Serpent & Dove (Serpent & Dove, #1)(64)

“What if I were a witch, Reid?” I asked softly. “Would the stake be what I deserve?”

I turned off the tap, and absolute silence filled the chamber. I could feel his eyes on my back . . . wary, assessing. “Yes,” he said carefully. “If you were a witch.”

The unspoken question hung in the air between us. I met his eyes over my shoulder, daring him to ask it. Praying he wouldn’t. Praying he would. Unsure of how I would answer if he did.

A long second passed as we stared at each other. Finally, when it became clear he wouldn’t ask—or perhaps couldn’t—I turned back to the water and whispered, “We both deserve the stake for what we did to her.”

He cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable with the new direction of the conversation. “Lou—”

“Just leave me alone. I need time.”

He didn’t argue, and I didn’t watch him leave. When the door closed, I inched into the hot water. It steamed, nearly boiling, but was still a cool caress compared to the stake. I slipped beneath the surface, remembering the agony of the flames on my skin.

I’d spent years hiding from La Dame des Sorcières. My mother. I’d done terrible things to protect myself, to ensure my survival. Because above all else, that is what I did: I survived.

But at what cost?

I’d reacted instinctively with Estelle. It’d been her life or mine. The way forward had seemed clear. There had been only one choice. But . . . Estelle had been one of my own. A witch. She hadn’t wanted me dead—only to be free of the persecution plaguing our people.

Unfortunately, those two were mutually exclusive now.

I thought of her body, of the wind carrying away her ashes—and all the other ashes that had been carried away over the years.

I thought of Monsieur Bernard, rotting away on a bed upstairs—and all the others who had waited to die in torment.

Witches and people alike. One and the same. All innocent. All guilty.

All dead.

But not me.

When I was sixteen, my mother had tried to sacrifice me—her only child. Even before my conception, Morgane had seen a pattern no other Dame des Sorcières had seen before, had been willing to do what none of her predecessors had ever dreamed: kill her lineage. With my death, the king’s line also would’ve died. All his heirs, legitimate and bastard, would’ve ceased breathing with me. One life to end a hundred years’ worth of persecution. One life to end the Lyons’ reign of tyranny.

But my mother didn’t just want to kill the king. She wanted to hurt him. To destroy him. I could still imagine her pattern at the altar, shimmering around my heart and branching out into the darkness. Toward his children. The witches planned to strike amidst his grief. They planned to eviscerate what remained of the royal family . . . and everyone who followed them.

I broke through the surface of the water, gasping for breath.

All these years, I’ve been lying to myself, convinced I’d fled the altar because I couldn’t take the lives of innocents. Yet here I was with innocent blood on my hands.

I was a coward.

The pain of the realization went beyond my sensitive skin, beyond the agony of the flames. This time, I’d damaged something important. Something irrevocable. It ached deep inside me.

Witch killer.

For the first time in my life, I wondered if I’d made the right choice.

Coco checked on me later that day, her face drawn as she sat beside me on the bed. Ansel became inordinately interested in his coat buttons.

“How are you feeling?” She lifted a hand to stroke my hair. At her touch, all my wretched emotions flooded back to the surface. A tear escaped down my cheek. I wiped it away, scowling.

“Like hell.”

“We thought you were a goner.”

“I wish.”

Her hand stilled. “Don’t say that. You’ve just got a soul ache, that’s all. Nothing a few sticky buns can’t fix.”

My eyes snapped open. “A soul ache?”

“Sort of like a headache or stomachache, but much worse. I used to get them all the time when I lived with my aunt.” She smoothed my hair away from my face and leaned down, brushing another tear from my cheek. “It wasn’t your fault, Lou. You did what you had to.”

I stared at my hands for a long moment. “Why do I feel like such shit about it, then?”

“Because you’re a good person. I know it’s never pretty to take a life, but Estelle forced your hand. No one can blame you for what you did.”

“I’m sure Estelle would feel differently.”

“Estelle made her choice when she put her faith in your mother. She chose wrong. The only thing you can do now is move forward. Isn’t that right?” She nodded to Ansel, who blushed scarlet in the corner. I looked hastily away.

He knew now, of course. He would’ve smelled the magic. Yet here I was . . . alive. More tears pooled in my eyes. Stop it, I chided. Of course he didn’t tell on you. He’s the only decent man in this entire tower. Shame on you for thinking otherwise.

Throat constricting, I toyed with Angelica’s Ring, unable to meet anyone’s eyes.

“I have to warn you,” Coco continued, “the kingdom is praising Reid as a hero. This is the first burning in months, and with the current climate, well . . . it’s been a celebration. King Auguste invited Reid to dine with him yesterday, but Reid refused.” At my questioning look, she pursed her lips in disapproval. “He didn’t want to leave you.”