His rejection means he does not respect you. You must not allow such an insult to pass unavenged, or he will undermine and betray you, her ancestral chorus said, their anger corrupting all her good memories like acid gnawing iron. She turned her attention inward to the breach in the back of her mind. The wound had expanded again, its edges raw and inflamed. Her ancestors took full advantage of her dismay to rip off her scabs and poison her wound. They wanted to supplant her in her own head, and they would raze the very castle they sought to keep rather than quit.

She must find her balance, put emotion away, and give Gretl’s potion time to regain the upper hand. She wished she could claw her aching heart out and stick it in a jar somewhere until she needed it again, if she ever did. It would be such a relief to feel nothing.

There came a rapping at her door. She didn’t want to see anyone just then, but she was capitaine, and saints only knew what new trouble required her attention.

“Who is it?” she asked.

“Marie,” came the hollowed reply.

“Come,” Isabelle said, putting on her diplomatic face, vaguely pleasant but unrevealing.

The door opened and Marie came in. “You look a mess. What’s the matter?”

So much for her diplomatic face. “Bitterlich. I thought … I asked him if he wanted more than flirting.”

“And he said no,” Marie said, her tone as flat as still water.

Isabelle’s face curdled up, and the dam behind her eyes broke. She pressed her palm to her eyes, but it was too late to stop the deluge.

“I feel so stupid.”

Marie, paler than a ghost, and with about as much personal warmth, wrapped her arms around Isabelle and squeezed her tight. Isabelle sank down on the bed and wept into her hair.

Tears are a weakness you cannot afford, admonished her ancestors. Their endless nagging made her want to put an ice pick though her own temple just to make them shut up.

“I’ve been learning methods for killing Seelenjägers,” Marie said.

Isabelle sputtered and pushed her away. “No! Marie, don’t even think such a thing.”

“I’ve also been learning methods for killing Sanguinaire, Glasswalkers, Goldentongues, Fenice, and Windcallers,” Marie said. “It’s part of the bodyguard training. I’m not planning on murdering anyone.”

Isabelle blew out a relieved breath. “Your sense of humor has come loose. We’ll need to get it bolted back on.” Yet Marie’s outrageous suggestion had done its work, shocking Isabelle out of her inward spiral.

“Though if anyone ever does betray you…” Marie let the implication hang.

“Bitterlich is innocent,” she said. “I put an expectation on him that he never asked for.”

“That’s not how I read it,” Marie said. “I would have bet l’impératrice’s money he was sweet on you.”