LE GRAND CHÂTELET

—and he laughs.

We watch the dancing late into the night. The musicians play our best-loved songs, and all the Guilds join in singing while I staunchly refuse to explain the lyrics to Ettie. I try to still the nervous thrum inside me. Try not to think about what will happen tomorrow. Here I am surrounded by my brethren. Let tomorrow take care of itself.

Throughout the night, various acquaintances nod at me in acknowledgment of what I’ve accomplished. Gentleman George doffs his hat and offers to teach me some of dances of the noblesse. I try to control the fluttering of my heart: one of the Merveilles of the Miracle Court has just condescended to talk to me. Femi demands to know how I did it, while all around us the hall buzzes that the youngest Cat of the Thieves Guild broke the Dead Lord out of the Châtelet. I pretend I can’t hear them and attempt not to preen too much. But I’m tipsy with pride. Renown is meat and honey to the Wretched. I squash a desire to glance into the long shadows, where a certain Master of Knives might be lurking. I try my best not to care about what he might be thinking.

Wine is passed around; a goblet reaches us from Loup. We raise it, toasting with the drinking words of the Court: “Come, brothers and sisters, let us forget.” The wine is so strong it hits me like a wave, dizziness and warmth going from my head to my toes. Ettie has a sip and coughs.

“You’ll get used to it,” I chuckle.

Ettie is safe now. As safe as she can be. But Thénardier’s face was a promise of rage. And when he drinks, his temper is ugly and unreasonable; his fists itch to batter something. I drink deeply to give myself courage, to steel myself.

A few hours before dawn, the music winds down and the singers turn to ballads and tragic love songs. The hall is drunk with the laughing and cavorting of the Wretched. Orso rises from his perch, and the Ghosts rise with him. I get up and help Ettie to her feet.

“Time to go, little one,” Orso says.

We leave the theater together, passing back through the old houses. I stop, and Ettie continues ahead of me before she notices I’m no longer next to her. She turns, confused.

“Let’s go,” Ettie says.

“I can’t,” I say as gently as I can.

“What do you mean?” She sees the determined expression on my face and her lips tremble. “You can’t leave me, Nina.” Ettie’s voice is small and terrified. She glances at the Ghosts. “You can’t leave me with them.”

I’ve no choice; she’s safer with them.

“Nina.”

I take her hand. “It’s only for a while.”

“Nina, don’t go … Stay with me, stay with us.”

“I’m a Thief,” I say. “Not a Ghost.”

“You said w-we look after each other now.” Her words are sharp, like a slap across my face.