Gods & Monsters (Serpent & Dove #3) by Shelby Mahurin

Nicholina sneered. “You won’t let us burn.”

“We might not be able to save you.”

Nicholina glowered now but said nothing. Though I reached for her rope once more, Coco shook her head and started forward. “She stays with me,” she said over her shoulder. “You can’t bring yourself to kick her ass, but I can. It’s what Lou would want.”

Anchois boasted three dirt-packed streets. One of these led to the dock, where dozens of fishing boats bobbed along black water. One housed the villagers’ ramshackle dwellings. Carts and fish stands littered the market of the third. Though the sun had fully set, firelight danced on merchants’ faces as they hawked wares. Shoppers slipped arm in arm between them, calling to friends. To family. Some clutched brown paper packages. Others wore seashell necklaces. Bits of agate sparkled in the hair of impish children. Gnarled fishermen gathered at the beach to sip ale in groups of twos and threes. Grousing about their wives. Their grandchildren. Their knees.

Coco peered down the market street, trying to see through the gaps in the crowd. She’d tied one of Nicholina’s hands to hers. The sleeves of their cloaks hid all blisters. All blood. “We should split up. We’ll cover more ground that way.”

I tugged Célie away from a cart of scrying stones. “Fine. You two go to the dock, ask if anyone has heard of black pearls in the area. We’ll search the market.”

A gleam of wonder entered Célie’s eyes as she watched a young man pull a roughly hewn flute from his pocket to serenade another. Some maidens nearby giggled. One even stepped apart from the rest, brave enough to dance. Célie nodded eagerly. “Yes. Let us do that.”

Coco eyed us, skeptical. “Is this what you’ve been doing, Célie?”

Beau scoffed and shook his head. Mutinous.

I gripped Célie’s elbow with pointed assurance. “If they’re here, we’ll find them.”

Though Coco still seemed doubtful, she relented with a nod, fidgeting with the locket at her throat. Readjusting her hood. “Fine. But you’d better search the market, not stroll down memory lane.” She jabbed a finger at my nose. “And be in plain sight when we get back. I want to see hands.” Jerking her chin toward Beau and Nicholina, she left Célie and me standing alone in humiliated silence.

Heat pricked my ears. Her cheeks burned tomato red.

“Thanks, Cosette,” I muttered bitterly. Forcing my jaw to unclench, I took a deep breath, adjusted my own cavalier, and guided Célie into the street. When the merchant rattled his scrying stones in our direction—he’d carved them from fish bones—I kept walking. “Don’t listen to her. She’s . . . going through a lot.”

Célie refused to meet my gaze. “I don’t think she likes me.”

“She doesn’t like anyone but Lou.”

“Ah.” For a split second, resentment flashed across her doll-like features. But then she smoothed her face into a polite smile, squaring her shoulders. Straightening her spine. Always the lady. “Perhaps you’re right.” Her smile turned genuine as she spotted a shabby confiserie. “Reid, look!” She pointed to the tins of almond candy in the window. Calisson. “It’s your favorite! We simply must purchase some.” With a pat to her leather satchel—I’d slung it over my shoulder, where it jostled against my own—she tried to steer me toward the confiserie’s pink door.

I didn’t move. “We’re here for black pearls. Not candy.”

Still she tugged on my wrists. “It’ll take two minutes—”

“No, Célie.”

As if Coco’s reprimand had struck the ground between us like a bolt of lightning, she dropped my hands. Pink returned to her cheeks. “Very well. Lead the way.”

We made it all of two minutes before she stopped again. Anger forgotten, she peered ahead at a group of men huddled around a barrel. Eyes wide and childlike, curious, she asked, “What are they doing?”

I glanced over their shoulders as we passed. A handful of dirty bronze couronnes littered the top of the barrel. A pair of wooden dice. “Gambling.”

“Oh.” She craned her neck to see too. When one of the men winked at her, motioning her closer, I rolled my eyes. Some disguise. She tapped her satchel again, oblivious. “I should like to try gambling, I think. Please hand over my bag.”

I snorted and kept walking. “Absolutely not.”

She made an indignant noise at the back of her throat. “I beg your pardon?”

Though I’d barely met Violette and Victoire, I imagined this was how an elder brother felt. Exasperated. Impatient. Fond.

“Reid.”

I ignored her.

“Reid.” She actually stamped her foot now. When I still didn’t turn, didn’t acknowledge her inane request, she seemed to snap, tearing after me and latching on to the bag with both hands. Hissing like a cat. Her nails even scored the leather. “You will release my bag this instant. This is—you—this is my bag. You cannot control it, and you cannot control me. If I wish to gamble, I shall gamble, and you shall—” Finally, I swung around, and she swung with me. My hand shot out to steady her when she stumbled backward. She swiped it away with an unladylike snarl. “Give me my bag.”