Fingers dug into my elbow, pulling me back. “What are you doing?” Sabine hissed. “You need to change.”

I let her lead me backstage.

“You’re sweating like a pig,” she informed me, wrinkling her nose as she unfastened the merchant costume’s buttons.

“Pigs don’t sweat,” I said absently, barely noticing as she rolled her eyes. I needed to see who was in those seats. I was certain it was her, but I needed to be sure. And if it was her, then what? Confront her? No. Whether I was right or wrong about her association with Anushka, that wouldn’t go well for me.

“Did you mean it?”

Sabine was fussing with my skirt, only the top of her head visible. “Pardon?”

“What you said to your mother, did you mean it?”

There was an intensity in her voice that told me it wasn’t an idle question. I bit down on the inside of my cheeks. Had I meant it? Part of me screamed that it didn’t matter – there was the accomplice to a five hundred year-old murderer sitting in the wings watching me. But a bigger part of me refused to let fear rule my actions. “I meant it,” I said, wiping my hands on my skirts. “If she fires you, I’ll quit.”

“But she’s your mother.” I could only see the top of her head, but I knew her well enough to know that she was shaken.

“Only when it’s convenient for her,” I said, catching one of her gold curls with my finger. “And you’ve always been my best friend. I understand why you did what you did, Sabine. But I need you to understand that I need to do this.”

We stood quietly together for a moment before Sabine whispered, “You should go.” She didn’t look up, and I knew she wouldn’t, so I left.

The rest of the performance was an exercise in torture. I made countless little mistakes, and my eyes kept drifting to the box. I felt on display. Vulnerable. But there was no denying the anticipation in my heart. I needed to see who was in those seats. I would have one good opportunity to get a glimpse when we took our bows at the end of the performance, one moment when I could stare out into the audience without reproach.

The wait seemed interminable, but finally the curtain fell with my mother feigning death in Julian’s arms. I stood in the wings, my heart beating faster and faster. The trepidation wasn’t all my own – something was happening to Tristan, but I couldn’t think about him now. I would only have one chance, and I didn’t dare miss it. The other girls were whispering, but I barely heard them. The audience was cheering, shouting my mother’s name. They were on their feet. The other girls of the chorus ran forward, and I went with them. Would it be her I saw? Did I want it to be?

Stopping in my appointed spot, I took the hands of the girls to either side and dropped into a deep curtsey. We rose and stepped back. I looked up.