Viviane nods with resignation. “I wish you could understand. Not everything was a lie. My parents really were hunters—pretending to be Brotherhood was an easy charade, because my father was a Persean Knight in the seventeenth century. So were my brothers. I’d have joined, too, except they wouldn’t accept women back then.” A flinty look passes across her eyes. “My sister was married off to some grotesque merchant, a man twice her age with a face like a potato—and while my brothers were out swinging swords and riding for glory, I was learning needlepoint so I could become some old man’s hausfrau, pooping out babies one after another until I died from it.

“It wasn’t a great time for women with aspirations—but I was lucky to be considered attractive, and lucky that my family was respected, because it meant my parents had the connections to send me to Paris.” Viviane makes a face. “Mortals have so many hang-ups about sex, but honestly? Being a courtesan was great. I had to be able to read and write, which meant I received an education, and for the first time I was the master of my own person.”

“Until you ended up on death row.”

“No one ever taught me how to use magic.” Her eyes are on mine, but her focus is somewhere in the past. “I discovered my talent for sorcery when I was fifteen, but I hid it from everyone, because it would have meant a one-way ticket to the gallows. Still, it was impossible to resist.” She waves a hand in front of her face, and the air ripples, her complexion turning rosy, the shape of her cheeks augmenting before my eyes. Suddenly, she’s Daphne again, exactly as I remember her. “My element is wood, which means my natural gifts include glamours, shape-shifting, and speed. At court, I read palms and told fortunes—and I tricked a lot of wealthy clients into believing they were being visited by the spirits of their departed loved ones.

“What I didn’t know was that magic is like a pond, and touching it sends ripples in every direction.” She mimics the motion with her fingers. “The analogy isn’t perfect, but you get the gist. Basically, every time I pulled my little act, I was sending out a homing beacon to other sorcerers—until, finally, I was confronted by a rather powerful woman who ran a black-market operation selling dark magic and killings for hire to influential Parisians. I could either buy into her network or be publicly denounced as a witch.”

“An offer you couldn’t refuse.”

“And I ended up on death row anyway.” Viviane Duclos laughs at the very notion. “I never wanted to be a vampire until I was about to be hanged as a witch. When Erasmus Kramer came to my cell … well, that was an offer I couldn’t refuse.”