Page 127 of The Shadow Bride

“All replaced, even the first editions.”

“Deal.” Mathilde cackles then, enormously satisfied with herself. “There are only three copies ofThe Wizard of Waterdeep’s Staffin the world—two now—so good luck with that.”

“You’ve readThe Wizard of Waterdeep’s Staff?” Lou asks incredulously, pushing up on her elbows to stare at Mathilde. Already, she looks much too pale, much too sick to do what must be done. We have no other choice, however; I can only hope her magic will be enough.

“This explains so much,” Reid mutters.

“Yes, well”—Odessa waves an impatient hand before turning to me—“this is all very good, but what are we actually going todo? You said you have a plan.”

“I had athought,” I say, glancing back at Michal, “at the ruins.” When his eyes darken at the memory, I blush slightly, and—despite our less than cheerful circumstances—Lou’s and Dimitri’s faces split into identical smirks. I ignore them both. “What if we... pretend to bring Mila back?”

Michal understands immediately. “Another resurrection,” he says at once, and through the bond, a tendril of his hope unfurls—small and tentative, butthere. My own responds in kind, twining around his and holding it close, strengthening it.

“To bring down the veil—or at least to further damage it.” I nod between him and Odessa, who looks skeptical. Truthfully, I cannot blame her. There are still so many variables, so manythings that could go wrong. “If we can create a second maelstrom with magic—afakemaelstrom—we might be able to trick Death into believing Mila’s resurrection caused it, just like Filippa’s did on All Hallows’ Eve. He’ll think the veil is coming down, and he’ll come to investigate.”

“As if he’d ever believe it,” Mathilde sniffs.

“That’s where you come in. What if you create ashock wavethrough the veil? One powerful enough to bring Death snooping?”

“Even if Icoulddo such a thing, I wouldn’t be able to maintain such an illusion for long. A few minutes at most.”

“Just to clarify,” Jean Luc says incredulously, “your plan is to fake a resurrection and just—hopeDeath appears?” He glances between us as if waiting for the punch line to the world’s most ridiculous joke. “To what end? So he can kill the spares?” He jerks his chin between himself and Brigitte, my mother. “I’m reasonably certain he doesn’t need to keep the rest of us alive.”

“It’ll be a risk,” Lou says. “All of it. Especially with magic behaving like it has been. Even now, I feel—weak, being this close to the maelstrom.” She flicks Mathilde a probing glance. “I assume you do too, which is why you haven’t agreed.”

Mathilde swells indignantly. “Do you think I’m so easily manipulated? True power speaks for itself. The learned witch needn’t exhibit her magic to prove herself—usually, that is.” She plants her hands on her hips, an eager smile twisting her lips. “In this case, she must do both, apparently, in order to teach half-witted grandchildren their place.” Turning back to me, she says, “Fine, I will create this shock wave, and then I will leave. Do you understand? I plan to be halfway to Zvezdya when this hell breaks loose—and itwill. This is not Frederic you’re dealing with. It isn’teven your ghastly sister. This isDeath, and he will not appreciate such buffoonery.”

Odessa shakes her head. “And even if Deathdoesfall for the shock wave, how are we going to incapacitate him? In case you’ve forgotten,” she says to Michal, “he tookyoudown within a matter of moments.”

Jean Luc chuckles at that, but he stops abruptly at the sharp smile spreading across Michal’s face. “A bathtub fell on me, Odessa.”

“And that isn’t quite the boast you think it is,” Dimitri says. “Can we just...pushDeath into the real maelstrom, and send him back where he came from?” He blinks then before turning to me. “Is that where it goes, do you think? To the realm of the dead?”

“Of course it does. Itisthe door through which he came.” Odessa heaves an exasperated sigh, turning on her heel to pace now. Nearly cracking the stone underfoot. “So—in this hypothetical dreamland in which we are all currently living—let’s say wedomanage to lure Death here. More improbable still, let us say we also manage to shove him into the maelstrom and through the veil. What then? The door still does not close without Filippa.”

“We said we would find another way,” Michal says curtly.

“There is no other way. It’s always been her.” To everyone’s surprise, the words come not from Odessa but from me—and they’re true. They’ve been true since the moment my heart ceased to beat, since Filippa used my blood and Frederic’s magic to claw her way from the grave; they’ve been true since Death slipped through with her, since we tore the veil wide open—the four of us—and created that monstrosity in the sea. Even now, it beckonsto me, but I resist, staring intently from one face to another before turning deliberately to my mother.

She rises from her chair slowly as our eyes catch and hold, and I close the distance between us, lowering my voice. “I wanted to save her, Maman. You must believe me. I wanted to—to change her back somehow, to love her enough that she’dwantto change too, but Death has twisted her up inside. You saw her at the cottage. Filippa is not the same woman we knew, perhaps neverwasthat woman, and Death... he made her worse. He slaughtered Frederic and preyed on her fears, her loneliness, and I”—pressure builds behind my eyes now, undeserved andwretched—“I think Filippa has felt alone for a very long time.”

My mother says nothing when I take her hands. “Worse still, Death has convinced her that he is her only path to happiness, to her daughter. To herfuture.” I swallow the lump of emotion in my throat; I have not earned it. I am sentencing my sister to death. “She will not forsake him, Maman.”

When my mother simply stares, I bring her hands to my chest, willing her to forgive me. To feel that place where my heart used to beat—where sometimes, I think it still does. How else could it be bleeding like this? “Please say something,” I whisper.

A shadow shifts in her eyes at that, and it terrifies me.

It reminds me of the woman trapped inside her bed, trapped inside herhead, who could not escape even for her daughters. After another long moment, she draws her hands away. “I cannot give you my blessing,” she says quietly, “no matter how badly you wish it. I cannot condemn either of you to such a fate.”

Without another word, she turns away from me, vanishing through the curtain.

Leaving me to stare after her with this terrible ringing in my ears.

“I—” Choking down the word, I glance back at Michal, but it is Jean Luc who steps in front of me when I finally move to follow her. He touches my elbow with light fingers. I do not find pity in his gaze, however, or even the disgust so often present when he looks at me now. Instead it fills with understanding. With sadness.

And with it, I know we will never mend the rift between us. Not properly. Even with his forgiveness, we will never be like we were before he fell in love with me and I fell out of love with him. And—perhaps that is for the best.

Perhaps some hurts run too deeply to ever forget.

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