He ignored my language, eyes inscrutable as he stared at me. “Who did it?”
“Andre.” I dipped my hair back into the water, smiling when he averted his eyes. Hair clean, I wrapped my arms around my shins and rested my chin on my knees. “He got the jump on me when I first arrived in the city.”
He sighed heavily, as if he were suddenly weary. “I’m sorry we didn’t find them.”
“You will.”
“Oh?”
“They aren’t the brightest. They’ll probably show up here by morning, demanding to know why you’re searching for them.”
He chuckled and rubbed his neck, emphasizing the curve of his bicep. He’d rolled up his shirtsleeves since the interrogation, and I couldn’t help but trace the long line of his forearm to his hand. To his callused fingers. To the fine, copper hair dusting his skin.
He cleared his throat and dropped his arm hastily. “I should go. We’re interrogating Madame Labelle soon. Then the other one—the thief at Tremblay’s. Bastien St. Pierre.”
My heart stopped, and I pitched forward, sloshing bubbles and water in every direction. “Not Bas?” He nodded, eyes narrowing. “But—but he escaped!”
“We found him skulking outside a back entrance to Soleil et Lune.” Disapproval radiated from him. “It’s just as well. The constabulary would’ve arrested him sooner or later. He killed one of Tremblay’s guards.”
Holy hell. I sat back, chest tightening as panic clawed up my throat, and fought to control my breathing. “What will happen to him?”
His eyebrows drew together in surprise. “He’ll hang.”
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
Of course Bas had been arrested. Of course he’d murdered a guard instead of knocking him unconscious. Why had the idiot been at Soleil et Lune in the first place? He’d known they were looking for him. He’d known. Why hadn’t he fled? Why hadn’t he been halfway across the sea? Why hadn’t he been, well, Bas?
Despite the warm bathwater, gooseflesh rose on my skin. Could he . . . could he have come back for me? Hope and despair warred in my chest, equally hideous, but panic soon conquered them both.
“You have to let me see him.”
“That’s out of the question.”
“Please.” I loathed the word, but if he refused—if pleading didn’t work—I’d have only one option. Magic outside the infirmary was a huge risk, but it was one I’d have to take.
Because Bas knew about Coco, yes—but he also knew about me.
I wondered how much information on two witches was worth. His life? His prison sentence? A fair trade in the eyes of the Chasseurs, and one Bas was sure to make. Even if he had come back for me, he wouldn’t hesitate with his life in the balance.
I cursed myself for confiding in him. I’d known his character. I’d known who he was, yet still I’d allowed myself to relax, to spill my deepest secrets. Well—one of them, anyway. And now I would pay the price, as would Coco.
Stupid. So, so stupid.
“Please,” I repeated.
My husband blinked at the word, clearly stunned. But his shock soon gave way to suspicion. He scowled. “Why are you so concerned about him?”
“He’s a friend.” I didn’t care that my voice sounded desperate. “A dear friend.”
“Of course he is.” At my pained expression, he glared at the ceiling and added, almost reluctantly, “He’ll have a chance to save himself.”
“How so?”
Though I already knew the answer, I held my breath, dreading his next words.
“The witch is still our priority,” he confirmed. “If he gives us information that leads to its capture, his sentence will be reevaluated.”
I clutched the edge of the tub for support, forcing myself to remain calm. My other hand rose to stroke the scar at my throat—an instinctive, agitated gesture.
After a long moment, his voice drifted toward me on a whisper. “Are you well? You look . . . pale.”
When I didn’t answer, he strode across the room and crouched beside the tub. I didn’t care that the bubbles were thinning. Apparently, neither did he. He reached out and touched a strand of hair by my ear. Soap came away on his fingers. “You missed a spot.”
I said nothing as he pooled water in his palm and let it trickle down my hair, but my breath caught when his fingers hovered above my throat. “How did you get this one?” he murmured.
Swallowing hard, I searched for a lie and found none. “That’s a story for another day, Chass.”