We stood quietly together for a moment before Sabine whispered, “You should go.” She didn’t look up, and I knew she wouldn’t, so I left.

The rest of the performance was an exercise in torture. I made countless little mistakes, and my eyes kept drifting to the box. I felt on display. Vulnerable. But there was no denying the anticipation in my heart. I needed to see who was in those seats. I would have one good opportunity to get a glimpse when we took our bows at the end of the performance, one moment when I could stare out into the audience without reproach.

The wait seemed interminable, but finally the curtain fell with my mother feigning death in Julian’s arms. I stood in the wings, my heart beating faster and faster. The trepidation wasn’t all my own – something was happening to Tristan, but I couldn’t think about him now. I would only have one chance, and I didn’t dare miss it. The other girls were whispering, but I barely heard them. The audience was cheering, shouting my mother’s name. They were on their feet. The other girls of the chorus ran forward, and I went with them. Would it be her I saw? Did I want it to be?

Stopping in my appointed spot, I took the hands of the girls to either side and dropped into a deep curtsey. We rose and stepped back. I looked up.

The Regent’s box was empty. Whoever had been there was gone.

Eighteen

Tristan

The Guerre boards dropped to the ground, and I threw up a shield to block the flying glass. My aunt did the same, attempting to protect my mother, but it was a wasted effort. The magic that had shattered the mirrors was stronger, and the outward force coming from my mother tossed aside my aunt’s magic with ease. Razor-sharp shards cut into my mother’s skin and shredded her clothes, but she barely seemed to notice. Her face was slick with blood and contorted with irrational fury, the like of which I had only seen before on Roland. The comparison terrified me, because it meant that she couldn’t be reasoned with. Only force would stop her.

Motion in my peripheral vision caught my attention. Élise stood in the open doorway, a tray of food lying in disarray at her feet. “Move!” I shouted, but it was too late. My mother had already rounded on her, eyes seeing yet unseeing.

I leapt between the two, the blow directed at the half-blood girl making my shield quake and sending me staggering back. I collided with Élise, and both of us tumbled into the hallway. A second later, another blow impacted the walls, only the thousand years of magic layering them keeping everything from collapsing down on top of us.

I clambered to my feet, hauling Élise up with me. “Run,” I ordered her. “Find my father and tell him what’s happening.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to stop her.”

I grimly wrapped bands of power around the manacles on my wrists, and before I could lose my nerve, jerked them apart. The pain almost drove me to my knees, but with it came relief as my magic surged, no longer limited by the toxic metal. Steeling myself, I stepped back into the room.

The air was thick with dust and smoke, but it was still possible to see the chaos my mother had enacted upon the room. Everything was destroyed, furniture little more than splinters, paintings and tapestries ablaze. The ceiling had partially caved in to reveal the dark cavernous space hanging above the city. I searched the room for my aunt’s light, but there was only the orange glow of fire. My eyes stung, and I coughed on the thickening smoke.

The blow came sharp and sudden, but I was ready for it. Again and again she struck; and through the haze, I caught sight of her coming toward me. My aunt hung limply from her back, and I prayed she was only unconscious, the alternative too terrible to contemplate.

“Mother!” I had to shout over the exploding collisions of our magic. “It’s Tristan.”

But she didn’t seem to hear or recognize me, her mind wholly concerned with inflicting wrath and ruin. The mere act of protecting myself from her assault was exhausting, and I did not see how it would be possible for me to cut her off from her magic. She was too strong, and she was wasting no power on trying to protect herself, forcing me to deflect the collapsing rubble away from both of us. All she cared about was destroying me, and that she might lose her own life in the process didn’t seem to matter.

I needed my father’s help, and I needed it soon – or she was going to pull the entire palace down. And without the walls to contain her, there was the very real chance she might damage the magic of the tree and put all of Trollus in danger. If she did, then I’d be forced to hurt her to stop her, and that I didn’t want to do.

Holding her back was akin to containing a storm. Magic ceaselessly buffeted and slammed up against me, employing no strategy, only mindless force. Smoke and heat blew into my face, rubble piling up beneath my feet and threatening to trip me up. I didn’t know how to stop her. If it had been a duel, I could have killed her easily, but stopping her without hurting her seemed impossible. If I hit her too hard, I might harm her, but if I didn’t hit her hard enough, it would only infuriate her more. All I could think of was keeping her focus on trying to hurt me and minimizing what collateral damage I could.

Please hurry. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d desired my father’s presence, but I needed him now. He’d know what to do.

The walls of the adjoining rooms fell in around us, and the floor beneath my feet began to shake. The whole wing of the palace was going to collapse.

“Matilde!”

My mother’s head jerked up at the sound of my father’s voice, and as abruptly as it had begun, it was over. She looked around in bewilderment, seemingly unable to comprehend that she had been the cause of the destruction. “What has happened?”