Page 129 of The Scarlet Veil

He delivers the words like an edict, like his perception of my well-being is truer than my own, and a tendril of flame licks up the ice in my chest. “He wasn’t asking you, Jean. He was askingme. And for the record, itisrude to speak about a person indirectly when they’re standing right in front of you.”

He gapes at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Do you even hear yourself? The CélieIknow would never agree with someone like—”

“Perhaps the Célie you know never existed. Have you ever considered that?” Instinctively, my hand clutches the cross around my neck until the edges bite sharp into my palm. Kindling that fire in my chest. “It can happen without us even realizing—we fall in love with an idea instead of a person. We give each other pieces of ourselves but never the whole thing, and without the whole thing, how can we ever truly know a person?”

And you’ll never know a world without sunlight, will you? Not our darling Célie.

She never truly knew me either.

“Célie, what are you—what are youtalkingabout?” This time, Jean Luc seizes my uninjured hand, squeezing it desperately for some kind of assurance. “Is this about the Chasseurs? Listen, if you no longer want to be a huntsman—huntswoman—you don’thave to be. I— Célie, I spoke with Father Achille last month, and he agreed that I can purchase a house outside Saint-Cécile without revoking my vows. We can moveawayfrom Chasseur Tower.” When my other hand falls away from the cross, he grasps it too, his eyes bright with emotion, or perhaps unshed tears. He steps even closer and lowers his voice. “I’ve already looked at a few—one right down the street from Lou and Reid, even. It has an orange tree in the back, and—and I wanted it to be a surprise for your birthday.” He lifts my hands to his lips, brushing a soft kiss against my knuckles. “I want to build ahomewith you.”

I stare at him for a long moment, striving to keep my composure. Then—

“What would you have me do there, Jean? Would I freshly squeeze those oranges every morning before you go to work? Teach our half-dozen children how to embroider and alphabetize the library? Is that what you want?”

He wrings my hands as if trying to shake the sense back into me. “I thought that’s whatyouwanted.”

“I don’tknowwhat I want!”

“Pick anything, then!” Tears definitely sparkle in his eyes now, and I hate the sight of them. I hate myself more. “Pick anything, and I’ll make it happen—”

“I don’twantyou to make it happen, Jean.” It takes every inch of my strength not to pull away now, not to flee and humiliate him in front of all these people. He doesn’t deserve that. He doesn’t deservethis, yet I don’t deserve it either. “Can’t you understand that? I want to make it happen for myself. Ineedto make it happen for myself—”

“Is that why you ran away with him?” Desperate again, his gazeplunges to my throat once more, and after another anguished second, he closes his eyes as if unable to bear the sight of it, exhaling raggedly. “Did you leave to punish me? To somehow—toproveyourself?”

The word sinks straight through my ribs and into my heart, too familiar and true to ignore. Jean Luc doesn’t know what he’s saying, of course. He doesn’tmeanto hurt me, but only moments ago, he spat the wordabductionlike a curse. “I didn’t run away,” I say through clenched teeth, “but now I wish I had.” His eyes snap open. “Look at all the meetings you held, the secrets you kept—can you honestly say you regret them? Would you do anything differently if you could?”

Though I pose the question to Jean Luc, my own answer rises swift and sure between us.

This is all my fault, yes, but I cannot bring myself to regret the choices I’ve made. They led me here. Without them, I never would’ve noticed this deep unease in my chest as I gaze upon Jean Luc, upon Reid, upon Frederic and my old brethren. I never would’ve heard this deafening silence.

I might not know exactly what I want, but I know it’s no longer here.

“Everything I did,” Jean Luc says at last, “was to protect you.”

Now I squeezehishands, trying to pour every last ounce of my love and respect into that touch. Because that’s what it is—our last.

“I’m sorry, Jean, but I don’t need you to protect me. I never needed you to protect me. I needed you to love me, to trust me, to comfort me, and to push me. I needed you to confide in me when you had a poor day and laugh with me when I had a good one. Ineeded you to wait for me to catch those lutins in Farmer Marc’s field, just as I needed you to break the rules andkissme when the chaperone looked away.” His face flushes again—he glances around quickly—but I’d be the filthiest sort of hypocrite to protect his feelings now. “I needed you to seek my counsel when you found the first body, even if you couldn’t ask for my help. I needed you to value my insight. I needed you to tease me and prod me and stroke my hair when I cried; I needed a hundred different things from you, Jean Luc, but your protection was never one of them.

“And now... now I don’t need anything from you at all. I’ve learned to survive on my own.” Swallowing hard, I force myself to say the rest, to acknowledge the truth of those words. “In the last two weeks, I’ve crossed the veil and danced with ghosts. I’ve drunk the blood of a vampire, and I’ve lived in the dark. I’m still here.” My voice grows louder at the affirmation, stronger. “I’m stillhere, and I’m so close to finding the killer now. He’s after me, Jean—he wantsme—and I know I can catch him with a little more time.”

Though I try to pull away, Jean Luc’s hands tighten around mine. “What do you mean by he wantsyou? What are you talking about?”

“Are you evenlisteningto me? Did you hear anything else I—”

“Of course I’m listening to you! That’s the problem—I’mlisteningto you, and you just said some lunatic who calls himself theNecromanceris after you!” He flings my hands away as if they’ve burned him. “Célie, you’ve been gone for less than two weeks, and you’ve somehow managed to capture the interest of a killer. Do you not see how unsafe that is? Do you notseehow badly you need to be around people who—”

“—lock me up in Chasseur Tower?” Despite my best efforts,hot and angry tears spring to my eyes. I can’t believe this. I can’t believehim. I thought—if I could just explain myself properly—he would understand, would perhaps even feel remorse, but clearly, Filippa isn’t the only person about whom I’ve been wildly mistaken.He’s hurt, I remind myself fiercely, clutching my elbows, but he isn’t the only one. Taking another step backward, I add, “Tell me to be a good little huntswoman and wait in my room while the men handle things?”

His eyes flash dangerously, and he straightens his shoulders with the air of a man steeling himself to do something unpleasant. “Enough, Célie. You’re coming back to Chasseur Tower with me whether you like it or not, and we can finish this conversation in private.” His gaze darts from Reid to Frederic to the watching crowd before settling on Michal at last. “Don’t make this uglier than it needs to be,” he warns him.

Michal no longer sounds cool and impassive. “Oh, you’ve already done that.”

“I’m not goinganywherewith you,” I snarl.

“Yes, you are.” Jean Luc lunges for my arm, and I react without thinking—react faster than even the vampires behind me—darting sideways and snatching the Balisarda from his belt as he missteps to avoid charging into Michal instead. The rest happens as if in slow motion. His foot bends, sliding a little on the cobblestones, and he overcorrects, whirling to face me and losing his balance in the process.

With a degradingthud, he hits the ground at my feet, and snickers break out around the harbor. One person even applauds.

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