He clapped his hands together, then ran off to herd the rest of the cast into the wings.

“What a silly little man,” my mother murmured, yanking on the ropes. Seeming unsatisfied, she took hold of the swing with both hands and lifted her feet so that she was suspended off the ground. “If it holds my weight, it will hold yours,” she said. “Although maybe we should attach a wire to you just in case.”

“It will be fine,” I said, sitting down on the plank.

“Please hold on tightly.” She pulled my hair out from where it was tucked behind my ears. “If you were to fall and injure yourself, it would be a disaster.”

“I won’t fall,” I assured her.

She did not look convinced.

“How do you feel about tomorrow?” I asked. Tomorrow was closing night for this particular production run, and Genevieve’s final public performance.

“It matters less than you might think,” she said, bending down to kiss me on the forehead. “I’ll be living through you every time you step onstage.”

Pulleys creaked, and I lifted up into the air until I was at the same level as the massive crystal chandelier hanging in the center of the room. Kicking my feet, I began to swing back and forth.

“Too much vigor,” Monsieur Johnson shouted. “You look like a child at play, not a queen.”

I slowed my momentum.

“Uncross your ankles!”

I did so.

“I didn’t say spread your legs,” he shouted. “You’re Virtue, not some Pigalle harlot!”

My mother snarled something I couldn’t hear and the man blanched. “Please keep your knees together, Mademoiselle de Troyes,” he said, tone contrite. “Otherwise the audience will see up your skirts.”

He nodded to the musicians, and they began to play. Taking a few swift breaths, I inhaled deeply, and then I sang.

For the first verse, I was alone on the stage, but then the dancers made their way out from the wings. They did not make it far before Monsieur Johnson called a halt. “Softer, mademoiselle,” he said to me. “This is not the theatre.”

We started and stopped another dozen times, while the man shouted instructions and criticism, keen to have perfection from the professionals before he brought in the untutored ladies of the court. The rough plank of the swing was hard, and my bottom grew numb even as my back began to ache.

Would the mark on the castle move if the spell were performed again, I wondered. And what would I do if it did?

“Again!”

The map spell had given me clues to how Anushka was achieving immortality, but I was at a loss of what to make of them. I was certain the mark at the castle had been the living, breathing witch, but that didn’t bring me much closer to discovering her identity. I was sure Marie knew who she was, but I was just as sure she wouldn’t volunteer the information, especially to me. If I could get a strand of her hair, it was possible I could take the knowledge from her mind with magic, but getting the hair would be no mean feat, given I hadn’t so much as seen her since our first meeting.