The guard doesn’t move. His eyes twitch from Mother to the poison. Then he throws himself at the laboratory door. Mother bellows, and the other guards scramble to respond. He’s halfway out the door and I’m about to raise a cheer when Fernand streaks across the room like a diving falcon. He catches the guard by the arm, wrenches it mercilessly, and slams the guard’s forehead against the wall. The guard howls and spits. Blood courses from a cut above his eyebrow as Fernand drags him back to Mother.
“P-please!” He fixes pleading eyes on her, as if that will change her mind.
“Drink,” she commands, motioning to Gris, who brings the phial to the guard’s mouth.
He squirms and bawls like a small child.
“Enough!” Fernand shouts. He rips the phial from Gris’s hand and forces it between the guard’s lips. The boy sputters and coughs. The poison dribbles down his chin and wets his tunic.
I heave toward him, but Marguerite tightens her hold on my elbow.
The effect is nearly instantaneous—like nothing I’ve ever seen. The guard’s cheeks bulge, his hands fly to his gut, and he gurgles, as if choking on his own saliva. In less than thirty seconds, he drops to his knees, spitting phlegm and blood. By the time he hits the floor, his face is frozen in a grotesque mask of pain and his back is twisted at an unnatural angle.
A wave of nausea surges up my throat, and my hands fly to my mouth.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” Mother pats Gris’s stubbled cheek. He murmurs a quiet thanks, but his voice sounds choked. Only I would notice. His every breath, his every shrug, is so familiar to me—and I hate that. I hate that I know his fingers are rubbing the bottom of his tunic into frayed oblivion below the table.
He’s a traitor. A murderer. Mother may be the head of the Shadow Society, but he is her hands—as I once was. Thankfully, I found a better way. I showed Gris a better way. Yet still he chose her.
How could he choose this?
Mother steps over the dead guard as if he’s a mere puddle in the road and stands before me. “Now that you know what’s at stake, I shall ask you again, Mirabelle. Where are the royal children hiding?”
I shutter my eyes and pretend I’m somewhere else—in a warm, peaceful fairytale world, complete with lush gardens and bubbling fountains. I’m happy and safe, brewing tinctures with Father, inhaling the sweet aroma of sage and honey tea. Far, far from Mother’s reach.
She bangs her fist against the table. “You may not have a care for the lives of common men—despite your gallant claims—but I suspect you won’t be so cavalier abouthislife.” She turns to the door. “Lesage! Bring the prisoner.”
The laboratory door slams open and unnatural emerald light cascades across the floor. Lesage struts into the room, his fair skin and red hair pulsating with the sickly glow of his magic, making him look demonic and wraithlike. Electric sparks crackle at his fingertips. He tugs a rope and Josse hobbles in behind him. He looks a few breaths from death; he’s bare from the waist up, and his chest and arms are covered in gashes and burns as well as spatters of greendésintégrersickness. Lesage has clearly been busy for hours.
The walls of my fairytale world fracture, raining daggers of glass that slice through my heart.Oh, Josse.It was too much to hope all of the royal children escaped.
Lesage flashes a goading smile at me and runs his sparking fingertip down the side of Josse’s face. A violent shudder drops Josse to his knees, and he grabs his cheek with a howl.
I lunge forward. I don’t know how I’ll protect Josse, but I must do something. Before I manage half a step, Mother’s fingers sink into my hair. She yanks me back with such force, I fall back and my head strikes the ground. My scalp prickles and the walls of the laboratory spin. When I look up, a clump of hair dangles in her fist.
“You will not touch him,” she says. “Answer the question if you wish to spare his life. Where are the royals hidden?”
Josse lifts his face. His eyes are wild and flashing—like a frightened horse’s. He manages a brief shake of his head before Lesage slams a knee into his stomach.
Nothing.I am to tell them nothing.
Sweat gathers at my hairline and my breath comes quick. He cannot expect me to stand by and watch Lesage torture and kill him. But if I forsake his siblings, he will never forgive me. I will never forgive myself. Marie and the girls were the first to trust and accept me. And the rebellion will truly be dead without Louis. I dig my fingers into the dirty rushes, grasping for anything I can cling to, any way to stop this. But there’s nowhere to go. The dream of a better future—for Paris, and forus—comes crashing down around me. I wish the palace would collapse with it and bury us all. It would be easier than this.
I take a shuddering breath and nod to Josse. A promise.
“Where are the royal children?” Lesage demands.
“I don’t know.” My voice wavers only slightly.
“You’ve always been a deplorable liar.” Lesage places his palm against Josse’s chest, and cerulean flames crawl across his skin. He writhes and screams, his back arching completely off the ground and his mouth open in a soundless scream. It’s so grotesque, even Marguerite and Fernand gape in horror. From somewhere far off in the corner, it sounds like Gris is crying.
“Stop,” I beg. “Please, stop!”
When Lesage finally relents, Josse collapses with a thud, a jade scorch mark branded in the center of his chest. His skin pulsates with sickening light, and blood trickles from his nose, his lips, his ears.
I clutch my chest, as if my own insides are liquefying.
“I shall ask you again, Mirabelle.” Mother speaks this time. “Where are the others hidden? If you do not tell me, I will move on to more lethal means.” She points to the phials of altered Viper’s Venom on the table.
