Though I’d asked for the blame, I still bristled at the reproach. Clearly, my husband wasn’t the most pompous ass of all the asses; the title unequivocally belonged to Jean Luc. I’d just opened my mouth to tell him so when my inopportune husband interrupted.
“Come here, Ansel.”
Ansel swallowed hard and stepped forward, clasping his quaking hands behind his back. Unease flitted through me.
“Why did you allow her in the infirmary?”
“I told you, I invited—” Coco started, but she stopped abruptly at the look on my husband’s face.
Ansel’s cheeks tinged pink, and he glanced to me, eyes pleading. “I—I only took Madame Diggory up there because—because—”
“Because we have an obligation to those poor souls. The healers are swamped—overworked and understaffed. They hardly have time to tend to the patients’ basic needs, let alone nourish their spiritual welfare.” When he remained unconvinced, I added, “Also, I was singing a bawdy song and refused to stop until he took me.” I bared my teeth in an attempt at a smile. “Would you like to hear it? It’s about a lovely woman called Big Titty—”
“Enough.” Anger blazed in his eyes—true anger, this time. Not humiliation. Not irritation. Anger. He looked between the three of us slowly, deliberately. “If I find out any of you are lying, I’ll show you no mercy. You’ll all be punished to the full extent of the law.”
“Sir, I swear—”
“I told you the infirmary was forbidden.” His voice was hard and unforgiving as he looked at Ansel. “I expected my wife to disobey me. I didn’t expect it from you. You’re dismissed.”
Ansel dropped his head. “Yes, sir.”
Outrage washed over me as I watched him shuffle dejectedly to the door. I moved to follow him—yearning to hug him or otherwise console him somehow—but my pigheaded husband caught my arm. “Stay. I’d like a word with you.”
I wrenched my arm away and fired up at once. “And I’d like a word with you. How dare you blame Ansel? As if any of this is his fault!”
Jean Luc heaved a long-suffering sigh. “I’ll escort you to the infirmary, Mademoiselle Perrot.” He extended his arm to her, clearly bored with the direction the conversation had taken. Her answering glare was withering. Scowling, he turned to leave without her, but Ansel had paused on the threshold, blocking the way. Tears clung to his lashes as he looked back at me, eyes wide—shocked that someone had spoken up for him. Jean Luc prodded his back impatiently, muttering something I couldn’t hear. My blood boiled.
“He was charged with watching you.” My husband’s eyes blazed, oblivious to everyone but me. “He failed in his duty.”
“Oh, ta gueule!” I crossed my arms to keep from wrapping my hands around his throat. “I’m a grown-ass woman, and I’m perfectly capable of making my own choices. This is no one’s fault but mine. If you’re going to bully anyone, it should be me, not Ansel. The poor kid can’t catch a break with you—”
His face nearly purpled. “He isn’t a child! He’s training to become a Chasseur, and if that should happen, he must learn to take responsibility—”
“Ansel, move,” Jean Luc said flatly, interrupting our tirade. He finally managed to push Ansel through the door. “As entertaining as this is, some of us have work to do, prisoners to find, witches to burn . . . those sorts of things. Mademoiselle Perrot, you’re expected in the infirmary in ten minutes. I will be checking.” He gave us both one last irritated look before stomping from the room. Coco rolled her eyes and moved to follow, but she hesitated on the threshold. Her eyes held a silent question.
“It’s fine,” I muttered.
She nodded once, shooting my husband an irritated look of her own, before closing the door behind her.
The silence between us was blistering. I half expected the books to catch fire. It would’ve been fitting, given every book in this hellish place was evil. I eyed Twelve Treatises of Occult Extermination with newfound interest, picking it up as golden patterns shimmered into existence around me. If I hadn’t been so furious, I would’ve startled. It’d been a long time since unbidden patterns had appeared in my mind’s eye. Already, I could feel my magic awakening, desperate for freedom after years of repression.
It would just take a spark, it coaxed. Relinquish your anger. Set the page aflame.
But I didn’t want to relinquish my anger. I wanted to throttle my husband with it.