Morgane didn’t listen. She appeared to be feeling for something in empty air. Her eyes darted outward as she tracked whatever it was into the crowd. With a vicious tug, two familiar people staggered forward. My heart dropped. Morgane pulled harder, and Ansel and Beau fell at the temple steps, struggling against invisible bonds of their own. Their faces had returned to normal.
“Her coconspirators!” A mad gleam entered Morgane’s eyes, and the witches went wild with bloodlust—stamping their feet and screaming—as they struggled to converge on the temple. Magic shot past my face. Ansel cried out as a spell slashed his cheek. “The king’s sons and huntsmen! They shall bear witness to our triumph! They shall watch as we rid this world of the House of Lyon!”
She jerked her uninjured hand, and Lou slammed onto the altar. The witches screamed their approval. I threw myself forward. Rolled and clawed and twisted toward Lou with every ounce of the strength I had left. The bonds around me strained.
“Nature demands balance!” Morgane swooped to retrieve the dagger from the steps. When she spoke again, her voice had deepened to an unearthly timbre, multiplied as if thousands of witches were speaking through her. “Louise le Blanc, thy blood is the price.” Enchantment washed over the temple, burning my nose and clouding my mind. I gritted my teeth. Forced myself to see through it—to see through her.
Beau immediately slackened. His eyes glazed as Morgane’s skin began to glow. Ansel alone struggled on, but his resolve quickly faltered.
“Let it fill the cup of Lyon, for whosoever drinketh of it shalt surely die.” Morgane walked to Lou slowly, her hair billowing around her in a nonexistent wind. “And so the prophecy foretold: the lamb shalt devour the lion.”
She forced Lou to her stomach. Ripped her braid back to extend her throat over the altar basin. Lou’s eyes sought mine. “I love you,” she whispered. No tears marred her beautiful face. “I will remember you.”
“Lou—” It was a desperate, strangled sound. A plea and a prayer. I tore violently at my bonds. Sharp pain lanced through my body as one arm snapped free. I flung it outward, mere inches from the altar, but it wasn’t enough. I watched—as if in slow motion—as Morgane raised the dagger high. It still gleamed with my mother’s blood.
Lou closed her eyes.
No.
A terrible shriek sounded, and Coco leapt for Morgane’s throat.
Her knife sank deep into the tender flesh between Morgane’s neck and shoulder. Morgane screamed, attempting to pry her away, but Coco held on, pushing the blade deeper. She fought to bring Morgane’s blood to her lips. Morgane’s eyes widened in realization—and panic.
A full second passed before I realized the bonds holding me had flickered out at Coco’s assault. I bolted to my feet and closed the distance to Lou in a single stride.
“No!” she cried when I made to pick her up. “Help Coco! Help her!”
Whatever happens, you get Lou out.
“Lou—” I said through clenched teeth, but a high-pitched scream silenced my argument. I spun just as Coco collapsed to the floor. She didn’t get back up.
“Coco!” Lou screamed.
Chaos erupted. The witches surged forward, but Ansel rose up to meet them—a lone figure against hundreds. To my dismay, Beau followed him—but he didn’t brandish a weapon. Instead, he shucked off his coat and boots, searching the crowd wildly. When his eyes landed on the plump witch from the hall, he pointed and bellowed, “BIG TITTY LIDDY!”
Her eyes widened as he kicked off his pants and began singing at the top of his lungs, “‘BIG TITTY LIDDY WAS NOT VERY PRETTY, BUT HER BOSOM WAS BIG AS A BARN.’”
The witches nearest him—Elinor and Elaina among them—stopped dead in their tracks. Bewilderment tempered their rage as Beau slipped his shirt over his head and continued singing, “‘HER CREAMERY KNOCKERS DROVE MEN OFF THEIR ROCKERS, BUT SHE WAS BLIND TO THEIR CHARM.’”
Morgane bared her teeth and whirled toward him, blood flowing freely down her shoulder. It was all the distraction I needed. Before she could lift her hands, I was upon her. I pressed my knife to her throat.
“Reid!” It was the voice I least expected, the only voice in the world that could’ve made me hesitate in that moment. But hesitate I did.
It was the voice of the Archbishop.
Morgane made to turn, but I dug the blade in deeper. “Move your hands. I dare you.”
“I should’ve drowned you in the sea,” she snarled, but her hands stilled regardless.