A moment of silence between them. His dark blue eyes drifted curiously in the direction that led to Jon’s hut. “How is she?”
“My daughter,” said Marie, her tone protective, “is mending.”
It was the truth. It had taken two days for her to regain consciousness, but when she had, Marie had nearly wept for an entire day. She’d done so privately, as it would do no good for Ree to see her like that, less so for Jon. Her heart constricted at the thought of the Conjurer, the man she’d been forced to share a house with for days on end. Her eyes raised to the withered canopy above, to the glimpses of fading sunlight. They hadn’t killed each other yet. But there was still time.
“She needs longer to recover. Her wounds…” She closed her eyes, unable to think of that night when death had tried its best to take her daughter from her again. “She just needs a little more time.”
“There is none left, Marie. We’re out of time.”
Marie met his eyes. He was not toying with her. He was being serious, more serious than she had ever seen him. “But the Inquisition—”
“No, Marie. You misunderstand. The Second Holy Inquisition…” He turned toward the edge of the wood that led out to the eastern bayou and, beyond that, the golden arms of New Orleans. “…has already begun.”
Marie thought they might have more time. Surely after news ofCorbin’s death reached the governor, there was a chance martial law might have been declared in fear of further mutiny. That may have bought them some time. The governor’s influence could supersede that of the Church. It was a slim bet.
“The tribunal has formed, and they’ve made their decision clear: Marie Laveau the Second is to be tried for charges of heresy and necromancy. They’ve formally called for her arrest this morning.”
“And?” She could tell that there was more. Saints, there was always more.
His lips quirked into a sneer. “Inquisitor Broussard is to be the one to arrest her.”
The matter of Henryk Broussard was a complication she couldn’t work out quite yet. When Silas had told her in their meeting before of how the boy was his and Antoine’s spy, she’d been skeptical at best. Fearful at worst. Her daughter had loved this strange boy. And she suspected, after everything she’d heard Ree recount about the time Marie was in the Veil, that he might love her too. Love could be a fickle thing. A strange thing that could be twisted. But perhaps Broussard was a hidden advantage in this whole matter. Perhaps he might be their only hope.
Marie stared down at the gem-flecked dragon at the end of the Grand Wizard’s staff. The serpent coiled in upon itself. She knew it to be a mark of ancient alchemy, but she’d always thought it was a warning of some kind, although of what she could not say.
“Can I count on the Brotherhood to hold up their end of the deal?” Marie asked quietly. It was foolish to make deals with devils, she knew, but she was out of options. Taking on the Church would be a truly complicated matter, no matter her faith.
It would be a war.
“So long as those paths align,” he said simply.
“And when they do not?”
“Are you sure you want the answer to that question, Marie?” When the Grand Wizard spoke again, there was a strange note to his tone, a suggestion of danger to come. “Let us fight one war at a time.”
Marie held his eyes. She understood now that Silas Favreau was a man frustratingly intent on speaking in riddles, even if she madeno effort to solve them. It was his armor. What he was truly hiding beneath, she could not say. Nor did she want to find out. And yet…
She must know. “Whose side are you on, Silas,truly?”
Silas took a step into the twilight, into that portion of the land that swirled with dusk and shadow. He cast a look over his shoulder, the barest hint of a smile.
“My own.”
Marie closed her eyes, offered a small prayer to her saints. There might not be any saving his soul in the end, she knew. Just as there might not be a way to save hers. She felt another feather-softwhoosh,the stir of the wind in her hair and in the trees, then opened her eyes.
He was gone.
When Marie returned to Jon’s hut, she found Ree was still sleeping, Jon sitting at her side. Ree’s little black bird, Aram, was perched on Jon’s shoulder. She’d always hated that little bird, that piece of Jon that she could never be rid of. Maybe that hate had never really been for Aram. Maybe it had always been for herself, the part of her that had still longed for the Conjurer.
Sosie was perched on a shelf, watching the little bird with unblinking eyes. An air of hostility charged between the two familiars. Marie might have laughed, had her mood not been so soured. They were a house full of uneasy truces all around, it seemed.
She kept her face coolly impassive as she swept into the room and took the seat on the opposite side of Ree’s bed. But inside? She wasn’t quite sure what to make of this, the three of them, a makeshift family again. It hurt because it was happening now, after all this time, and it hurt more to know that it might never happen again. If Silas’s words were any indication, there was danger waiting in the city now, waiting for them.
They couldn’t stay in the bayou. They couldn’t hide forever. She was aware of Jon’s gaze on her, but he didn’t say a word. He knew her well enough to know that something had changed. When she looked up, their eyes met. His were gentle and tawny in the cool dusk. The exact way they had looked in her nightmares, and sometimes in the sweeter dreams too. The Veil had frozen his features in place, as beautifully preserved as amber and bone. But his eyes.They had changed some, she realized. They were far wiser now, the magic behind them churning with complicated possibility.
“You would work with the Brotherhood, Marie?” Jon asked quietly.
“I might work with the devil if I thought it would save my child.”
