“She attacked me.” Priya’s voice was a rasp, damaged by the screaming and the silence. “She lured me here—”
“Enough,” Madame spat.
“They must be removed from the competition.” Milton’s voice was gruff. She’d never seen him look so furious and so disappointed.
Madame hesitated, devastation crossing her face between blinks. “Pack your things. Both of you.”
Selene closed her eyes. Guilt pierced her, sharper than any thorn. She deserved this. Why had she retaliated against Priya? She should have walked away. What were letters compared to her father’s watch? And now, so close to the end, everything she wanted was gone. She’d been given this second chance and she’d thrown it all away for a little revenge.
“I think that would be in poor form, Madame Giroux,” Victor said.
Madame looked shocked, as if she hadn’t known Victor was there. “This is my theater.”
“It is the king’s theater. And his competition.” Victor kept his voice low. “I would hate to tell him that—once again—you have failed to keephismages safe.”
And he was right. He’d be doing the future competitors of L’Opéra du Magician a favor if he had Madame removed. Maybe he’d be doing Madame a favor, too.
“Then what do you propose we do—Your Highness?” Madame spoke through gritted teeth.
“Plant the flowers in the garden.” He brushed the tip of his boot over one of the roses. “And consider how to foster a community, rather than a competition.”
Madame’s knuckles turned white against the head of her cane. Selene could feel that vise grip as Madame looked from Victor to Priya and back to Selene. All the blood and flowers and burned-up paper between.
Madame sang low. The vines twisted and shrank, green to brown to black. They crumbled beneath Selene’s bloody feet. She crossed the room, resting a hand on the wooden box. She didn’t look at Victor. Madame swept up the ashes and dust with a sharp wind. The wind pushed up Priya from the floor and out into the hallway. Selene looked to Gigi, but the dancer averted her gaze, keeping her eyes downcast. It wasn’t like her at all. Of all the things that had gone wrong today, this was the worst. It was confirmation that Gigi hadn’t been moved to hurt Selene. Gigi had made a choice.
“This isn’t over,” Madame warned.
“Not until tomorrow.” Victor leaned into the doorframe, an easy, carefree look on his face.
Madame was out of the room, cane striking the wooden floor with deliberate ire. The rest of them—even Gigi—scattered.
Victor was the only one left.
“Thank you,” Selene breathed.
“I didn’t want to see you lose your dream.” He put his hand to his forehead. “Are you all right?”
She exhaled the worst of her feelings, focusing on the pain. “I will be.”
“Is it worth it, Selene?”
Selene sat down at the edge of her bed, unsure of the answer. She’d given up too much already to turn back now. “I’m not doing this for me. It’s for my father. To restore his legacy.”
Giuseppe wanted more for you.
Selene remembered her father’s bright smile and how it had shifted over those last days. How gaunt he had been, obsessive and empty of anything except magic and music. She wished he were here to tell her what to do next.
“Do you really think this is what he wants for you?”
“You don’t know what my father wanted.”
Victor appraised her. “Are you happy?”
Selene was tired of all the questions. She fought to keep the irritation from her face. “It’s not that simple.”
“Maybe it could be. Maybe you could find out. I’d take you anywhere you’d want to go. The whole world could be yours.”
“I want this.”
