Before I’d moved to Trianon, I’d always made excuses for her, imagining her reluctantly prioritizing her performances – when in her heart, she really wanted to be visiting me. I knew better, but even so, her ability to manipulate my emotions never seemed to diminish. Fred was right: I was an idiot. My cup hit the saucer with a sharp click, and she glanced my direction.

“But,” she said, her eyes not moving from me, “I feel that I have reached the peak of my career. I have sung all the great roles and performed for all the most powerful and influential people on the Isle. There is nothing more I can achieve onstage, and I would rather retire now than witness my own decline.”

“You can’t!”

Everyone in the room jumped and turned to look at Julian, who was on his feet, face drained of color. “You can’t leave!”

My mother’s brow creased. “I won’t be leaving, darling. I will merely be stepping off the stage so that I can focus on Cécile’s career. It is time for her portrait to be hung on these walls.”

Julian rounded on me, his expression filled with venom. “This is your fault. Your coming to Trianon ruined everything. I wish you had died in Courville.”

I flinched, half expecting him to attack me, but instead he stormed out of the room.

“Julian, darling! Wait.” My mother scampered to her feet and ran after him.

Everyone turned to look at me. “I didn’t know,” I said, holding up my hands. “I am as shocked as the rest of you.”

Half a dozen conversations ensued, everyone interrupting each other as they speculated about whether Julian would forgive my mother, why she’d really decided to retire, and what the Regent’s masque would be like. I said nothing, only stared down at the papers in my hand. My head began to steadily pound as though I were being punished for my momentary distraction, the pain making the words on the page blur. The ache beat in a rhythm that seemed to repeat the words “find her” over and over again. Climbing to my feet, I hurried out into the corridor, then around the corner until I stood in the stage wings.

From the pocket of my dress, I withdrew the grimoire, the feel of its repulsive cover somehow soothing my head. Opening the clasp, I flipped through the spells. Despite its current unhelpfulness, it felt good to have it back in my possession once more. Glancing around to make sure I was alone, I focused my attention on Tristan. He seemed so far away, the knot of emotion I associated with him small compared to how it had felt when I was in Trollus, but I could still sense his pain and anger.

Anger at you.

“You all right?”

I turned to see Sabine.

“Your dream is coming true. Lead soprano for the most famous opera house on the Isle.” Her smile was half-hearted. “Or at least, what used to be your dream.”