“Here and there.” She had never cared where I was before, other than to suggest I spend more time entertaining subscribers after performances.
“Here and there,” she parroted my words back, and I knew I was in trouble. “Perhaps I need to be more specific, Cécile. Why were you in Pigalle?”
I gaped at her, my mind scrambling for a lie even as it raced for a possible explanation of how she knew.
“Don’t bother trying to squirm your way out of it, my dear,” she snapped. “Your brother was here, which would have been a shock in and of itself, but he insisted on giving me an earful about letting you run wild through the slums. What could possibly even interest you in that trash heap they call a quarter?”
I had no good answer. There was nothing in Pigalle that should appeal to a girl like the one I was supposed to be. But if I didn’t give her an answer, she’d go hunting for one, and the absolute last thing I needed was Fred telling her the whole truth because he was angry with me. “I…”
“You…?” Her cheeks were flushed with alcohol and anger. Why, tonight of all nights, did she have to start taking an interest in where I spent my time?
“I was getting my fortune told.” The words came out in a tangled rush. “Some of the girls were talking about it, and I wanted to see what my future held.”
She straightened, her head tilting slightly as though considering whether I might possibly be so foolish as to lie. “No one can see the future.”
“I know,” I blurted out, getting to my feet because I couldn’t sit still. “It was all nonsense. I’m sorry I went. It won’t happen again.” I wanted to go upstairs to my room, to hide and let this day be over, but she stepped into my path.
“These next few weeks are going to be very important for you, you know.”
Important, yes, but not in the ways she imagined.
“I need you to understand that I’m setting you up so that you will have a grand future.” Her eyes delved deeply into mine, but I wasn’t sure what they were looking for. “I need you to be ready to take over my role, my place, my position.”
“You’re being dramatic.” Did she really mean to retire? “It isn’t as though you are dying.”
Something flicked across her gaze, but was gone again in an instant. “Of course not. But the young inherit. That is how it has always been, and it is how it will always be. I need…” She broke off, then huffed out a breath of air. “I need you to go to your room. And every night you aren’t performing, I expect you to be back in this house before dark. Am I clear, or must I go over the terms of your continued presence in Trianon once again?”
“Perfectly clear.” Agreeing with her was easier than arguing. She was never at home at night anyway, so it would be easy to sneak out when and if I needed to. Twisting past her, I trotted toward the stairs.
“You’ll be accompanying Julian and me to the castle in the morning to meet with Lady Marie and the rest of the ladies who will be performing in the masque. I want you dressed in your finest and on your best behavior.”
“But…” I’d had every intention of going back to Pigalle in the morning to speak with La Voisin.
“No buts.” Her voice was sharp. “You will do as I say, or you will find yourself back on the farm.”
Gooseflesh prickled across my skin, and the idea of disobeying her abruptly felt like an especially bad idea. She did not make idle threats. “I’ll be ready.”
The chill didn’t abandon me until I was up in my room, ensconced in front of the fire and a thick blanket wrapped around my shoulders. I stared into the flames, trying to put my thoughts in order.
The moment felt surreal, which was strange, given that sitting on the floor of my bedroom wrapped up in my own thoughts was the most normal thing I’d done in recent days. I’d ridden out into the dark of night with a stranger. Made a bargain with the king of the trolls. Tracked down a witch in the most dangerous quarter of Trianon. Confronted the city guard. In all of those moments, I’d felt so present and alive, but now, sitting alone in front of the fire, I barely felt like myself.
Maybe because I wasn’t. Maybe because I’d changed.
Covering my eyes with my hands, I mumbled, “I don’t know who I am anymore.”
“You are Cécile de Troyes, star of the opera stage and Trianon’s new favorite ingénue.”
Every muscle in my body jerked at the sarcastic voice. It was one thing talking to myself, quite another to have myself answer back. Spreading my fingers ever so slightly, I peered through the narrow cracks between them. Eyes stared out at me from the flames.
Squeaking, I fell backwards, tangling in my blanket.
“Oh, stop that.”
The voice was familiar. Cautiously, I crawled on hands and knees back toward the fire, my body tense and ready to bound away again at the slightest hint of a threat. “La Voisin? Is that you?”