The lantern extinguished, plunging them into darkness.
The storm bellowed outside, as if Solvilde were screaming from the heavens.
And Julie’s eyes flew open.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Julie dragged in a rough, crackling breath that wheezed into the hole where the sword had impaled her. She tossed her gaze from the ceiling to Anaïs. Anaïs to Mallory. Mallory to the window that depicted Velos, god of death.
She started screaming.
“Julie!” Mallory cried, pressing a hand to the girl’s shoulder. “Julie, calm down.”
She did not calm down. Ripping her arm from Anaïs’s grip, Julie threw herself off the altar, landing in a heap at Mallory’s feet before Mallory could think to catch her.
Julie paused long enough to take in a breath, then screamed again—the sound coming in shrill, short bursts as her limbs flailed on the stone floor. She scrambled forward, crawling on hands and knees until she reached the first bench. She scuttled behind it. The scream cut off, replaced with shaking, erratic breaths.
“This was a mistake,” Anaïs whispered. “I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry…”
“It’s all right,” Mallory said, not sure if she was trying to comfort her sister or the dead girl. “Julie, it’s us. Mallory and Anaïs. You remember us, don’t you?”
Julie choked and whimpered and coughed. Finally, she poked her head up high enough that she could see them over the top of the bench.
Her voice was thick with disdain. “Of course I remember you. I’ve only been dead a short while.” She peered around at the gods, the rafters, the altar—all cloaked in shadows and barely visible without the lamplight. Though it was dusk, the wailing storm made it nearly as dark as the witching hour. “How did I get here? What did you do to me?”
“We need to talk to you,” said Mallory, stepping carefully around the altar, afraid of frightening the girl if she moved too quickly. “To ask you some questions about what happened.”
Julie’s enormous eyes blinked at her. Her expression changed then, as swift as pulling a curtain across a sunlit window. Snarling, she launched herself to her feet and pointed her finger—first at Mallory, then Anaïs, then back again. “You lied to me! You said all those pretty things about love and commitment and… and happiness!”
Anaïs whimpered. “I am sorry, Julie. I am so—”
“You wouldn’t have listened to her,” Mallory interrupted, “even if she had told you the truth!”
Anaïs stilled. Julie, too, looked taken aback by the proclamation, but Mallory planted her hands on her hips and continued defiantly, “You were in love. You were already married. Youwanted us to tell you it would all work out, regardless of the truth. Tell me I’m wrong.”
With a huff, Anaïs pressed her fingers to her temple.
But Julie’s anger faded into something like anguish. She said nothing.
“Someone wanted you dead, Julie, and they went to great lengths to ensure you fell into their trap.”
Her lip trembled. “Butwhy? What did I do…?”
“We are trying to figure that out.” Mallory sat down on the bench and draped her elbow over the back, taking hold of Julie’s hand. She gave it a gentle squeeze. “We need to know who murdered you.”
Julie pried her hand from Mallory’s hold and curled it into a fist. “You are more dense than a month-old kouglof,” she said, with ire on her tongue. Glancing down, she pressed a hand to her chest, the front of her uniform dried black with her blood. She felt around for the wound, searching the edges of the hole in the fabric, before sticking her finger inside. Up to the first knuckle, the second, then all the way in. “One would think it would keep hurting, but I don’t feel anything now. It hurtso terriblywhen it happened.” She moaned and pulled her finger out.
“Who was it, Julie?”
“My lord husband.” She snorted derisively. “I suppose I should have known better than to fall in love with a Saphir.”
Mallory shuddered. She didn’t want to hear it. But she had to know… “Which Saphir?”
Julie looked perplexed by this question. “Which do you think? Oh, but I know it isn’tmyfault. He was ever so thoughtful at times. So awfully convincing, with his promises and his sweetness.When he ignored me other times, I thought it was for propriety, that things would change after we said our vows. How naïve I was, to think a count… a real count… could ever…” Her body swayed like she might collapse beneath her heartache. Her voice sounded wet with tears as she whispered, “Why did you bring me here? This was cruel, Miss Fontaine. Utterly cruel.”
Her movements were becoming stiff as she marched back to the altar and crawled up onto it. Barely a pinch of sand remained in the top half of the glass timer as Julie stretched out long, adjusting her skirt primly around her before lying on her back, nearly a corpse once more.
“No—Julie,” Mallory said, pressing a hand into her arm. “Which Saphir? Which count? Was it Le Bleu? Tell me it was Le Bleu.”
