Page 69 of Fire to the Stars

“Don’t feel bad for me. Life as a fugitive isn’t sustainable,” Gérard says, and sighs. “I’m almost out of coin anyway.”

“All right,” I concede.

Even if Madame Afi weren’t tied to this, I’d yield all the same.

Unlike me, Gérard doesn’t evenconsiderstealing to survive. He is the better person between us. If he wants to accept Abel’s deal, that’s one thing I won’t steal: his opportunity to take it first.

“Just one question,” he adds. “If he’s going to slay me, who will slay you?”

“I have a plan,” I hear myself say, still watching Abel. Kind, earnest Abel. A man who won’t celebrate when he skins my scaly corpse. “It won’t interfere with yours.”

Gérard lifts his empty glass. “To your plan.”

A sister has fallen at Le Miroir d’Ivoire. Please take care of her.

—Anonymous dove message to unknown Dames Blanches leadership

Chapter Twenty-Three

Claire

Abel waits in the glow of the lamp outside. Mild relief settles across his handsome features when he sees me. I pull my hood over my head to hide my scar from passersby. The fur lining wards off the night’s biting chill.

“Was everything all right?” he asks.

“He wanted to know if you were trustworthy.” A white lie can’t hurt. “I told him you were.”

“That’s an odd thing to ask a slayer’s assistant.”

“It’s different when it comes from a woman. You know how these things go.” I wave him off. “Is Monsieur Abel jealous?”

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. He rests a guiding hand on the small of my back and starts down the road. My cheeks heat and I look away.

Thisis my plan. Not a con, not self-torture, but a peaceful wait. It doesn’t need to be anything more. As long as I have Abel—thisAbel—I can enjoy life for one more month, knowingI will atone for my sins when the time is right. I’m back on a moral path Papa would be proud of, helping Madame Afi.

When Abel’s hand disappears into his coat pocket, the warmth of his touch cools. A familiar pang lodges in my heart, beneath my scar. I rub at it, but it doesn’t fully fade.

“Abel,” I say.

He halts a step after I do and turns toward me. The lamplit road casts his face in shadow, and without Lucy or the dragon skull to give him away, he doesn’t stand out among the handful of late-night wanderers. To anyone’s eye he’s a normal man in upscale attire on his way back to his town home, not a slayer burdened with murder.

“Is something wrong?” he asks.

“There’s something you need to know.”

Anne-Sophie would admonish me for trusting anyone with my secrets.

“I…” I bite my lip. “I used to be a member of the Dames Blanches.”

Surprise lifts his eyebrow, though it’s mild. “Well, you had to have learned your methods somewhere. Why bring this upnow?”

That’s the wrong secret. The wrong truth. The truth of my dragon identity sticks in my throat. I need to confess, but I feel so safe with him—so at peace—and I don’t want to ruin it.

“Some of my sisters were more…intense with their thievery. The brazen ones held people for ransom,” I offer instead. “So I know a thing or two about hostage schemes. But I can’t make countermeasure recommendations to the Gendarmerie without drawing scrutiny.”

“I can,” he says eagerly. “What do you recommend?”

“No criminal makes a move as big as the assassins did in Ravinfort without desperation involved. You need to give them what they want, or they’ll only escalate.”