“He never needed or wanted their support before.” My eyes flicked between construction sites. Something wasn’t right. “Surely his actions have cost him popularity with the aristocracy.”

“Indeed they have.” Marc shifted his weight slightly from one foot to another, showing his unease. “He almost never leaves the palace these days. When he does, he always goes with a full complement of guards. Your mother, too, is guarded at all times. He clearly fears an assassination attempt.”

“He doesn’t fear anything,” I replied, scoffing at the very idea. “And his resumed control over the tree protects him – no one would dare it.”

“He didn’t resume control of the tree. He gave the task over to the Builder’s Guild. They’re taxed right to their limit in keeping it stable.”

I sucked in a deep breath. “Bloody stones! What is he thinking?”

Since the moment a permanent tree structure had been established, the ruling monarch controlled it. Part of the reason was the immense amount of power it took to maintain, but the other part was the protection it gave the King. Magic didn’t disappear the moment a troll died, but it dissipated quickly, making the death of a king a dangerous time in Trollus. Especially when the death was unexpected. Giving up control of the tree made my father vulnerable indeed.

“The reason he gave was that having the lives of all those in Trollus held in the hand of one troll had proven to be too much of a risk.”

I cringed inwardly, remembering how when he had first imprisoned me I’d threatened to pull the tree down on all our heads should something happen to Cécile. “He’s not wrong,” I said under my breath. “But that risk has always existed – why change now?”

“His actions certainly bear consideration.”

“As always,” I said, my mind sorting through possible motivations. But I couldn’t quite concentrate, because something about the construction going on in front of me was wrong. “They aren’t following my plans,” I said abruptly.

“I thought they seemed different.” Marc’s voice was mild. “Of course, I am no engineer.”

But I was – and even though the foundations of the structure were only just being laid, I could tell it would never support the weight of Forsaken Mountain.

“I thought the half-bloods had your diagrams?” Marc said. “What reason would they have to deviate from them?”

I shook my head. “I promised them the plans once I had their names – but I didn’t have the time to collect all of them, which gave me an out on my promise.”

“No wonder they curse your name. You should have handed them over as a show of good faith.”

“I didn’t trust them,” I muttered, remembering the moment as vividly as though it were yesterday. I’d collected as many names as I could before Cécile’s terror had driven me back to the palace. Just before I’d reached the gates, Anaïs had found me and told me my father was alone with Cécile. I’d given her my plans and told her to hide them, then I’d gone inside to duel with my father. Anaïs would only have had a few minutes to hide the documents before she came through my window to fight. Which meant she’d hidden them nearby.

Retreating back inside, I went to the glass doors Anaïs had broken through. Below lay my private courtyard and the wall she would have come over to get inside. Opening the doors, I hurried down the steps, barely noticing Marc trailing along after me.

Cécile’s piano still stood in the middle of the space, but it was covered in a layer of dust. I walked in a slow circle around it, then came to a halt at the bench. Stacks of music covered the seat, the paper as dusty as the piano. Wiping my hands on my trousers to remove the blood dripping down from my wrists, I began to sort through them, quickly coming up with what I’d been looking for. “Hidden in plain sight,” I said, holding them up.

“Then what are the half-bloods constructing?” Marc asked, his expression grim.

“Were you present when he told them to build?”

Marc nodded, his eyes growing distant as he remembered. “His speech was long, but he concluded by lifting a roll of parchment into the air and shouting, ‘Behold the plans for a stone tree.’”

I shook my head slowly, admiring his genius. “He gave them drawings of the tree as it is now. They’re building something that is doomed to fail – and he knows it. And by keeping the Builders’ Guild focused entirely on maintaining the magic version, he ensures none of them will have the time to do the calculations to determine that while the existing structure works for magic, it won’t work for stone.”

Marc blinked.

“You didn’t think it took me two years to come up with plans identical to something I looked at every day, did you?” I asked, shaking my head. “I assure you, these plans” – I shook the parchment – “are drastically different for a reason. The question is, why would my father let me out, knowing that I would see through his deception?”

Marc shook his head slightly.

Turning round, I pressed a piano key, the note echoing out around us. “He wants me to do something.” I pressed another key. “What does he think I’m going to do?”

“I thought you weren’t going to do anything but wait to die?”

I shot him a dark look. “I haven’t said I’m going to do anything.”