Tomasis is famously suspicious, Femi told me as we crept along the rooftops. You have to be suspicious to become a Guild Lord, and you have to continue to be suspicious if you want to remain one.

Tomasis focuses on me, and when he speaks, his words are deceptively gentle.

“And who are you, little one, that the Messenger of the Miracle Court himself pleads for you?”

I swallow, my throat suddenly dry. Despite the swarming buzz of conversation around me, I feel the burning of hundreds of eyes on my back.

“My name is Eponine Thénardier,” I say.

Around us, surprise makes the volume of conversation raise.

Tomasis narrows his eyes at this, taking in the lines of my face, reading me as if to see a resemblance.

“Thénardier is the Master of Beasts of this Guild. He rules beneath me and manages all my children, Dogs, Cats, and Horses. He knows all my business and holds tremendous power within the Shining Hall.”

Power he won after several other Masters died in frequent and mysterious succession, Femi told me. Thénardier has never been shy of slitting a throat or two when needs must.

“Explain what reason I might have to take his own kin from him behind his back?” Tomasis turns to Femi, his gaze burning bright.

Femi doesn’t flinch. “Thénardier has been using his own flesh and blood to perform his best takes—perhaps all of his takes—for the last two years now. The offerings he presented to you were not his to give.”

“A thief, then? Is that what you accuse him of? Thievery is quite a common practice between these walls.”

The hall comes alive with laughter at that. Tomasis smiles pleasantly, but there’s no denying the hardness to his eye and the grim line of his lips.

“And if the offerings he gives me are ample tithe,” Tomasis continues, “what is it to me how he came by them?”

“She is not of the Wretched. She is no child of the Miracle Court, bound by no Guild, bearing no mark—”

“You avoid the question. Why would I insult the Master of Beasts before the whole Guild by taking a Cat, his own flesh and blood, behind his back?”

“Ask her what she has for you.” Femi’s voice is barely a whisper, yet it resounds in the hall.

I reach into my coat and pull out the chain with trembling fingers; the heavy stone follows.

“Rennart’s balls! Is that the Talisman of Charlemagne?” The Gentleman steps forward and lifts the stone delicately from my palm. He fishes a monocle from his waistcoat pocket and inspects it, turning it over before setting it once again in my hand.

“This stone is one of the crown jewels,” he says.

“Yes,” I say, even though I had no idea.

“They are kept at the Palace of the Tuileries.”

I nod.

“Where was the stone?”

“Around the neck of a boy.” I try hard not to let my voice waver.

The Gentleman starts at that. “A boy? The Talisman is currently worn by the dauphin of France.”