“Cécile, thank heavens you’re all right.” Sabine came flying down the steps. “We didn’t know where you’d gone. We came back here like you asked, but…” She frowned. “Why are you all wet?”

“Long story,” I said, grateful that the seawater had washed away the worst of the blood.

“I’d say we need to get you inside, get you warm, but if you go in they’ll want you to perform. Genevieve didn’t show, and it’s closing night. Put anyone but you on the stage, and the audience will be demanding their money back.”

Did I dare? It was only a matter of time before Catherine discovered Sabine and I had escaped, if she hadn’t already, and then they’d come for me. Was there a better way to spend my last few hours of liberty than on the stage?

“I’ll sing,” I said, lifting my chin. “Might as well go down with a little flair.”

Neither of my friends smiled.

“They won’t try to take me while I’m onstage,” I said. “It will be afterward, and I don’t want either of you to interfere. I’ll go along with the first part of their plan, and then later, I’ll try to escape.” It wasn’t a perfect strategy, but it would give Tristan a fighting chance. “If it doesn’t work out, please tell my family that I love them.” My lip trembled and I flung an arm around both of them. “Thank you for helping me. I couldn’t ask for better friends.”

“Good luck.” Chris’s voice was rough. “I’m going to go see if I still have a job.”

He trudged away, shoulders slumped.

I grasped Sabine’s hand. “I’m afraid.”

She squeezed my fingers. “Me too.”

Backstage was utter chaos. The orchestra’s music filtered through the walls, and I recognized it as from one of the ballets. The dancers were performing to keep the crowd entertained with their graceful limbs and skill, but they could not go on forever.

“Cécile! Curse you, girl! Where have you been?” The stage manager locked a hand over my wrist, pulling me toward my dressing room. “I thought I was going to have to put Justine on. She’s wearing your costume. You’ll have to change quickly. Sabine, have her ready in ten minutes.”

“Yes, monsieur.”

Justine was in my dressing room, her brown hair pulled back tight in preparation for the wig she’d need to wear. Her face fell with disappointment when she recognized me, but she swiftly replaced it with a smile. “I’m glad you’re here. I did not much care to go on when they were expecting Genevieve.”

I didn’t blame her. Everyone in the audience was expecting to witness the final performance of Trianon’s most famous singer. Justine could have sung her heart out and it would not have mattered. “She’s retired now,” I said. “Someone will have to step up, and I’ll put in a good word to see it’s you.” What I didn’t say was that more than one girl would have the opportunity to move up in the ranks, because tonight would be my last performance as well.