I felt my mouth drop open. No one in the room spoke a word, such was our collective astonishment. Genevieve, retire?

“Years ago,” she continued, reveling in our shock, “I made the decision to put my career ahead of my family. I know you all, as artists, can understand why I made the decision, and it has been a rare moment I’ve had cause to regret it.”

Her words stung, undoing all the goodwill from the night prior I’d barely realized had built up. I remembered all too clearly the number of times I’d sat waiting for her on the lane leading toward our farm on the day of a promised visit. A visit that only rarely materialized.

Before I’d moved to Trianon, I’d always made excuses for her, imagining her reluctantly prioritizing her performances – when in her heart, she really wanted to be visiting me. I knew better, but even so, her ability to manipulate my emotions never seemed to diminish. Fred was right: I was an idiot. My cup hit the saucer with a sharp click, and she glanced my direction.

“But,” she said, her eyes not moving from me, “I feel that I have reached the peak of my career. I have sung all the great roles and performed for all the most powerful and influential people on the Isle. There is nothing more I can achieve onstage, and I would rather retire now than witness my own decline.”

“You can’t!”

Everyone in the room jumped and turned to look at Julian, who was on his feet, face drained of color. “You can’t leave!”

My mother’s brow creased. “I won’t be leaving, darling. I will merely be stepping off the stage so that I can focus on Cécile’s career. It is time for her portrait to be hung on these walls.”

Julian rounded on me, his expression filled with venom. “This is your fault. Your coming to Trianon ruined everything. I wish you had died in Courville.”

I flinched, half expecting him to attack me, but instead he stormed out of the room.

“Julian, darling! Wait.” My mother scampered to her feet and ran after him.

Everyone turned to look at me. “I didn’t know,” I said, holding up my hands. “I am as shocked as the rest of you.”

Half a dozen conversations ensued, everyone interrupting each other as they speculated about whether Julian would forgive my mother, why she’d really decided to retire, and what the Regent’s masque would be like. I said nothing, only stared down at the papers in my hand. My head began to steadily pound as though I were being punished for my momentary distraction, the pain making the words on the page blur. The ache beat in a rhythm that seemed to repeat the words “find her” over and over again. Climbing to my feet, I hurried out into the corridor, then around the corner until I stood in the stage wings.

From the pocket of my dress, I withdrew the grimoire, the feel of its repulsive cover somehow soothing my head. Opening the clasp, I flipped through the spells. Despite its current unhelpfulness, it felt good to have it back in my possession once more. Glancing around to make sure I was alone, I focused my attention on Tristan. He seemed so far away, the knot of emotion I associated with him small compared to how it had felt when I was in Trollus, but I could still sense his pain and anger.

Anger at you.

“You all right?”

I turned to see Sabine.

“Your dream is coming true. Lead soprano for the most famous opera house on the Isle.” Her smile was half-hearted. “Or at least, what used to be your dream.”

It still was, and that was what made it so hard, because I had to willfully push it aside. It was a dream that needed to remain that way. “It’s a demanding position. I don’t have time for it, and the last thing I need is my mother turning her full attention on me.” But declining wasn’t an option. She had a plan in her mind, and if I disrupted it, she’d send me back to the Hollow in an instant. She’d rather see her plans destroyed than ever consider a compromise.

Sabine hesitated, then held out a glass of what looked like brandy. “You look like you need this. For fortitude.”

“Thanks.” I accepted the glass, although the thought of drinking it turned my stomach.

“Your mother’s given me a list of tasks that I need to get started on,” she said. “But maybe we can meet after and you can tell me what happened.”

“I’ll come find you,” I said. But instead of leaving, she stood watching me, a faint look of expectation on her face. “You should get to work on your list,” I said. “Julian’s reaction will have put her in a foul mood.”

“Right.” She hesitated for a heartbeat longer, and then left me alone. Pressing my forehead against the coolness of the wall, I took a deep breath. Would nothing ever go right for me again? Problem after cursed problem seemed to stack up every which way I turned, and I had no solution to any of them. I didn’t even know where to begin looking for solutions.

And then I got handed something I actually wanted – a chance I’d longed for most of my life – and I couldn’t even bear to be happy about it. What did it matter if I were a star soprano when the man I loved was being tortured at the hands of his father. When I’d locked myself into a binding promise to find a five century-old witch with a grudge. When my brother was threatening to find a way to starve my friends caught in Trollus…

Part of me had felt a thrill of excitement when my mother had made her announcement, because singing is what I’d always wanted to do. I loved it so, so, so much. But how dare I even consider such a life when so much of what mattered to me was in danger?