chapter 28

A sharp sting burned at the base of my neck, but all did not go black, as I had expected. For a long moment, I was certain that my severed head had decided to live on for a few extra torturous seconds; but it soon became clear that my neck was still in one piece. I could feel the razor sharp edge of the guillotine cutting into my flesh and the hot trickle of blood running down my shoulder. Something had stopped the blade just in time.

“What is the meaning of this?” the King shouted.

“Her hand, look at her hand. The darkness is fading.” It was Marc’s voice shouting and I smiled, already knowing in my heart what had happened. He, along with several others, approached the dais to inspect my fingers.

“He’s alive,” I whispered, looking up at Marc. No one seemed inclined to move the blade and I was afraid if I moved much against the edge that I would do myself in.

Marc gave a half-nod. “Someone run to the palace. We need to be certain.” He hesitated and then added, “Before we finish this.”

“You’ll be lucky if I don’t take your head off for this interruption, Marc,” the King shouted, but there was relief in his voice.

Marc turned. “If Tristan is still clinging to life, killing her will surely push him over the edge. He won’t survive the shock.”

“Wait, wait!” This time it was a woman’s voice calling from a distance. “He’s alive. Tristan’s alive.” The Queen’s voice. The crowd parted, and she ran towards me with surprising speed, skirts pulled up to her knees. The blade rose, and a hand grabbed the back of my dress, pulling me down the steps and out of harm’s way.

“Tristan’s alive, and you will leave that girl alone if you know what’s good for you, Thibault.” The tiny Duchesse was speaking now and shaking her tiny fist at the King. “Leave her be!”

“Why should I?” the King said, his voice like ice.

“Kill her and you doom us all.”

The crowd slowly grew silent as her words passed in a wave through their ranks.

“Kill her, and you lose the chance of ever seeing the light of day. Of ever regaining Trollus’s previous glory.”

The King grew still. The crowd fell silent.

“So be it,” he said. “She lives.” His eyes met mine, and he softly added, “For now.”

A servant ran up. “Prince Tristan is asking for the lady Cécile.”

“Then it is a good thing her head is still attached,” the Duchesse muttered. “Come with me, girl.”

I nodded and stayed close to her arm as we walked back towards the palace, though it took every ounce of self-control to keep from running to Tristan. It would certainly have been easier if I’d hurried, because our stately pace only gave me time to think; and with thinking came doubt. What if I had imagined it all? Not the sluag and Tristan nearly dying – I knew I wasn’t delusional – but what about the emotions I’d felt from him in the moments before the sluag attacked? Had he really felt as strongly as I remembered, or were my feelings and desires coloring my memory?

I could feel his anger. What if that was the reason he’d asked for me? Not to profess his love as I might wish, but to tell me that he hated me for what I’d done and that he wanted me gone? Exiled from Trollus and his side forever.

We turned down the corridor leading to Tristan’s rooms and, ahead of us, the door flung open. Anaïs stalked out of the room and slammed it shut. Turning up the corridor, she froze when she saw the three of us blocking her way. I noted her streaked cosmetics and the handkerchief clutched in her hand, but all of that was quite secondary to the fury written across her face. There was murder in those kohl-rimmed eyes, and I was certain that if I’d encountered her alone, she’d have killed me where I stood.

She dropped into a deep curtsey. “Your Graces. My lady.”

“Anaïs.” The Queen inclined her head.

“You’ll be pleased to know that His Highness is recovering quite remarkably.” Anaïs straightened, and I had to give her credit for regaining her composure so quickly. “By your leave.” She hesitated only a moment and then spun around and strode off in the opposite direction.

“Wonderful news!” the Queen exclaimed, blissfully ignorant of the tension between Anaïs and me. It wasn’t lost on the Duchesse, though she said nothing.

The three of us hurried into Tristan’s room, where he lay in the center of his bed, propped up on a pile of cushions. The frown furrowing his brow disappeared at the sight of us. His eyes locked on me and I felt relief course through him and me both. He wasn’t angry with me.

“Did they harm you?” He tried to push himself up on the pillows, but his mother scurried over and pushed him back down. “You must rest, Tristan.” She set to fluffing the pillows and tucking the blankets tightly around him like a swaddled baby.

He seemed annoyed at being fussed over, but he smiled at her anyway. “Thank you, Mother.”

Then he looked at me, taking in my severe hairstyle, the black dress, and, I realized far too late, the blood that dripped from the cut on the back of my neck. I should have cleaned it up before coming. “I’m quite well,” I assured him. “Fit as a fiddle.”

One of his eyebrows rose. “You are not suited to deception, my lady.”

The light Tristan had left with me when he thought he was dying chose that moment to zip over to the bed, flying in dizzying circles around its patient twin hovering over Tristan’s head. The result was a riot of light and shadows that caught everyone’s attention.

“It stayed with you this whole time? It should have dissipated hours ago,” Tristan said, clearly amazed. In truth, I hadn’t even noticed.

“It isn’t possible for a human to control troll magic,” the Duchesse said, tapping her chin with her index finger and watching the lights reflected in the mirror on the wall.

“Oh, I don’t control it,” I said. “It’s here because it wants to be.”

“Wants to be! Bah!” She made a dismissive gesture with her hand.

Tristan didn’t seem to be paying any attention to us. “Stop that!” he said firmly to my light. It ignored him and continued to fly madly around the room like a disobedient child. “You there,” he said, pointing at it. “Come here.” With obvious reluctance, the light slowly drifted over and landed on his outstretched hand. “It’s a bit of my magic,” he said. “But there’s something changed about it.” He stared into the depths of the light. “It seems content to maintain its purpose.”

“What purpose?” I asked, confused.

“To light your path.” The glowing ball lifted off his hand and floated over to me.

The Duchesse had a look of satisfaction on her face, but she made no comment.

Tristan cleared his throat. “I’d like to speak to Cécile. Alone.”

After the Queen left, I walked over to stand next to the bed. My fingers played nervously with the blanket, while Tristan silently scrutinized my appearance.

“Never a dull moment since you arrived in my life.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I never meant for this to happen.”

His hand closed over mine, our fingers interlocking. His skin was warm again, burning with the internal flame of magic. “It wasn’t your fault. No matter what Marc said to you, it wasn’t your fault.”

I raised my head. “How do you know what he said? You were unconscious.”

“No. I wasn’t.” He stared up at the ceiling, his thumb tracing circles over the back of my hand. “I couldn’t move, couldn’t open my eyes or speak, but I could hear. And I could feel.”

“Not entirely.” His mouth quirked up into a half-smile.

“Oh.” I flushed down to the tips of my toes. “Oh, dear.”

“And my repertoire of foul language is much increased.”

I clapped my hand over my eyes, embarrassed to the core. Then realization dawned on me. “Then you know…”

He nodded gravely. “That you used magic to heal me.”

“And failed,” I said, trying to keep the bitterness out of my voice.

Tristan held his arm up to the light, revealing scars that looked years old. “You didn’t fail.” His eyes searched mine. “I’d suspected for some time that you might have magic in your blood. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t know,” I whispered. “That was the first time I tried, and I couldn’t even get her spells right. The poison didn’t leave.”

I swallowed hard. Letting go of his hand, I retrieved the grimoire from its hiding place and handed it to him. It was clear from his expression that he recognized it. “You can open this?”

“Does it tell you anything about breaking the curse?”

“No, but there are spells to use on trolls,” I admitted, watching as he relaxed fractionally at my answer.

Tristan nodded and handed the grimoire back to me. “Keep it hidden,” he said. “No one must know about this.”

I stored the book back in its spot in the garderobe, and came back over to the bed. I felt nervous. Would knowing I was a witch change the way Tristan felt about me? I could hardly blame him if it did, given what Anushka had done to them. “Are you angry?” I asked softly.

He shook his head. “You saved my life, Cécile. Not many people would have had the courage to do what you did.” He sighed. “They brought me back to Trollus. I could hear them talking about what my father intended to do to you – they were acting as if I were already dead, even though they knew I wasn’t. And there wasn’t anything I could do about it. I could barely breathe and then…” He broke off, his eyes growing distant as though he were trying to remember something. “And then the venom’s power over me lifted. It was a close thing.” His gaze rested on my throat. “Too close.”

I felt magic brush across my cheek and hairpins fell to the ground all around me. Magic teased my hair out of its knot and it cascaded down my back, still damp from my bath.

“You left a part out,” I said, my voice shaking. “The part where you died.”

Tristan’s eyes closed. “I’m fine now.”

“Now,” I said, my whole body shaking. “But not before! I felt you die. It felt like my heart had been torn from my body. It felt like…” I struggled to keep calm. “You were gone,” I said, misery filling me.

“But I’m fine now,” he said, voice firm. He pulled on my hand, and I willingly clambered onto the huge bed and tucked myself into the crook of his arm, head on his chest. The spot I had wanted to be in for so long: I could scarcely believe I was there now, with Tristan, in his arms.

“How did you come back to life? How is such a thing possible?”

He was quiet for so long, at first I thought he’d fallen asleep. “Someone with a great deal of power did me a favor,” he said finally. “I owe her a very great debt.”

I started to ask him who, but an icy wind smelling of frost blew through the room. A woman’s voice whispered, “It is not for her to know. We have a bargain, you and I, Prince of the Accursed Ones.”

My head went fuzzy, and I pulled a blanket up around us, pressing closer against Tristan to ward off the icy chill. What was it I had been thinking about? I couldn’t remember.

Tristan gently stroked my back, and I listened to his heart beating strongly beneath my ear. But I couldn’t relax. The King and most of the trolls hated me – the half-bloods most of all. I had jeopardized all of Tristan’s plans and put lives at risk. I was supposed to be the key to the freedom of Trollus, but I was completely in the dark about what I was supposed to do. And to top it all off, I was fairly certain that Anaïs was plotting my murder for having stolen Tristan away from her.

I felt Tristan’s exhaustion finally take over and he drifted off to sleep, but it was a long time before I was able to do the same. I could not hope for a long life if I remained a pawn constantly manipulated by those around me – learning to play Guerre had taught me that, if nothing else. I needed to take action, and soon. I began to form a plan, but eventually my mind grew heavy. I clung to Tristan as though it was our last moment together like this, which maybe it was. But there was nothing to be done about that now. Only the morning would bring answers.

When I woke many hours later, it was with a start. Dreams of sluag, darkness, and Tristan dying plagued my sleep. Again and again I’d relived the moment when death sliced through our bond like a scalpel through flesh. The loneliness, as though there was no one left in this world but me. I didn’t know how anyone could survive it; what sort of strength it took to live on after the loss of the one you’d been bound to for years, decades even. I thought about the black lines tracing over Marc’s hands, how he rarely removed the leather gloves hiding them and could not tolerate even the mention of her name.

My light had woken up with me, and it shone dimly as though it were still sleepy. In its glow, I gently traced a fingertip over the golden filigree inked across Tristan’s left hand, more intricate and delicate than the finest lacework. Gold, because I was a child of the sun. The first human to ever be bonded to a troll, much less a troll prince.

Tristan sighed, his breath warm against my cheek. In his sleep, he’d curled around me, his arm tucked tight against my stomach. My perpetually cold feet were warm for once, tucked as they were against his shins. My body complained mightily as I extracted myself from his grip, but despite my attempts not to wake him, his eyes opened.

“You need to rest,” I said. “You’re exhausted.”

“No time for it,” he replied, crossing the room and quickly dressing. “I need to go make reassurances to a few individuals. And there is the tree.”

“Can’t it keep for one day?”

“Possibly, but I’d rather not risk it.” He buckled on his sword. “Don’t leave these rooms unless Marc accompanies you. Certain individuals misunderstand the cause of yesterday’s events, and I don’t want them going after you because of some misguided sense of loyalty.” He kissed my cheek. “Try to stay out of trouble.”

After he left, I tried to find ways to occupy myself in our rooms, but my mind wouldn’t focus. So much had changed in so little time – going back to how things were before I’d fallen for Angoulême’s trickery would be impossible.

Tristan was worried and upset, his uneasiness crawling down my spine like a spider. I wished I knew what was going on. What was he telling the half-bloods? Would they be able to forgive me for what had happened, or had I irreparably damaged my relationship with those who needed our help the most?

Tossing aside the novel I had been trying to read, I went through the doors and out onto the balcony, down the steps to the courtyard where my piano stood. The stack of music sat undisturbed on the bench, and after shuffling through it, I chose a lengthy piece and sat down. I had no great talent – my short fingers prevented that – but I played well within my limitations. I sat at the piano until my fingers ached, but I refused to sing. I would not call him. He would come to me when he was ready.

“You are a talented musician, but I must confess, I prefer to hear you sing.”

The keys jangled harshly beneath my fingers and I froze. Slowly, I looked over my shoulder. The Duke d’Angoulême stood at the base of the stairs, his gold-tipped cane held horizontally between his hands. “Perhaps you’ll sing for me, little bird.”

“Pity.” He walked towards the piano, and I scrambled to my feet, wanting to keep some distance between us. Not that it would matter. If he’d come here to kill me, there wasn’t much I could do to stop him.

“These are my private gardens,” I said. “You have no right to be here.”

“True.” He ran a finger down the shiny surface of the piano. “But there isn’t much you can do about it, is there?”

“What do you want?”

The corners of his mouth twisted up in a cold parody of a smile. “A great many things, Cécile, and I fully intend to have them.” He picked up the delicate glass rose Tristan had given me, turning it over in his hands. “You caused quite the disturbance yesterday.”

“That was your intention, wasn’t it?”

“Indeed it was, although not in my wildest dreams did I expect it to turn out so well.” He held up my rose as if to smell it, but his eyes were fixed on me. “Did you know that when an infant is born of half troll, half human blood, its magic never reaches half that of its troll parent? And if that child takes up with a human, the resultant child will have almost no magic to speak of. The fact of the matter is, if a child has less than one-eighth troll blood, it has no magic at all. It is as weak and unintelligent as a human, as susceptible to illness and injury.”

I was silent. There was no mistaking his point.

“Magic,” he continued, “is what makes us superior. Any act that diminishes it is an abomination.”

“Except if such an act breaks the curse,” I retorted, my anger rising. “Isn’t that what you mean?”

“But it hasn’t.” He held out the rose. “So all you are is an abomination that has failed to serve any purpose.”

The rose slipped through his fingers. I gasped, diving forward to catch it before it smashed against the paving stones. At my touch, it blossomed a dusky pink.

“You two thought you’d fooled everyone, didn’t you?”

I stared up at him from my knees, fear filling me.

“And perhaps you did. Everyone, that is, except me.” Reaching down, he took hold of my arm and pulled me to my feet. “I confess, you played the part of a hellion-bride quite well. And Tristan, well the boy has been playing something he is not for so long that sometimes I wonder if he remembers who he really is.” He paused, considering his words. “You would know by now that all children receive an identical education until they are ten years of age, at which time they are educated by their respective guilds. Builders’ Guild, Artisans’ Guild, Bakers’ Guild, Miners’ Guild, and so on and so forth.”

“Make your point, Your Grace.” I tried to jerk my arm out of his grip, but his hand was as implacable as a vice.

“My daughter, Anaïs, she isn’t guild-educated. No, I saw early in her life that she had a mind fit for a particular purpose. She is military educated, you see. She is strategic, ruthless, loyal, but…” He sighed. “She is still female – her emotions make her weak.”

I fought to keep fury from rising to my face, but it was difficult.

The Duke leaned on his cane. His position and the way he watched my movements reminded me of a vulture. “Her emotions are what betrayed her. For weeks, she has sobbed herself to sleep every night, and Anaïs is not a girl prone to such behavior. There could be only one cause – that her dear Tristan had abandoned her for another girl. His wife.”

I scowled. “That isn’t what you said yesterday, Your Grace. Unless, of course, you were lying?”

His laughter echoed through the courtyard, mocking me from every corner. “Is that what I said? Are you sure?”

Even though I already knew the truth, my heart still sunk to know how thoroughly he had played me. Like a finely tuned instrument.

“A wise man once wrote that the truth spoken may not be the truth you think you hear. I would have thought you’d learned that by now, little bird.”

“Leave her alone, Angoulême.”

The soles of Marc’s boots smacked against the stairs as he leapt down them two at a time. Striding across the courtyard, he stepped between the Duke and me. “He doesn’t want you anywhere near her.”

“I haven’t harmed her in any way. I am well aware of His Majesty’s laws.”

“That doesn’t mean you don’t intend to.” To my amazement, Marc shoved Angoulême backwards. “Leave, now.”

The Duke’s face darkened. “You dare lay a hand on me, you twisted wretch! I outrank you. In more ways than one.”

“I’m under Tristan’s orders not to let you anywhere near the Lady Cécile, and last time I checked, Your Grace, the heir to the throne outranked you. In more ways than one.”

I felt the air around me grow hot, their magic manifesting and drawing together. “I’m not afraid to die, Angoulême,” Marc said softly. “Are you?”

“You think you can best me, boy?”

Marc laughed. “No, but I think I can hold you back long enough for Tristan to get here. And I know he can best you. He’ll tear your body into so many pieces that what’s left won’t amount to more than a smear of blood on the street.”

Angoulême paled. “He wouldn’t dare.”

“Are you sure enough to tempt fate?” Marc’s voice was chilly.

Without another word, the Duke spun on heels, hurrying up the steps and out of sight.

I tried to calm my racing heart. “He won’t forgive you for this,” I said.

“I’ll add it to the list of things he’ll never forgive me for,” Marc muttered. “Are you all right?”

“Fine – I think he was just trying to scare me. And send a message to Tristan.”

“He was expecting it.” Marc shoved his hands in his pockets and stared silently at my piano for a long moment before speaking. “Cécile, I want to apologize for what I said to you in the labyrinth. How I behaved. It’s just that…”

I held up a hand. “There is nothing to forgive.” Slipping my arm through his, I sighed. “Let’s walk. I need to be away from this space.”

We wandered aimlessly through the glass gardens, which never ceased to amaze me: the detail blown into each plant, the thorns on the rose bushes, the pinecones and seedpods artistically scattered beneath the trees, the tiny drops of glass dew suspended beneath the tips of leaves. Unlit, they were a thing of beauty, but flooded with troll-light, they were magical, ethereal even. “How long did it take to create?” I asked, bending down to look at a gardenia that was so realistic, I half expected to smell its sweet perfume when I inhaled.

“Three hundred and thirty-seven years.”

I smiled at his troll-like precision.

“Why didn’t they use color? I’ve seen it in other glassworks in Trollus.”

“You would have to ask someone in the Artisans’ Guild, but if I were to speculate… it would be because they knew it would be a pale imitation of the real thing.”

“Or perhaps they couldn’t remember the colors,” I said, closing my eyes and trying to visualize fields of green grass and vibrant wildflowers. Already it seemed something from another life.

“Don’t you ever wish you could see it, Marc? Stand in the ocean and feel the water swirl around your knees? Feel the blast of winter snow coming off the mountains or the scorching heat of the summer sun? To walk through a field of golden wheat just before harvest, or gallop through a meadow sweet with the smells of spring?”

I sat on one of the stone benches scattered throughout the garden, the weight of memory heavy upon me. “Don’t you ever dream of it?”

Marc looked away so that I could only see his profile, so handsome on its own. So like his cousin’s.

“No,” he said. “I don’t dream of that.”

“What do you dream of?”

His shoulders jerked as if I had slapped him.

“Pénélope.” His voice rasped over her name like he hadn’t said it in a very long time. “Every night. Every time I close my eyes.” He sat heavily on the bench next to me, head in his hands.

Gently, I took his left hand and pulled off the leather glove he always wore. An inky black pattern scrolled across his fingers, still beautiful in its own sad way. “Will you tell me about her?”

He nodded. “She is… was, Anaïs’s elder sister. But the only similarity between the two was their beauty. Pénélope, she was sweet and kind. Quiet. We were friends as children. I don’t remember when it was that I fell in love with her. Sometimes I think I loved her all my life.” His voice cracked and his fingers tightened over mine. “I wanted to marry her, but my father refused because she… It had recently come to light that she had the bleeding condition. Such things pass on to children.”

I sighed softly. I had not known such a thing existed until I came to Trollus, but since I had been here, two boys had died from it. Blood that would not clot – the slightest injury could be fatal.

“So we became lovers, and were so for some time. I was a fool to allow it,” Marc continued. “Perhaps if I hadn’t, she might still be alive.”

“She got pregnant, didn’t she?” I asked softly.

“Yes.” He swallowed hard. “She was happy. She believed she would survive it, but I knew.” His shoulders slumped. “I knew it would kill her.” He rose to his feet. “Let me show you something.”

He took me to a small open space surrounded by glass rosebushes. At the center stood an ornate fountain, but instead of water, a blue liquid glowed faintly within the basin.

“Liquid Shackles,” I exclaimed, hurrying over to it.

“You’ve clearly been spending too much time with Tristan,” Marc chuckled. “It’s called Élixir de la Lune.”

“That’s much prettier,” I said, looking into the basin. “Where does it come from?”

We waited for a long moment, then seemingly out of nowhere, a large droplet fell into the pool.

“Stones and sky,” I muttered. “Where did that come from?”

“You have to look from the right angle,” Marc said. “Like this.” Bending over, he tilted his head to look upwards. I mimicked him, gasping at what I saw. It looked like a circular window hanging in the air, but it was only visible when viewed directly. Looking through it didn’t show me Trollus – it was a window to somewhere else entirely. I could see part of a rocky cliff, a faint hint of glowing blue dampening it. As I watched, a droplet slowly formed and fell, dropping between our heads to land in the fountain.

“Where is that place?” I wondered aloud.

“What you are looking at is a tear in the fabric of the world.” He straightened upright again. “This liquid is the magic that bonds the moon to the earth. We harness its power to bind the hearts of two trolls. Or a troll and a human.”

Holding out my hand, I caught the next drip as it fell and went to taste it, the memory of its sweetness vivid in my mind. Marc caught my hand. “Only once in a lifetime.” Tilting my hand, he let the drip fall into the pool.

“In the southern half of the labyrinth, there is a small opening where the sky shines through. Very few know of its existence. One night, I stole a vial of Élixir de la Lune and the key to the gate from my father – the Comte de Courville has been its guardian for generations – and took Pénélope into the tunnels. She was terrified of the small spaces and afraid a sluag would come upon us, but she came anyway. We bonded under the full moon.”

“I bet you got in a lot of trouble for that.”

A hint of a smile touched his face. “Yes. But there was nothing anyone could do. The bond cannot be undone by any power in this world or the next.”

He was quiet for a long time, and I dared not break the silence.

“We were together for sixty-three glorious days. Then she miscarried. The child died. Pénélope died.”

Tears streamed down my face, but Marc’s eyes stayed dry. He had long since run out of tears for his pain, I thought. Pain I could well imagine because I’d felt it myself. “How did you survive it?”

“I didn’t want to live. I wanted to throw myself from the highest precipice. Cut my heart out with a knife. Dash my brains against the rocks. Anything. I didn’t think I could live without her.”

“So how did you?” I remembered how easily I had knelt down before the guillotine, ready to die rather than to live without Tristan. And ours was a new love, not one built over a lifetime.

“Tristan was there with me when she died. The instant her heart stopped, he tied me up with magic so I couldn’t move. I fought him with everything I had, but even at fifteen, he was one of the strongest living. In the few moments he took to sleep, it required both the twins to hold me. He kept me tied up for weeks, forcing me to eat and to drink when I tried to starve myself. When I’d finally calmed down enough, he made me swear that I would live. Said I was his best friend, and his family and he needed me alive.”

We were quiet for a long time, Marc remembering and me trying to take in what he had just told me.

“Does it get better?” I finally asked. “The pain? The feeling that a part of you is missing?”

Marc shook his head. “You just learn to live with it.”

Fresh tears flooded my eyes and dripped down to stain the silk of my skirts. He had known she would die and the pain it would cause him, but he had bonded her anyway. It was the most incredibly brave and selfless thing I had ever heard – a love story such as songs were written about.

“Would you do it again, knowing what you know now?”

He smiled, eyes growing distant. “In a heartbeat.”

We sat in silence for a long time, both of us lost in our own thoughts.

“Cécile, you asked me if I dreamed of the outside.”

“Everything I have known and loved has been in Trollus. All my memories are of here. I belong here, in the dark. But you…” He took my hand. “You don’t belong here, Cécile. This place is no good for you – you belong in the sun. And so does he.”

Coming around the fountain, Marc gently kissed my forehead. “You must find a way.” Then he turned and walked away, leaving me to struggle with a burden that seemed to grow heavier by the hour.

“How much of that did you hear?” I asked, once Marc was out of earshot.

Tristan stepped out from around a glass fir tree. “A fair bit,” he admitted.

“It’s rude to eavesdrop.”

“I know.” He walked over to the fountain and looked through the window to the moon. “You were afraid before.”

“Angoulême paid me a visit.” I turned my back on the fountain and smoothed my skirts down. “Mostly, I think he wanted to boast about the trouble he had caused. It seems he has known for some time that our behavior was an act.”

“That vile malignant pustule!” Tristan hissed. “He’s a craven, dog-breathed, interfering weasel of a man!”

I waited for him to finish cursing before asking, “So, do we carry on as before? Is there any point?”

“I don’t know.” Tristan rubbed a hand through his hair. “I don’t think I can go back to it, though.”

I nodded, feeling much the same way. “Another strategy then?”

“Yes.” He was feeling conflicted about something. He opened his mouth and then closed it again.

I frowned. “And whatever it is you are not telling me, now is the time to come clean. We can’t have any more secrets between us, Tristan.”

He sighed heavily. “I know, but we can’t talk about it here. Come with me. I want to show you something.”

With a mind to evade my guards, Tristan led me to a well-hidden gate at the rear of the gardens and then down a meandering path to the river, where we crossed one of the many small bridges. It was a long walk down the valley, and by the time we reached the fork in the river, my feet were sore and aching. The soldiers guarding the River Road eyed us from the opposite bank, but despite our lack of escort, said nothing as we turned to follow the water branching off to the right.

The tunnel we entered was loud with the sounds of rushing water, and soon the faint glow of Trollus faded away, leaving only my little light and Tristan’s larger one to illuminate our path.

“Where are we going?”

We walked a little further until the cave walls fell away and Tristan pulled me to a halt. The river water spilled down an incline worn smooth by the current, but to either side of its banks it was terraced with large steps. The structure was entirely flooded with water, forming a large, dark lake.

“The parade grounds.” Tristan’s light shot away from us, growing brighter as it traveled until it shone like a minute sun.

“Stones and sky,” I whispered, trying to take it all in. I’d never seen a building so huge. Designed like a vast, circular theatre, tiered seating rose up from all sides, the topmost barely illuminated by Tristan’s magic.

“The history books say that before the Fall, you could see the stadium from leagues away. It held fifty thousand people at capacity, and is the largest structure we ever built. Most of the army was here when the mountain broke, which is the only reason it wasn’t crushed. A great deal of magic and pride.

“When King Xavier broke the hole the waterfall came through, he had not estimated the level of flow accurately enough and the River Road couldn’t contain the water. Trollus flooded and he ordered a path blasted through so that it would flood the parade ground instead. The water seeps through the rocks at the far end, but I doubt anything much larger than a river trout could make it all the way to the ocean.”

Taking me by the hand, he led me down the steps to the edge of the dark lake waters. A small boat was tethered to a stone pillar, and once I was settled, he untied it and jumped in next to me. The gentle current soon caught hold of the boat, and we drifted slowly across the lake. It might have been romantic, if not for our mutual anxiety. He had brought me here for a purpose.

I arranged the piles of pillows around me, waiting for Tristan to speak.

“I come here when I want to be alone,” he finally said. “To think, or to sleep, sometimes. And because it is a good reminder for me.”

Light flared, illuminating the structure and revealing walls carved and painted with scenes of war. Time had faded many of the images, but not enough to completely wash away the pictures of destruction and carnage. I stared at the legions of troll soldiers, men and women, their faces beautiful but cruel. Toppled cities, piles of corpses, humans groveling at the feet of their troll overlords. Humans in chains, bleeding and emaciated, their eyes downcast and devoid of hope.

I shivered, wrapping my velvet cloak tightly around me. “I read those history books you showed me, Tristan. I am not unaware of your dark past, and I realize that you think the curse is the only thing preventing history from revisiting itself on the world.”

“If you know all of this,” he gestured at the walls, “then why does it feel like you are pushing me to find a way to break it. Bloody stones, Cécile, if we are set free, all you will be accomplishing is replacing those faces with those of your friends and family. Is that what you want?”

“Do you think I haven’t considered that possibility?” I snapped, those exact images rising up in my mind. “Do you think it doesn’t terrify me?” I forced my hands to relax from their clenched grip, smoothing my sweating palms against my skirts. “The difference between us, Tristan, is that I don’t see the future as set in stone. It has been hundreds of years! The trolls who committed those crimes are long since dead, and I don’t think those living today should have to continue to pay for their sins.”

“No, you think they should be released to commit their own.”

“Why are you so convinced they will?”

“Do you honestly believe that if the curse was broken tomorrow that my father would be any better than them?” Tristan pressed his fingers against his temples in obvious frustration. “The desire for vengeance might very well make him worse than his predecessors.”

“I know that,” I said, leaning towards him. “That’s why we wait until he’s dead. We wait until you are king. Because I know you wouldn’t do those things.”

Tristan looked away. “You overestimate the power I have over them. I cannot control the actions of every one of my people, and even if I could, I am not immortal. All it would take is one angry troll to slaughter hundreds of humans. Thousands even. And that blood would be on my hands, because I would be the one who unleashed him.”

“But what if you made them all promise not to?” I asked. “A carefully worded oath that would check any chance of violence.”

A sharp laugh was my answer. “And who would they make this promise to?”

“Ah.” His eyes flicked up to meet mine. “Do you know what the best way for a troll to get out of a promise is?” He didn’t wait for my answer. “To kill the one you made the promise to. I’d be a walking target – I wouldn’t last a week.”

“Then make them promise not to!”

He shook his head. “Then they would kill you. And if I made them promise not to, one of them would pay a human to do it. Trying to control them that way doesn’t work.”

I winced and stared down at my hands, trying not to let the futility of his words take me over. “Regardless. I think you underestimate them,” I said softly. “I know I haven’t been here a long time, but from what I’ve seen, most trolls do not desire violence and oppression – they’ve seen enough of it and that’s why they are fighting for change now. It wouldn’t just be you keeping the few bad apples in check, it would be everyone.”

“And if you’re wrong?” Tristan made a sharp sound of disgust. “What then? The witch may well have saved humanity with her curse. And in breaking it, we may well be sacrificing it. If the curse is broken, your kind will lose the only power they ever had over mine.”

“But at what cost?” I argued. “There has to be a better solution.”

“The witch found the only solution. I will not undo her work.”

I stared at him, aghast. “You make her sound like she is some sort of saint, but let me assure you, she is not.” I searched his stony expression. “Why do you insist on believing trolls are so evil?” And why did he seem so bent on proving he’d been painted with the same malevolent brush?

Tristan twisted away from my scrutiny, and the lights surrounding us blinked out, leaving only my own to light our passage across the lake. “I think it is in our nature to be selfish, and in our capacity to do a great many evil things,” he eventually said.

“There are evil humans,” I argued. “And I don’t see you suggesting we be all locked up in a cave.”

“How much damage can one human do? Even the Regent of Trianon, who commands a great army, could do nothing compared to one of us. One troll could reduce Trianon to rubble and kill all of its inhabitants. His magic could protect him not only from blades, but stop a bullet shot directly at him. Not even a cannon ball has the force to break through our shields.”

“But why would a troll want to do those things?” My words sounded pitiful in the face of his logic. He was right. Trolls had the potential for great destruction. But I did not see evil as part of their nature. “Not all of them are Angoulême!”

“But enough of them are,” he said, gently. “And I can’t execute hundreds of my people because of what I think they might do, Cécile. It’s better this way. Once we gain control over Trollus and I can complete my plans, it will be possible to live here without magic. Perhaps as generations pass, the troll blood will become diluted enough by humans that the witch’s curse will no longer be effective.” He took my hands in his. “We are too powerful for this world – it is better that we remain caged.”

“Too powerful for this world because you don’t belong here,” I said, pulling out of his grasp. “Maybe you should go back where you belong.”

Tristan grew very still. “We can’t. Otherwise I would send them all back in an instant.”

My breath caught. I had not expected him to be frank. “Where?”

“Here, but not here. The in-between place of shadow and light.”

“Well, that’s certainly vague.” I scowled at him. “Does it have a name?”

He nodded gravely. “It does, but it’s better you don’t know it. There is power in a name, and I’d rather not bring their attention down on us at the moment.”

“Who?” I demanded. “Are there other trolls there?”

“Yes, although I suspect they’d object to being called so.” He grimaced. “Humans were the ones to first call us trolls and we encouraged the moniker because it held no power over us. But it is not what we are.”

I pressed my hands to my temples. “What are you then?”

Tristan shook his head. “It is best that you don’t know.”

Always with the secrets. It seemed he knew everything there was to know about me, but every time I peeled back a layer of his mystery, another lay beneath. It made me angry that he always kept me in the dark. He seemed to think it was for my own good, but I wasn’t a child. I deserved the truth. Whether because of the look on my face or the anger he sensed from me, Tristan started talking.

“Those of our kind have always been able to move between worlds or wherever we pleased, and usually caused a fair bit of trouble wherever we went,” he said. “Fourteen hundred years ago, my ancestors came to this place, the Isle de Lumière, and fell in love with the gold.” He thought about it for a minute. “Love isn’t even the right word. Obsession is probably better. But they could not bring it back with them. There is no gold in… where they were from.”

Reaching into his pocket, Tristan pulled out a gold coin, turning it over in his hand. “Neither, as it turns out, was there iron. But here, there is iron in everything. In the water. In the plants and animals we eat. In your blood.” His eyes flickered away from the coin to meet mine. “They discovered they had been here so long that they couldn’t go back. The iron infecting their bodies wouldn’t allow it. And in staying, they lost their immortality.”

He pulled back the sleeves of his coat and shirt, revealing the scars on his arm – the only scars he had at all. “We are sensitive to iron still. Injuries caused by steel heal slowly. If they are bad enough, we can bleed to death.”

I clapped a hand over my mouth. “I’m so sorry – I didn’t know.”

He grinned. “Despite what you might think, I’m not so vain as to prefer death over a few scars.” But the smile was short lived, slipping from his face as he placed the coin back in his pocket. “Bound to this world, they set to conquering and enslaving its inhabitants. They were unstoppable until that fateful day that Anushka brought down the mountain.”

I frowned. “What about all the trolls who weren’t here? What happened to them?”

“Almost every troll was,” Tristan said. “It was King Alexis’s birthday. But those who were not found themselves inexplicably drawn back to Trollus until everyone was bound within its confines.”

“And what about your nameless brethren from the nameless place you come from? Do they still visit this world?”

“They dare not. Coming to this world means getting caught up in the curse. But they are watching.”

“Ah.” I stared into the depths of the dark water, understanding sinking in. He wasn’t protecting me by keeping the knowledge secret, he was protecting himself. From me. “So Anushka knew the real name of your kind. And because of what she did with it, you don’t trust me enough to tell it.”

“Yes.” He said it so simply, the admission that he did not wholly trust me, and it stung.

“The sluag,” I said, pushing aside the hurt. “They come from there too?”

He nodded. “Yes, although they are minions of the dark court. It’s possible they followed us here on their own, but I suspect she sent them. And keeps sending them, which is why we can’t seem to get rid of the damn things.”

He traced a finger around the hilt of the sword, obviously considering how much he wanted to tell me. “The in-between spaces is ruled by two courts. My many-times-great uncle is the King of Summer. She is the Queen of Winter.”

A shiver ran through me, and I swore I could smell the scent of ice and frost on the air. A memory tickled the back of my mind, but for the life of me, I could not bring it into focus. “I assume she must remain nameless.”

His fingers tightened around the hilt.

“You say there is power in a name, but I know yours and it doesn’t seem to do me any good.”

The silence hung long and heavy. But I could feel his guilt.

“Or not.” My voice cracked and I clenched my teeth.

He sucked in a breath. “You know what I am called, but not the name that binds me.”

I recoiled away from him to the far end of the boat, but it wasn’t far enough. “Take me back,” I hissed. “I’ve had enough of this – I don’t care to be near you right now. I am tired of your deception.”

“Cécile, please.” He reached for me, but I clambered to my feet, causing the boat to rock wildly. “I’ll swim back if you don’t turn the boat around.”

He withdrew his arm. “Please, Cécile, let me explain.”

I watched him warily.

“If you knew my true name, you would have complete and utter control of me,” he said softly. “You’d be able to compel me to do whatever you wished, and I would have no choice but to do what you ordered, whether that be to slaughter one or slaughter thousands. I would have no liberty – I would be your slave.” He grimaced. “I’d be a weapon.”

“And is that what you think of me,” I replied, gripping the edge of the boat for balance. “That I would use you that way?”

His shoulders trembled. “I don’t know!” The water of the lake surged and the boat plunged up and down, threatening to overturn.

I fell to my knees on the cushions. “Tristan!”

He jerked, looking around as if surprised at what he had done. Then he bowed his head. “I’m sorry.” The water stilled, becoming as smooth as glass, the effect managing to be somehow more frightening than the waves. “I wish I was not what I am.” His voice was twisted with anguish. “I wish I was not who I am. I wish I had met you in different circumstances, in a place far away from here, where there was no magic, politics, and deception. Somewhere where things could be different between us. I wish I was someone else.”

He raised his head. “But I am what and who I am, and all the wishes in the world will not change that.”

All my anger fled and I sank down onto the pillows, my fingers twisting the tassels on one of them as his words sank in. And with them came the understanding of the enormous responsibility that came not with his birth or position, but with what he was. And there was nothing that could change that. Yet still I had to ask. “How do you wish things were between us?”

One corner of his mouth turned up. “How can you ask that? You know how I feel – you feel what I feel.”

I shook my head. “Sometimes it’s hard to tell what emotions are mine and what are yours. There were times that I thought maybe you…” I sighed. “But then I’d decide it was my own wishful thinking.”

“I did.” His voice cracked and he swallowed hard. “From the beginning, I wanted you. But that first night – you looked at me like I was a monster. You were terrified that I was going to make you…” He broke off, his face tightening.

“And later.” He sighed. “Being around you was the sweetest torture. I wanted to touch you, hold you, kiss you. I wanted all of you.” His shoulders slumped. “But I was afraid of what would happen if I gave in to my desire. If I let myself love you.”

“You were afraid it would break the curse?”

“That was only part of it.” I barely heard him speak his voice was so quiet. “I was afraid… I am afraid of loving you, knowing that someday you will go and leave me here.”

I shuddered, blinking fast to hold back tears. “That’s not how it’s supposed to be.” It certainly wasn’t how I’d imagined it. In my mind’s eye, I had always thought of us gaining freedom together. Walking out into the sun together. But that wasn’t what Tristan envisioned – he saw me leaving on my own and never turning back.

“There were so many things I wanted to show you,” I whispered. “Things you have never seen.”

“What sort of things?” he asked softly.

I thought about it for a moment. “I wanted you to see the world as it changes through the year, not the perpetual sameness it is here.”

“Describe it to me? Tell me about winter.”

I lay back on the silken cushions, closed my eyes, and remembered. “My father’s farm is far enough up the mountain slopes that in winter, the snow can pile so deep that only trees and houses stick out. Tiny flakes of ice fall from the sky and melt on the tip of your tongue. On the most bitterly cold days, the air is at its clearest and you can see for leagues, all around.”

The boat rocked as he shifted, my skirts pressing down against my legs as he knelt over me, his weight pressing my hips into the cushions. The clasp of my cloak opened with a click, the velvet soft against my skin as he pushed it back, baring my shoulders. His fingers trailed over my collarbone, leaving hot flames of desire in their wake. I felt his breath, warm against my throat, and I gasped, my heart beating so hard I was certain he could hear it. “And spring?” he whispered in my ear, his hair brushing softly against my cheek.

A smile curved over my lips. “The days get warmer, bit by bit. The sun shines. The snow starts to melt, and water runs in rivulets down the icicles hanging from the eaves. Bits of green start to poke through the snow and buds form on the tree branches. Then, in what seems like an instant, all the snow is gone and replaced by lush grass greener than any emerald, more vibrant than anything an artist could paint. The rainstorms come, blocking out the sun and turning midday to dusk. Lightning flashes across the sky and thunder echoes across the mountains. The spring rain comes down so hard and heavy that it soaks you to the bone in an instant, and the seas boil with the ferocity of the winds.”

Tristan’s lips brushed against the pulse in my throat, and it felt like I had my own storm raging inside of me. My whole body trembled as he kissed a line of fire up my neck, to my jaw, and then rested his cheek against mine. “Summer?”

“I can’t remember,” I murmured, my mind a chaos of emotion.

“Yes, you can.” His fingers ran up my sides, separated from my skin by only a thin layer of silk.

I squeezed my eyelids tighter and tried to think, tried to visualize the land, but all I could see in my mind’s eye was Tristan. All I could feel was passion, both mine and his, burning like a beacon on a starless night. I wanted him, needed him. Nothing else would satisfy the hunger building low in my belly.

“Flowers,” I whispered. “Fields of wildflowers, every color of the rainbow. The animals grow shiny and fat and the fields of wheat grow tall and golden. The warmth drives away the memory of winter and the air is so heady and wet that each breath is like a drink of water. And the sun.” My voice trembled and I wrapped my arms around his neck, burying my fingers in his hair. “The sun rises every morning like a god on fire, flushing your skin pink, giving life to everything, until he disappears beyond the horizon every night.”

Behind my closed lids, my eyes stung and I bit my lip. Tristan stroked my hair and I opened my eyes, staring into his soul, which was filled with all the sympathy, sorrow, and longing that I felt in my heart. For what I had lost. For what he had never had. And for what he never would have, if I did what he’d asked and abandoned my quest to break the curse.

“I love you, Cécile,” he said, and my breath caught. It was one thing to feel it, and quite another to hear the words from his lips.

He kissed me, gently at first, and then harder as his control vanished. My lips parted, and the kiss deepened, opening up a floodgate of heat that tore through my body. Rational thought slipped away, and all that was left was need and desire. I felt his hands on me and I tore at his coat, pulled off his shirt and dug my fingers into the hard muscles lining his back, felt his breath hot and ragged against my lips and at the plunging neckline of my dress. The air was cold against my legs as my skirts rode up, and I wrapped my ankles around him, pulling him down against me. All I wanted was him. And I wanted everything.

The hilt of his sword dug into my ribs, and I grabbed at his belt, fumbling with unpracticed hands with the buckle.

“Cécile, stop.” I barely heard him. My body felt like a wild thing, completely out of my control.

“Cécile!” He caught hold of my wrists and pinned them down against the cushions. “Enough. You overestimate my degree of self-control.”

I looked up at him, hurt and confused. “Why should you need any? We’re married. I am yours, and you,” I said, “are mine.” I struggled against his grip, but he was stronger than I was. Stronger than any human possibly could be. “Have we not sacrificed enough?”

His lips pressed down, warm and sweet. He rested his forehead against mine. “I want you. I’ve wanted this for so long.” He bit his lip. “But there could be consequences of… that.”

The chaos retreated from my mind, replaced by the cool feel of logic. “You mean a child?”

He nodded and let go of my wrists. “If we had a child, it would be as bound to this place as I am.” Smoothing back the hair from my face, he said, “Then what would you do? Stay out of obligation and give up life on the outside? Or be like your mother, and only visit when the mood strikes you?”

I jerked away from him. “Don’t say that – I’m nothing like her.”

He sat back on his heels, his face unreadable, and the combination of our emotions was a tangled web that I was having difficulty sorting through. I stared at him, and eventually it came to me: anticipation. But of what? What did he want me to say?

“You need to decide what life you want,” he said, his eyes searching mine.

I covered my face with both hands, frustrated. “I can’t do this, Tristan. I’m not like you – I can’t plan out every moment of my future, every decision I’m going to make.”

“Of course not.” His voice was cold, but the shock of his grief stung through me like an icy spear. “After all, you never chose to come here. Never chose any of this. Who could blame you for wanting to leave? And what sort of fool am I for wishing that you would stay?”

A chill swept through me. “Tristan, that isn’t what I meant!” But he was already pulling his shirt over his head, the boat moving swiftly under an invisible force back to the tunnel entrance.

“I love you,” I pleaded, but the words sounded weak even to me. “I wouldn’t leave you here alone.”

“So you say.” His voice was emotionless, posture stiff, but the pain I had caused him made me sick. “But you’re human, Cécile, so why should I believe anything that comes out of your mouth?”

“Tristan.” I reached for him, but he turned away, moving to the front of the boat.

“We need to go back. They’ll be missing us by now.”

The boat bumped against the steps, grinding to a halt, and Tristan leapt out. It was magic, not his hands, that lifted me out of the boat, and it was magic that steadied me as I climbed the slippery steps back to the tunnel. After everything that had happened to us, it seemed that words from my own lips had done the most damage of all.