But Triphine was nowhere to be found. Probably sulking and cursing Mallory’s name. She could hold a grudge longer than a kraken could hold its breath.
Strangely enough, she saw no sign of Lucienne or Béatrice, either.
“These are the best hunting grounds I’ve ever seen,” said Constantino, taking the steps two at a time before dropping onto a low stone wall beside Anaïs. He unhooked a velvet pouch from his belt and tugged open the cord, revealing dozens of glass figurines within. They clinked together as he sifted his hand throughthem. Mostly salamanders and lutin, a couple of cats and owls that Mallory thought might be matagots. Some creatures were reptilian, others humanoid, one resembled a porcupine.
Anaïs picked up a speckled, spiral shell with tentacles erupting from its base. “Look, Mally. It’s the thing that attacked us in our room.”
“Lou carcolh,” said Mallory, inspecting Constantino’s haul. So many creatures—from fierce to docile, but all nuisances of one sort or another—so quickly reduced to pretty trinkets. “How did you find them all?”
“The count was a most helpful guide,” said Constantino.
Armand made a dubious face. “I didn’t do much but show them the trails and point out places a few beasts had been seen over the years.”
“Yes, that’s true. I was being generous. I did also have some unexpected assistance.” Constantino dug out a stump of bound dry twigs from his pocket, their ends blackened. Mallory recognized the remains of one of the herbal smoke sticks she’d made with Armand’s help. “Somebody has been spreading around madwort smoke.”
“Madwort?” asked Anaïs. “What is that?”
“A plant that is practically bait for magical creatures.”
Horror prickled at Mallory’s skin. “What do you mean?”
“They’re drawn to it, like cats to catnip.”
“Or Stivalens to wine,” Fitcher added, taking the bundle from him.
“That too,” agreed Constantino.
“I can’t imagine why anyone would be foolish enough to saturate the air around here with something so enticing,” said Fitcher,sniffing the herbs. “But I don’t think it was done with malicious intent. Juniper, pennyroyal… judging from the rest of these plants, my guess is they were attempting to work a petty spell to dispel evil spirits, but used madwort when they meant to use madderwort.”
Constantino shook his head. “Amateur.”
Armand’s quizzical gaze slid toward Mallory, but she ignored him, not wanting to discuss her botched attempt at petty magic.
“I’m sure it’s a common mistake,” she muttered.
“The smoke should be cleared,” said Constantino, taking a handful of arrows from his quiver to inspect their fletching. “We’ll monitor the grounds for signs of any beasts we might have missed, but for now, I feel we’ve quite excelled at our responsibilities.” He winked at Anaïs. “Praise to the Seven.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Yvette delivered a pot of tea and some pastries to their room early the next morning, though Mallory didn’t know if Armand had asked her to do it, or if the housekeeper was actually warming up to them now that they’d brought representatives of her beloved Seven. Either way, Mallory found that she was too nervous to eat or drink anything, while Anaïs’s nerves made her eager to devour everything on the tray. It was a symbiotic relationship.
The early afternoon sun was merely a rumor on the horizon when they met the rest of the household in the courtyard. A shroud of fog had crept in from the ocean, obscuring the distant vineyards on the hill and lending the air a damp, frigid quality.
They were a dismal procession as they went to collect Julie from the chapel. Her body still appeared frighteningly alive, her skin too soft and pink, preserved by whatever dark magic was stirring through the House Saphir.
Fitcher and Constantino played their roles well, whisperingprayers that sounded halfway authentic as they anointed Julie’s skin with fragrant oils and placed silver coins over her eyelids. The group had fallen silent as they transferred Julie’s body into the coffin and made their way steadily, silently through the gardens and into the forest.
The forest was too noisy, as far as Mallory was concerned, though probably it was her own anxiety making her pulse jump at every snap of a twig, every caw of a ruffled crow, every rustle in the shrubbery that lined the path. On this—the anniversary of Bastien’s death—she couldn’t help feeling anxious, expecting to see Monsieur Le Bleu following after them, gripping a bejeweled sword and wearing a wicked smile.
But when she glanced back, all she saw was swirling mist.
Armand, Fitcher, Pierre, and Gideon carried the ebony coffin between them, while Constantino went ahead, bow on his shoulder, to clear fallen trees and be alert for any monsters that might confront the ceremonial procession. Mallory, Anaïs, and Yvette followed behind the group.
Mallory noted that Armand was wearing the coat he’d worn on the tour, once fashionable, but now she couldn’t unsee how the fabric had gone threadbare around the collar.
Somewhere, she knew that the sun was creeping over the mountains, but the light did not change so deep in the woods. Nothing but gray trunks and charcoal shadows in every direction.
She rather would have liked to draw it.
