loup, and Montparnasse … and you.” She looks up at me, the fury slowly draining out of her. “I could barely sleep each night, wondering what might have happened to you.”

My eyes burn at her mournful words. I’ve missed the sound of her voice, her nonsensical reactions. I’ve missed her so much it was like a physical ache.

“I tried to be ready because I knew you’d come for me.” The blaze of belief in her eyes puts me to shame. “But he took my weapons, so I couldn’t practice with them.”