Serpent & Dove (Serpent & Dove, #1)(78)

“And you beat him.”

“Yes.”

“He resents you for it.”

“I know. It made beating him even sweeter.”

She poked me in the stomach. “You’re an ass.”

“Probably. But he’s worse. Things . . . changed between us that year. He was still an initiate when the Archbishop promoted me to captain. He had to wait until the next tournament to win his spot. I don’t think he ever forgave me.”

She didn’t speak again for several moments. When she finally did, I wished she hadn’t. “And . . . and Célie? Did you continue seeing her after your vows?”

All remnants of humor withered and died on my tongue. I stared at the ceiling once more. Though she said nothing, her fingers resumed tracing my collar. Coaxing. Waiting. I sighed again. “You saw the letters. We . . . maintained our courtship.”

“Why?”

I stiffened, immediately wary. “What do you mean why?”

“Why continue your courtship after you swore yourself to the Chasseurs? I’ve never heard of a Chasseur marrying before you. There are no other wives in the Tower.”

I would’ve given my Balisarda to end this conversation. How much had she heard of my conversation with Célie? Did she—I swallowed hard—did she know Célie had rejected me? “It’s not unheard of. Just a few years ago, Captain Barre married.”

I didn’t mention that he’d left our brotherhood a year later.

She sat up, fixing me with those unnerving eyes. “You were going to marry Célie.”

“Yes.” I tore my gaze away, back toward the ceiling. A snowflake drifted in from the window. “Growing up . . . Célie and I were sweethearts. Her kindness appealed to me. I was an angry child. She tempered me. Begged me not to throw rocks at the constabulary. Forced me to confess when I stole the communion wine.” A grin tugged at my lips at the memory. “I had a chip on my shoulder. The Archbishop had to beat it out.”

Her eyes narrowed at my words, but she wisely said nothing. Lowering herself back against my chest, she brushed her finger against my bare collarbone. Heat erupted across my skin—and everywhere else—in its wake. I shifted my hips away, cursing silently.

“How many witches have you killed?”

I groaned and turned my head into the pillow. The woman could freeze Hell over. “Three.”

“Really?”

The judgment in her voice rankled. I nodded, trying not to seem affronted. “Though it’s difficult to catch a witch, they’re vulnerable without their magic. Still, the witch at the theater was cleverer than most. It didn’t attack me with magic. It used magic to attack me. There’s a difference.”

She trailed her finger down my arm. Idly. I resisted a shudder. “Do you know about magic, then?”

Clearing my throat, I forced myself to focus on the conversation. On her words. Not her touch. “We know what the Archbishop taught us in training.”

“Which is what?”

I looked away, jaw tight. I didn’t understand Lou’s infatuation with the occult. She’d made it clear countless times she didn’t agree with our ideology. But she kept bringing it up, like she wanted to fight. Like she wanted me to lose my temper.

I heaved a sigh. “That witches channel their magic from Hell.”

She snorted. “That’s ridiculous. Of course they don’t channel their magic from Hell. They channel their magic from their ancestors.”

I eyed her incredulously. “How could you possibly know that?”

“My friend told me.”

Of course. The witch from Tremblay’s. The witch we still hadn’t found. I resisted the urge to snap at her. No amount of pestering had convinced her to give us more information. I was surprised the Archbishop hadn’t threatened to tie her to the stake instead.

But I’d never heard anything like this before. “Their ancestors?”

Her finger continued down my arm. Grazed the hair on my knuckles. “Mmm hmm.”

I waited for her to continue, but she seemed lost in thought. “So . . . a witch, it can—”

“She.” Her head snapped up abruptly. “A witch is always a she, Reid. Not an it.”

I sighed, half tempted to end the argument there. But I couldn’t. Witch friend or no, Lou couldn’t spout such blasphemy around the Tower, or she would end up on the stake. And there wouldn’t be anything I could do to stop it.

I had to end this infatuation now. Before it got out of hand. “I know you think that—”

“I know that—”

“—but just because a witch looks and acts like a woman—”

“If it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck—”

“—doesn’t mean it’s a duck. I mean, er, a woman.”

“Witches can give birth, Reid.” She flicked my nose. I blinked, lips quirking up in surprise. “That makes them female.”

“But they only give birth to females.” Grinning, I thrust my face toward hers in response. She jerked back and nearly toppled off the bed. I arched a brow in wry amusement. “Sounds like asexual reproduction to me.”

She scowled, and a furious blush stole across her cheeks. If I didn’t know better, I would’ve thought she was uncomfortable. I grinned wider, wondering what could’ve caused the sudden change. My physical nearness? The word reproduction? Both?