Josse turns last to me. “Are you against me as well?”
I look down and finger the cover of Father’s grimoire. “I’m not against you so much as I’mforallowing Louis to do this.”
“Fine.” Josse rips off his hat and wrings it through his fists. “Fine. But when this ends poorly, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
His cryptic words spindle down my neck like spiders, but I brush them off and find a smile for the eager faces around me.
Our ranks are swelling. We have a plan, with a clear end in sight.
There’s no reason to believe this will end poorly.
22
JOSSE
They’ve all rejected me: Desgrez, my sisters, even Mirabelle. I don’t know why I ever thought I could lead this bedamned rebellion.
Perhaps try a different way of leading,my father whispers. Not in the short, clipped tone I came to expect from him, but in a gentle, coaxing manner that makes everything worse.
Because I’m doing it again—lashing out and pushing everyone away and refusing to acknowledge my fault in any of it. The worst part is IknowI’m doing it now, but I still can’t stop. I’m like a hedgehog, raising my spines and curling in to protect myself from the truth.
I lean against the counter, close my eyes, and pull several deep breaths through my nose. I can be gracious. I don’t have to let this get to me. But when I look up and see Mirabelle fussing over Louis, sending him off with the Marquis de Cessac to ready for the expedition, my irritation flares again, burning like a pan straight from the oven.
“You need to be seen aiding the rebels, but not necessarily looking like one,” Mirabelle tells Louis. “The people still need to view you as king, so after the crops are saved, remove your disguise to prove you’re alive and well. Let the people see you fighting for them.”
Louis beams, and I can’t stomach another bedamned second of it. I storm out of the shop, not knowing where I’m going. I just have to get away.
I don’t get far.
Mirabelle’s quick footsteps chase me down the street. “Josse, wait.”
“Why? So you can twist your knife deeper? Sell me for thirty pieces of silver?”
She grabs my shirttail and pulls me into an alleyway. “Don’t you think you’re being slightly overdramatic?”
Yes.I know I am. But I growl adamantly, “No.”
“You honestly can’t see the benefit of allowing the people to see Louis defending them?”
“Yes, but—”
“Can’t you see he’s trying? Would it kill you to give him a chance?”
“Why should I when the same courtesy was never extended to me?”
“Wasn’t it?” she says quietly. “Or did you choose not to take it?”
It was bad enough having Louis hurl this accusation at me. Hearing Mirabelle repeat it feels like a punch to the gut. I can’t catch my breath. Tiny stars explode across my vision and form a picture of my father’s face. He looks at me, so warm and sympathetic, and I hear his voice again:You don’t have to sabotage these relationships, too.
But I do. If I don’t protect myself, no one will.
I draw my shoulders back, ready to tell Mirabelle to keep her nose out of my affairs, but she grips my shoulders and says, “You’re enough, Josse. You always have been. You’re the only one who can’t see it.”
Her declaration shatters the brittle walls around my heart. I gasp as the shards cut inward: stabbing and slicing and flaying me wide open. I sink slowly to the ground, my back scraping against the splintered wood of the building, and I plunk my forehead on my knees.
“You’re right,” I choke out. “Louis is right. You’re all bloody right.”
I feel Mirabelle ease down beside me. Her arm brushes mine, and the sage and smoke scent of her tickles my nose. She doesn’t say anything, just sits there—a rope waiting to pull me to shore whenever I’m ready to grab on.
