“Fine.” He waves a hand at her. “She saved me. But I cannot comprehend what she’s still doing here.”
I stare at my friend, my frustration rising like the smoke from the collection plate.She can help the girls,I want to say. But I know better than to mention them in front of a member of the Shadow Society—no matter how helpful she’s been. “I couldn’t turn her out,” I say stiffly. “The streets are still a riot.”
“You could have and you should have. Do you know who she is?”
“I know she’s one ofthem,but—”
“She isn’t just one of them. That is La Voisin’s daughter. I fought against her in the battle at the Louvre.”
I wheel around and stare at the girl. In the lengthening shadows, she looks far more sinister than she did on the bridge, with those slashing brows and dark eyes. Black as tar. Black as Hell itself. Nausea grips my belly, and I have to steady myself on a bench.
“That was my sister,” the girl says. “I didn’t fight.”
“Yes, I’m sure you’re entirely innocent,” Desgrez snaps. “I know the true nature of your black heart. Be gone! Run back to your mother.”
The girl glowers at Desgrez. “Are you really so thankless?”
“Yes,” he says without hesitation.
“Fine.” She skulks to the door and throws it wide. A breeze rips through the chapel, scattering the singed papers, and a chorus of screams reverberates off the archways and frescos. La Voisin’s daughter hesitates, sucking in a shaky breath and gathering the purple cloak around her. An unexpected twinge of sympathy shudders through me. A rush of gratitude.
“You don’t have to go out there,” I tell her, glaring at Desgrez. I jog to the door and close it with a decisive thud. “We can all sit civilly until the danger passes.”
Desgrez groans and clutches his head. “If she so much as looks in my direction …”
“I should have let you die,” the girl snips. She turns on her heel, marches to the front of the church, and sits down hard behind the pulpit, completely out of view.
Desgrez eyes the space. When she doesn’t reemerge, he waves me over to his bench and yanks me down so we’re face to face. “We have to kill her.”
“But she can help the girls.”
“We can’t take her anywhere near the sewer. She’s recognized us. That’s the only reason she would heal me—to win our trust so she can lead the Shadow Society to your sisters and Louis.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re the son of a tutor and I’m a servant. No one would recognize us.”
“Are you certain? Lesage certainly performed often enough to recognizeallof the king’s children. And who knows how many spies they had within the palace.”
I try to tamp down my fear, but it bubbles and swells, coursing through me like frothy, crashing waves. I want to slap myself for being so daft, for not seeing their plot sooner. I’m always making the wrong choice: reading those illegal broadsides, failing to protect my sisters, putting thousands of people in danger today. And now this.
“So what do we do?” I ask.
Desgrez parts his lips, but the girl rises from behind the pulpit and I leap back. Which only makes us look more suspicious. She frowns and perches on a bench at the front of the nave, hugging her knees to her chest, helpless and shivering like a kitten in the gutter. She may look small and innocent, but Desgrez is undoubtedly right. She cannot be trusted. Her family is responsible for murdering half of the nobility. My father and the queen included.
But she’s my sisters’ best chance at survival.
Their only chance.
Desgrez shoots me a look and nods toward his rapier. I make the mistake of peering at the girl again—so peaceful, with her eyes closed and her lips parted—and my muscles seize.
With a vexed look, Desgrez staggers to his feet and retrieves his blade from the floor.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I demand.
“Simply apologizing for my boorish behavior.” He makes a show of sheathing the rapier, then hobbles closer to the girl. She bolts upright.
“My sincerest apologies, mademoiselle,” Desgrez says with a bow. “Thank you for healing me.” He offers his hand and the girl considers it, chewing her lip before cautiously placing her small hand in his. Desgrez kisses the back of her wrist, and at the same moment, drives his other fist into the side of her face. Leveling the girl who just saved him. She collapses like a rag doll, slides off the bench, and sinks into her black and red petticoats.
I can’t stop the cry that surges up my throat.
