Page 4 of The Scarlet Veil

“No, wait!” I fling myself between him and the caged lutin. “Wait!He didn’t hurt me! He meant no harm!”

“Célie,” Jean Luc warns, his voice low and frustrated, “he could be rabid—”

“Fredericis rabid. Go wave your knife at him.” To the lutin, I smile kindly. “I beg your pardon, sir. What did you say?”

“He didn’tsayanything—”

I shush Jean Luc as the lutin beckons me closer, extending his hand through the bars. It takes several seconds for me to realize he wants to touch me again. “Oh.” I swallow hard, not quite relishing the idea. “You—yes, well—”

Jean Luc grips my elbow. “Please tell me you aren’t going to touch it. You have no idea where it’sbeen.”

The lutin gestures more impatiently now, and—before I can change my mind—I stretch out my free hand, brushing his fingertips. His skin there feels rough. Dirty. Like an unearthed root.My name, he repeats in an otherworldly trill.Larmes Comme Étoiles.

My mouth falls open. “Tears Like Stars?”

With a swift nod, he withdraws his hand to clutch his wine once more, glaring daggers at Jean Luc, who scoffs and tugs me backward. Near light-headed with giddiness, I twirl into his arms. “Did you hear him?” I ask breathlessly. “He said his name means—”

“They don’t have names.” His arms tighten around me, and he bends to look directly in my eyes. “Lutins don’t speak, Célie.”

My gaze narrows. “Do you think I’m a liar, then?”

Sighing again—alwayssighing—he sweeps a kiss across mybrow, and I soften slightly. He smells like starch and leather, the linseed oil he uses to polish his Balisarda. Familiar scents. Comforting ones. “I think you have a tender heart,” he says, and I know he means it as a compliment. Itshouldbe a compliment. “I think your cages are brilliant, and I think lutins love elderberries.” He pulls back with a smile. “I also think we should go. It’s getting late.”

“Go?” I blink in confusion, leaning around him to peer up the hill. His biceps tense a little beneath my palms. “But what about the others? The books said a burrow can hold up to twenty lutins. Surely Farmer Marc wants us to take them all.” My frown deepens as I realize my brethren’s voices have long faded. Indeed, beyond the hill, the entire farm has fallen still and silent, except for a lone rooster’s crow. “Where”—something hot like shame cracks open in my belly—“where is everyone, Jean?”

He won’t look at me. “I sent them ahead.”

“Aheadwhere?”

“To La Fôret des Yeux.” He clears his throat and steps backward, sheathing his Balisarda before smiling anew and bending to pick up my cage. After another second, he offers me his free hand. “Are you ready?”

I stare at it as a sickening realization dawns. He would have sent them ahead for only one reason. “They’ve... already trapped the other lutins, haven’t they?” When he doesn’t answer, I glance up at his face. He gazes back at me carefully,warily, as if I’m splintered glass, one touch away from shattering. And perhaps I am. I can no longer count the spider web cracks in my surface, can no longerknowwhich crack will break me. Perhaps it’ll be this one.

“Jean?” I repeat, insistent.

Another heavy sigh. “Yes,” he admits at last. “They’ve already trapped them.”

“How?”

Shaking his head, he lifts his hand more determinedly. “It doesn’t matter. Your cages were a brilliant idea, and experience will come with time—”

“That isn’t an answer.” My entire body trembles now, but I cannot stop it. My vision narrows on the cleanly bronze skin of his hand, the brilliant sheen of his close-cropped dark hair. He looks perfectly composed—albeit uncomfortable—while my own strands stick to my neck in disarray and sweat trails down my back. Beneath the mud, my cheeks flush with exertion. With humiliation. “How did they trap an entireburrowof lutins in—” Another horrible thought dawns. “Wait, how long did it take them?” My voice rises in accusation, and I point a finger at his nose. “How long have you been waiting for me?”

Tears Like Stars manages to uncork the bottle, downing half the wine in one swallow. He stumbles as Jean Luc gently returns his cage to the ground. “Célie,” Jean Luc says, his voice placating. “Don’t do this to yourself. Your cageworked, and this one—this one even told you his name. That hasn’t ever happened before.”

“I thought lutins didn’t have names,” I snap. “And do not condescend to me. How did Frederic and the others trap the lutins? They’re too fast to catch by hand, and—and—” At Jean Luc’s resigned expression, my face falls. “And theydidcatch them by hand. Oh God.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, each breath coming faster, sharper. My chest tightens to the point of pain. “I—I should’ve helped them, but these traps—” The golden paint leersat me now, tawdry and gauche. “I wasted everyone’s time.”

You are a lady, after all.

“No.” Jean Luc shakes his head fiercely, gripping my filthy hands. “You tried something new, and it worked.”

Pressure builds behind my eyes at the lie. All I’ve done for the last six months is try—try and try andtry. I lift my chin, sniffing miserably while forcing a smile. “You’re right, of course, but we shouldn’t leave just yet. There could still be more out there. Perhaps Frederic missed a few—”

“This is the last of them.”

“How can youpossiblyknow if this is the last—?” I close my eyes as my mind finally catches up. When I speak again, my voice is quiet. Defeated. “Did you send him to me?” He does not answer, and his silence damns us both. My eyes fly open, and I seize his royal-blue coat, shaking it. Shakinghim. “Did you catch him first, only to—to sneak over here and release him?”

“Don’t be ridiculous—”

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