“These next few weeks are going to be very important for you, you know.”

Important, yes, but not in the ways she imagined.

“I need you to understand that I’m setting you up so that you will have a grand future.” Her eyes delved deeply into mine, but I wasn’t sure what they were looking for. “I need you to be ready to take over my role, my place, my position.”

“You’re being dramatic.” Did she really mean to retire? “It isn’t as though you are dying.”

Something flicked across her gaze, but was gone again in an instant. “Of course not. But the young inherit. That is how it has always been, and it is how it will always be. I need…” She broke off, then huffed out a breath of air. “I need you to go to your room. And every night you aren’t performing, I expect you to be back in this house before dark. Am I clear, or must I go over the terms of your continued presence in Trianon once again?”

“Perfectly clear.” Agreeing with her was easier than arguing. She was never at home at night anyway, so it would be easy to sneak out when and if I needed to. Twisting past her, I trotted toward the stairs.

“You’ll be accompanying Julian and me to the castle in the morning to meet with Lady Marie and the rest of the ladies who will be performing in the masque. I want you dressed in your finest and on your best behavior.”

“But…” I’d had every intention of going back to Pigalle in the morning to speak with La Voisin.

“No buts.” Her voice was sharp. “You will do as I say, or you will find yourself back on the farm.”

Gooseflesh prickled across my skin, and the idea of disobeying her abruptly felt like an especially bad idea. She did not make idle threats. “I’ll be ready.”

The chill didn’t abandon me until I was up in my room, ensconced in front of the fire and a thick blanket wrapped around my shoulders. I stared into the flames, trying to put my thoughts in order.

The moment felt surreal, which was strange, given that sitting on the floor of my bedroom wrapped up in my own thoughts was the most normal thing I’d done in recent days. I’d ridden out into the dark of night with a stranger. Made a bargain with the king of the trolls. Tracked down a witch in the most dangerous quarter of Trianon. Confronted the city guard. In all of those moments, I’d felt so present and alive, but now, sitting alone in front of the fire, I barely felt like myself.

Maybe because I wasn’t. Maybe because I’d changed.

Covering my eyes with my hands, I mumbled, “I don’t know who I am anymore.”

“You are Cécile de Troyes, star of the opera stage and Trianon’s new favorite ingénue.”

Every muscle in my body jerked at the sarcastic voice. It was one thing talking to myself, quite another to have myself answer back. Spreading my fingers ever so slightly, I peered through the narrow cracks between them. Eyes stared out at me from the flames.