Orso has seen Ettie. His eyes narrow, and he crosses the room to inspect her. He tilts her face up to examine it.

“It’s no wonder he wants you.” He releases her. “You’re so very lovely.”

He catches my glare.

“Don’t look so ferocious, little Cat.” His eyes are bright with laughter. “I won’t scar this one. Her face is far more useful to us intact. She’ll be the jewel in our crown. The little Lady of Ghosts. I will give your friend the Ghost’s mark, and that will resolve our debt.”

The feeling of St. Juste’s reproachful eyes still scorches my skin.

“My Lord, there is a boy who calls himself St. Juste.”

The Dead Lord stills at the name; he watches me intently.

“He said you summoned him to our Guild House, Father,” Loup tells him in a voice that demonstrates just how unlikely he finds the story. “That you sent Gray Brother to him with an invitation.”

“They were going to eat him!” Ettie squeaks.

“And where is this boy?” Orso asks. “Or has he already been consumed by my children?”

I clear my throat. “In the Châtelet. He, er, volunteered to aid in your escape by creating a distraction. They won’t hold him long. They’ll realize he isn’t a prisoner, since he insists on proclaiming his birth name to everyone he meets.”

The Dead Lord scratches the scaly skin on his cheek. I try not to stare. “Well, he won’t live much longer if he continues doing that,” he says.

Orso turns to Loup. “They will release him at some point. Send some of your brothers to meet him when they do.”

My heart lurches, but there is nothing I can do. St. Juste knows the location of the Beggars Guild; his days are numbered. And yet he did save me from the Fleshers. True, I saved him in return from the pot, but that was little more than a temporary reprieve from a now-inevitable fate.

“My Lord, I ask you to spare him,” I say impulsively. “Then your debt will be paid.”

Orso’s heavy gaze seems to see through me.

“You have developed feelings for this boy? Even though he is not of our kind?”

“What? No!”

“He is very handsome,” Ettie interjects unhelpfully.

Orso stares at me, and I feel myself start to blush.

“Is he?” Orso asks with great interest.

“He is handsome, but—”

“Is that why you saved him from the pot, Nina? Are you in love with him?” Ettie’s voice is breathy and hopeful.

I silently curse myself for giving in to her constant begging for stories, especially the romantic ones. I clear my throat. “I—He saved my life. I owe him a bone debt.”

I could be mistaken, but there is a flash of something that looks like humor in the Dead Lord’s eyes, and his voice is not scolding when he replies.

“Fear not, little kitten. Your paramour is safe. It was indeed at my invitation that he sought me out. Sadly, I was otherwise occupied and unable to receive him. But we will scoop him up now, and I promise you sincerely that we will not eat him.”